CHAPTER 39 - The Question Game

Narrated by Chris

The three of us lay sprawled across the bed like survivors of some beautiful catastrophe. My body hummed with that particular exhaustion that comes from being thoroughly, completely satisfied. Jason’s chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, his heartbeat still elevated.

Max’s hand rested on my hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my skin. The room smelled like sex and sweat and us—a heady combination that made me want to bottle it up and keep it forever.

“I have an idea,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Jason’s fingers, which had been running through my hair, paused. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” Max rumbled from behind me, his voice rough and amused.

I lifted my head to look at Jason, then twisted slightly to glance back at Max. Both of them looked thoroughly debauched—hair messed, lips swollen, skin flushed and marked. God, they were beautiful like this.

“Let’s play a game,” I said.

Max’s eyebrow arched. “Haven’t we been playing games all night?”

“A different kind of game. Questions. Rapid-fire. No holding back, no getting offended. Just honest answers about tonight. About us.”

Jason’s eyes lit up with interest, that competitive spark I loved so much flickering to life even through exhaustion.

“What kind of questions?”

“The fun kind,” I said, grinning. “The dirty kind. The kind that might start another round if we’re not careful.”

“I’m listening,” Max said, his hand sliding from my hip to my ass, giving it a possessive squeeze.

I rolled onto my back between them, staring up at the ceiling while they propped themselves on either side of me.

“Okay,” I said. “First question. Who is a better kisser—me or Jason?”

Max made a sound of protest before I’d even finished.

“Oh, you’re really going there?” Jason laughed.

“Absolutely,” I said. “I want to know.”

Max bit his lip, considering. “Jason. Hands down, Jason.”

My eyebrows shot up. I hadn’t expected that.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Chris, you are very… skilled. Very. But you, Jason…” He paused, choosing his words under the honesty rule. “You’re aggressive with it. It’s not just a mouth, it’s a… claim. You kiss me like you’re trying to win something. Which, I guess, you were.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s more intense.”

Jason looked smug and leaned down to kiss me possessively. Max’s hand tightened on my hip.

“Okay,” Jason said, grinning. “My turn. Chris—who gives better head, me or Max?”

“Jesus,” I said. “You two are competitive about everything.”

“Answer the question,” they said in unison, which made me laugh.

I bit my lip, considering.

“Jason. Hands down, Jason.”

Max made a quiet sound of protest, but I continued.

“Don’t get me wrong, Max—you’re incredible. That raw intensity, the way you make me feel consumed… it’s fucking hot. But Jason knows exactly what I like, every sensitive spot, every rhythm that drives me crazy. He’s had years to perfect it, and he has. When Jason goes down on me, it’s like he’s playing an instrument he’s mastered. Every time he makes me come harder than I thought possible.”

“A double win for Santoro,” Jason said, beaming.

“For now,” Max replied, the competitive edge obvious in his voice. “Guess I’ll have to practice more.”

“I’m not complaining about that,” I said with a grin.

Max shifted slightly, turning toward Jason. “Alright, Jase. Do you think you give better head than Chris?”

I laughed immediately. The trap was obvious.

“Under the honesty rule?” Jason asked.
“Always.”

Jason shook his head. “No way. I don’t. Chris is… attentive. He reads every twitch, every breath. It’s an art.” He shrugged. “Mine’s a sport. Different purposes.”

I winked at him and gave a small nod. God, I loved him.

“Next question for Jason,” I said quickly.

“Whose cum tastes best?”

“Oh, come on,” Jason protested, though he was already grinning.

“Answer it,” Max said. “I’m curious too.”

Jason looked at me, then at Max. “You’re both really going to make me answer this?”

“Yes,” we said together.

“Fine. Max’s cum is… thicker. More intense. It’s like a punch of flavor—salty and masculine and overwhelming. Chris’s is sweeter. Easier to swallow. I could drink it all day.”

“And you, Max?” I asked. “You tasted both of us tonight.”

Max’s hand squeezed my hip. “Chris, you taste like you look—clean, almost sweet. It’s addictive. I can see why Jason wants it all the time.”

He paused.

“Jason’s is more bitter. More aggressive. It suits him. And watching him cum in your mouth, Chris, then licking it out… fuck, that was hot.”

My cock twitched immediately, clearly interested in another round.

“Alright,” I said. “Next question. Who had the biggest load tonight?”

Max laughed, a deep rumble. “Jesus, Chris.”

“Answer it.”

Jason thought about it. “Biggest load? Max. When he finally came after I’d been edging him, it was fucking everywhere. I’ve never seen him cum that much.”

“Agreed,” Max said, flushing slightly. “I thought I was going to pass out.” He glanced toward Jason. “When you were pounding my prostate and told me to cum… it wasn’t just physical. It felt like my soul was shooting out my dick.”

Jason grinned.

“But farthest?” Max added. “That was you, Jason. When Chris was sucking you and you pulled out at the last second—you hit his chest, his face… I think some landed in his hair.”

I laughed at the memory. “It did. I was finding it for ten minutes afterward.”

“What’s your ruling, referee?” Jason asked me.

“Max definitely had the biggest load,” I said. “But Jason shot the farthest.

Although…” I grinned. “I think I might’ve had the most orgasms tonight. Does that count?”

“Show-off,” Max muttered.

“If you’ve got it…”

“You also came in more places,” Jason said dryly. “We’re going to need to clean the carpet.”

“Next question,” Max said eagerly. “Who’s louder in bed—Jason or me?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” I said immediately. “Jason.”

“I am not,” Jason protested.

“You absolutely are,” Max and I said together.

Jason groaned.

“Max growls,” I explained. “Grunts. Gives orders. But Jason moans and gasps and says my name like it’s a prayer.”

Jason buried his face in a pillow.

“But you make the best sounds,” Max said quietly to him. “Those little gasps and groans that go straight to my cock.”

Jason stayed under the pillow. “Next question. Whose nipples are most sensitive?”

I groaned immediately. “Mine. Okay? Mine are ridiculous.”

Jason’s fingers instantly found one, circling it lightly.

“Very aware,” he murmured.

Max’s hand joined his.

“It’s hot how responsive you are,” Max said.

I squirmed helplessly between them.

“Okay, okay. Moving on. Who gives the best rim job?”

“You do,” they both said instantly.

I grinned. “Not a talent people expect from a bottom.”

“Among other talents,” Jason said.

Max stretched slightly. “Alright. Hottest moment tonight.”

“You first,” Jason said.

Max thought for a moment.

“When you declared the tie,” he said, glancing at me.

I blinked. “That?”

“It was the acknowledgment,” he said quietly. “The validation. The fight was real. And it was seen.”

Jason nodded slowly.

“For me,” Jason said, “it was when I had Max on his back, his legs over my shoulders, and I could watch his face while I fucked him.”

Max went very still.

“Hearing his voice when he said please,”

Jason added softly. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Max swallowed.

“And when Jason fucked me,” he said after a moment. “When he pushed inside and told me I was his. I’ve dominated him for months. But in that moment…” He exhaled. “He owned me.”

Jason’s hand found his across my chest.

“My turn,” Max said, turning to me. “Chris. Hottest moment for you.”

I took a breath.

“When you two forgot about me. Just for a moment. You were locked together, fighting for dominance, completely consumed by each other. It felt like watching something sacred. And knowing I helped create that moment…”

Jason squeezed my shoulder.

“That’s when I was hardest,” I finished.

Max chuckled softly. “Hidden kink.
Something you’ve never admitted.”

Jason laughed awkwardly. “I like getting my feet worshipped.”

I immediately leaned down and kissed his foot.

“And I love worshipping them,” I said happily.

“What about you?” Jason asked Max.

Max’s grin turned wicked. “Being watched. I like to perform. I’d really like you to watch me while I fuck your entire team in front of you in your locker room.”

Jason snorted. “That’s hot. But I’ve got a better idea. My whole team surrounds you in a circle jerk and cums all over your face.”

Max actually went speechless.

“Don’t worry, Max,” I said cheerfully. “I’m sure Jason will let you make a substitution.”

“Are you volunteering?” Max asked.

“Fuck yeah. Especially if you both join in.”

There was a pause after that, the energy settling into something softer.

Jason looked at me thoughtfully. “Alright, Chris. Hard one.”

I groaned. “That’s never good.”

“When you were refereeing earlier,” he said, “when you were just watching us… what were you feeling? Not thinking. Feeling.”

I closed my eyes for a second, remembering it.

“Power,” I said slowly. “A deep, quiet, thrumming power. And pride. Like I’d brought two magnificent, feral things together and they were doing something beautiful and brutal for me.” I opened my eyes. “It was… possessive.”

Max let out a low whistle. “Damn, Chris.”

“My turn,” Max said after a moment. “Who surprised you most tonight?”

Jason and I answered at the same time.
“You.”

Max blinked. “Me?”

Jason nodded. “The way you surrendered. The way you let me in—not just physically, but emotionally. I’ve known you for years, Max. I’ve never seen you that vulnerable.”
“And the way you begged,” I added softly. “Not just for more, but the way you asked for what you needed. That was beautiful.”
Max was quiet for a moment.

Then he looked at me again. “Alright. Chris. Between me and Jason—who’s the best fuck?”

“That’s evil,” I said.

“That’s the game.”

I considered the question seriously.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” I said finally. “It’s not about who’s best. It’s about what each of you gives me.”

“Explain,” Max said.

“Jason knows my body better than I know it myself. He can make me cum in five minutes or edge me for an hour. He knows exactly what I need before I need it. Sex with Jason is like… coming home. Comfortable and intense and perfect.”

Jason squeezed my hand.

“And Max,” I continued, “you push me past my limits. You make me take more than I think I can handle. You challenge me, dominate me, make me prove myself. Sex with Max is like jumping off a cliff. Terrifying and exhilarating and addictive.”

“And together?” Jason asked softly.

“Together you’re everything,” I said. “The comfort and the challenge. The familiar and the new. The love and the lust. I don’t want to choose between you because I don’t have to. You give me different things. I need both.”

The silence that followed was thick with emotion.

Jason finally broke it with a grin. “Okay. If you woke up tomorrow morning hard and horny and could only wake up one of us to help you out, who would you choose?”

“Nice try,” I said. “I’d wake both of you.”

Max laughed.

Jason shook his head. “Diplomat.”

“I am a diplomat,” I said. “It’s my job to keep you two from killing each other.”

“Or fucking each other?” Max asked.

“Oh hell no,” I said, pushing them toward each other. “I want to see a lot more of that.”

Jason started laughing first—not mockingly, but warmly, genuinely. I joined in, and then Max too, the three of us laughing in the dim light, the tension breaking into something lighter and real.

“You two are so fucking competitive,” I said.

“It’s not a competition,” Jason protested, still grinning.

“It’s absolutely a competition,” Max said. “And I’m winning.”

“You wish,” Jason shot back.

I shook my head, smiling. “See? This is what I mean.”

“You two think your competition is all about winning or conquering.” I glanced between them. “But that’s not really it.”

Max and Jason looked at each other, quizzical.

“You give each other the one challenge nobody else can. Someone who can match you. Push you. Force you to your limit.”

I looked between them.

“Not just on the field. Not just here.”

“You push each other to the point where control doesn’t matter anymore.”

“And somehow… neither of you breaks.”
I smiled slightly.
“You just come back stronger. And more dangerous to each other.”

I looked straight at Jason.

“You needed someone strong enough to surrender to without losing yourself.”

Then I locked eyes with Max.

“And you needed someone who could take what you give and give it right back.”

Max’s face grew softer. He cupped my face with one hand, then reached across me to touch Jason’s shoulder.

“You two taught me a few things tonight,” he said quietly. “You upped the game in ways I didn’t expect.”

His voice dropped, gaining an edge of confidence mixed with tenderness.

“But it’s still a competition. Now I know what you can take. And what it does to you.”

“The next move will be mine, guys. And it will blow your mind.”

The promise hung in the air between us.

Jason was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, looked Max in the eyes and . . . suddenly playfully smacked Max in the ass.

“Bring it on, Max. Whatever you’ve got, we can take it.”

For a second the two of them just looked at each other, that familiar spark snapping back to life between them—challenge, pride, hunger.

Then Jason leaned down, kissing me.

“And Chris,” he added with a grin, “you’re not getting out of this either. You started this whole thing. You’re right in the middle of it.”

Then Jason suddenly stood up.

“But here’s the thing, guys,” he said. “The game didn’t end tonight. We just figured out how it’s played.”

He looked at both of us, that competitive spark blazing again.

“Now we start keeping score.”

Please check out my Substack for more information on the future of Jason, Max and Chris — and for news on other stories I am working on. Damon Redbook | Substack

MAX’S CHOICE

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(THIS CHAPTER IS TOLD FROM MAX’S POV)

“So what are you feeling now, Max? What do you want to happen now?”

The question hung in the air above me. I was naked, kneeling on his living room floor, and I couldn’t make my mouth work. The words were there—yes, no, fuck you, I don’t know—but they all felt wrong. Too simple. Too complicated. Not true enough.

My knees hurt against the hardwood. I could feel sweat cooling on my back. My dick rock hard and leaking precum, despite everything, or maybe because of everything, and there was nowhere to hide that fact. Jason stood over me, still fully dressed, waiting. Chris leaned against the wall to my right, arms crossed, watching.

“I—” I started, then stopped. Tried again. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Chris said quietly. He was rubbing the bulge in his crotch. “You know exactly what you want. You’re just afraid to say it.”

My jaw clenched. He was right, the bastard. I did know. I’d known since I walked through Jason’s door tonight, maybe longer. But saying it out loud meant admitting something I’d spent months denying, and the words felt like they’d choke me on the way out.

“The terms of the bet, Max. Total honesty. So, how does it feel?” Chris asked. “Right now. Kneeling there.”

I wanted to tell him to fuck off. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to find an honest answer. My heart was pounding. My skin felt too tight. There was a knot in my stomach that was equal parts dread and anticipation, and underneath all of it – underneath the fear and the resistance and the voice in my head screaming that this was not something I did – there was want. Raw and undeniable.

“Uncomfortable,” I said finally. The word came out rough. “Unfamiliar and uncomfortable.”

“What else?”

I opened my eyes and looked up at Jason. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything since asking the question. Just stood there, solid and patient, like he had all the time in the world. The cut above his eyebrow from our match stood out against his skin. I’d put that there. And now I was on my knees in front of him.

“Hot,” I admitted. “It feels... fuck. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Chris said. “The way you are feeling right now, Max. What does it make you want?”

Jason’s crotch was just inches from my face. His cock tenting his pants, straining for release. It made me feel . . . hungry. But I couldn’t manage to say that out loud.

The silence stretched. I could hear my own breathing, too fast and shallow. My knees ached. My cock was so hard it hurt, and I hated that they could both see it, hated that my body was betraying exactly how much I wanted this.

Chris bent down, speaking softly into my ear: “Do you want Jason to touch you, Max?”

Fuck. The question hit like a fist to the gut. I wanted to deflect, to turn it into something cutting, but the honesty rule sat over everything like a binding contract. I closed my eyes, trying to find the truth underneath the noise in my head.

I could manage only a single syllable.

“Fuck.”

When I opened my eyes, I looked at Jason and let myself fully feel it. The ache in my knees. The heat in my face. The exposure. And underneath—the arousal I’d been trying to ignore, the tightness in my chest, the hyperawareness of Jason’s proximity that made my skin electric.

Jason’s eyes dropped briefly, taking me in, all of me, from my cock back to my face. No mockery. Just intensity. He reached out slowly and placed his hand on the side of my face. His palm was warm and rough, and the contact sent a jolt through my entire system.

“How does that feel?” he asked quietly.

I couldn’t breathe right. His hand on my face was doing something to me, unraveling something I’d kept wound tight for years. My cock was so hard it was twitching in the air, dripping precum onto the floor. Some part of me felt humiliated by that. But the larger part recognized it for what it was: desire.

“Like I’m losing my mind,” I said roughly. “Like everything I thought I knew is wrong.”

Jason’s thumb brushed across my cheekbone. “Or maybe you’re just learning something new.”

His thumb traced my jawline, and without thinking, I leaned into it. When his thumb reached the corner of my mouth, I opened slightly and drew it inside, closing my lips around it. The taste of his skin, the salt and warmth of him, made my head spin. I sucked gently, and I felt Jason’s breath catch. His other hand tightened in my hair, and the intensity of his focus on me—the way he was watching my mouth work around his thumb—sent heat flooding through my entire body.

When he finally pulled his thumb away, I was trembling.

Chris spoke again. “Do you want more, Max?”

I just nodded. I couldn’t break eye contact with Jason. He was seeing me, and I could not look away.

“Honesty rule, Max,” Chris continued. “What do you want right now. Really want?”

My breath hitched.

“I want you, Jason. I want you.”

The words hung there, heavier than anything I’d said all night.

For a second, nothing moved. Not Jason. Not Chris. Not me.

I felt it then—the edge of it. The point where I could still pull back, still turn this into something familiar. A joke. A fight. A refusal.

I didn’t move.

And when the moment passed, I was still there. Still on my knees. Still choosing it.

Jason held my gaze for a long moment. Then he straightened up, standing over me. His hands moved to the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it up slowly, revealing skin inch by inch—the cut of his abs, the breadth of his chest, the bruise blooming dark purple along his ribs from our match. When he got the shirt over his head, he let it fall to the floor and just stood there, letting me look.

I’d seen him shirtless before. Locker rooms. The field. During sex. But this was different. This was for me. The light caught the planes of his chest and stomach, highlighting muscle earned through years of training. I wanted to put my mouth on that bruise.

“What do you see?” Chris asked.

“He’s...” I struggled for words. “Fuck. He’s beautiful.”

“Touch him.”

I placed my hands on Jason’s hips, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight flex of muscle as he shifted his weight. My thumbs traced the line where his jeans sat low on his hips.

“Do you want to see more?” Chris asked.

“Yes.”

Jason’s hand came to rest on top of my head, not pushing, just holding. “Unbuckle my belt.”

My fingers fumbled with the buckle, clumsy with nerves and arousal. When I got it open, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops seemed impossibly loud. I looked up at him, waiting.

“Keep going,” he said.

I unbuttoned his jeans, then slowly pulled down the zipper. The sound of it made my mouth go dry. I could see the outline of his dick through his boxer briefs, hard and straining against the fabric. The knowledge that he wanted this too made something crack open in my chest.

“Pull them down,” Chris said. “Slowly.”

I hooked my fingers in the waistband of Jason’s jeans and boxer briefs together, pulling them down over his hips. His dick sprang free, thick and hard, and I couldn’t look away. I pulled the fabric down his thighs, past his knees, and he stepped out of them, and then removed his socks. Now he was completely naked, standing over me, and I was still on my knees looking up at him.

“Stand up,” Jason said.

I pushed myself to my feet, unsteady. Jason stepped closer and cupped my face in his hands. For a moment he just looked at me—really looked at me—and then he kissed me. It wasn’t tentative or testing. It was deep and claiming, his tongue in my mouth, his hands firm on my jaw, and I felt the full weight of what this meant pressing down on me. When he pulled back, I was breathless.

“What are you thinking right now?” Chris asked quietly.

I swallowed hard. “That I want more.”

Chris moved behind me, his body close but not quite touching. He guided my hips forward, positioning me against Jason. Our dicks aligned, pressing together, and the sensation made me gasp. Chris’s hands stayed on my hips, steady, controlling the angle and depth of contact. Jason grunted, his hands found my shoulders, and we stood there like that—me caught between them, the friction building, the intensity of it almost unbearable.

“Breathe,” Chris murmured against my ear. “Feel it.”

Jason’s eyes never left mine. I could feel him hard against me, could feel the slight movement as Chris guided us together, and it was intimate in a way I hadn’t expected—not just physical but something deeper. The vulnerability of standing naked between them, of being held and guided and seen.

I remembered how I fucked Jason -- fiercely, furiously, focused on only how it felt. I made him cum because it turned me on, not because I was trying to make him feel good.

I looked Jason in the eyes, gently backed him into the sofa, and then I knelt - again. I wanted to bring him pleasure.

I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to Jason’s hip bone, just a kiss, testing. His skin was warm and tasted like salt. I heard him inhale sharply, and the sound sent a thrill through me. I kissed my way across his lower abdomen, mapping the terrain with my lips, learning the geography of him.

I found the bruise on his ribs and kissed it gently. An apology. An acknowledgment. I worked my way up his chest, tasting skin and sweat, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. When I reached his collarbone, I used my tongue, and Jason’s hand tightened in my hair.

“That’s it,” Chris murmured.

I kissed down Jason’s sternum, across his pecs, finding his nipple and circling it with my tongue. Jason made a sound low in his throat, and I did it again, harder this time. His dick was pressed against my chest, hot and hard, and I could feel it twitch with each touch.

I worked my way back down, kissing and licking, using my hands to explore what my mouth couldn’t reach. The solid muscle of his thighs. The curve of his hips. The sharp cut of his hip bones. I was learning him, memorizing him, and with each touch I felt something in me loosening, some tightly wound thing finally letting go.

When I reached his cock, I paused, looking up at him. His eyes were dark with want, his breathing rough. I wrapped my hand around the base and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the tip. Jason’s hips jerked slightly, and I felt a surge of power—I could affect him. My touch mattered.

I sank lower, moving down his legs until I reached his feet. I’d never thought about feet as intimate before, but kneeling in front of Jason’s, I understood. They were vulnerable—the arch, the delicate bones, the way his toes flexed slightly as I approached. I lifted his right foot gently, cradling it in my hands like it was something precious.

I kissed the top of his foot, then the inside of his arch. The skin there was softer than I expected, and when I pressed my lips to it, Jason’s breath hitched. I took his big toe into my mouth and sucked gently. His hand found my hair again, and I felt him trembling slightly.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

When I finally worked my way back up, kissing the inside of his calves, the back of his thighs, I was moving with purpose now. I knew what I was building toward, but I wasn’t rushing, my hands and mouth mapping the terrain I’d already learned but discovering it anew with each touch.

I took his cock into my mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the taste of him, the way his hand tightened in my hair. His cock was not as big as mine, but his 7 inches were plenty thick, and tasted like something I had been missing. I worked him with my mouth and hand together, finding a rhythm, paying attention to what made his breathing change, what made his fingers flex against my scalp.

Somewhere in the background, I was aware of Chris moving. The sound of fabric. When I glanced to the side, I saw him unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off. His chest was leaner than Jason’s, more defined, and I felt a fresh wave of want crash over me.

I pulled off Jason’s dick and turned my attention to Chris, who had moved closer. His pants were still on but unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips. I reached for him, and he let me pull him forward until he was standing beside Jason. Chris finished undressing while I worked Jason’s cock with my mouth, and then they were both naked, both hard,

My hands gripped Jason’s thighs as I took him deeper, my tongue working his shaft. Chris’s cock pressed against my lips, and I turned my head to take him in, my mouth stretching to accommodate them both. The sensation was overwhelming, the taste of them mingling on my tongue.

I glanced up, catching Jason’s eyes. His gaze was dark, intense, and it sent a shiver down my spine. This was the man I’d once dominated, the man I’d tried to break. And now he was towering over me, his hand gripping my hair, guiding my movements. The power I’d once held over him was gone, replaced by something deeper, something I couldn’t name but desperately craved.

“Keep going,” Chris said. “Worship us both.”

Chris’s hand found my shoulder, steadying me as I shifted between them. “Good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and approving. The words hit me like a punch to the gut, flooding me with a sense of pride I hadn’t expected. I wanted to earn that praise, wanted to prove I could do this as well as I’d done anything else.

I moved between them, using my hands and mouth on both, learning what made Chris’s breath catch, what made Jason groan. As my mouth moved between Jason and Chris, I thought of how dramatically our dynamic has shifted. Just hours ago, I was Jason’s fierce rival. The one who cucked him, who fucked Chris in front of him, who owned them both in every way that mattered. I was the dominant force, the one who claimed them, who made them submit to my will.

And now? Now I was on my knees, servicing them both. I couldn’t get enough of their cocks. I was fucking loving it.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d been so sure of my power back then, so confident in my control. I’d thought submitting would make Jason weak, but instead, it had made him stronger. And now, here I was, willingly surrendering to him, and to Chris. The dynamic had turned inside out, but it felt right.

Time blurred. I was aware of nothing but sensation—the taste of skin, the sound of breathing, the heat building between the three of us. My own dick was aching, straining, but I ignored it. This wasn’t about my pleasure. This was about pleasing them. And about proving something to myself. And to Jason.

Then Chris pulled his cock from my mouth.

For a moment I thought he was just shifting his weight, or going back to watching and guiding our movements But instead he lowered himself to the floor beside me. Kneeling.

The movement caught me off guard so completely that I paused, and let go of Jason’s cock. Chris settled onto his knees next to me, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned forward.

His hand came to rest on Jason’s hip. Then he bent his head and pressed his mouth to Jason’s stomach. For a second I just stared, sitting back on my ankles. Was he ending this now, taking Jason back?

And then he winked, reached for my arm, and guided me back to Jason, my mouth finding his skin again. He wasn’t claiming Jason from me. He was sharing him with me.

Jason’s hands came down, one threading into Chris’s hair, the other gripping mine. His fingers tightened in our hair as Chris and I worked together, trading space and rhythm without speaking.I could hear the soft sound of Chris kissing Jason’s skin, the low hum of approval that came from Jason’s throat. We were moving in tandem now, our bodies synchronized, each of us focused on giving Jason as much pleasure as possible..

We licked Jason’s cock, our tongues wrapping together and meeting in the hint of a kiss. The taste of him was salty, heady, and I felt a rush of heat surge through me as Chris’s tongue brushed against mine. For a moment, we were connected—not just to Jason, but to each other—in a way that made my chest ache with something deeper than arousal. I suckled Jason’s heavy balls as Chris stroked his cock, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes that drew moans from Jason’s lips.

Chris paused, his hand stilling for a moment, and leaned closer to me. “Switch,” he whispered, his voice rough. I didn’t hesitate. I shifted higher, taking Jason’s cock into my mouth while Chris moved lower, his tongue teasing Jason’s balls in a way that made him swear under his breath. I worked Jason’s shaft with my mouth, my hand cradling the base, and felt him pulse against my tongue. The weight of him, the way he filled my mouth, was intoxicating—and the knowledge that Chris was working alongside me only heightened the intensity. Jason’s hands guided us, alternating between pushing me lower and pulling Chris closer, and I surrendered to his control completely. This was our dynamic now—not competition, but collaboration. And it was perfect.

Chris moved to Jason’s chest. His breath hitched as Chris’s mouth closed over his nipple, his tongue flicking and teeth grazing just enough to make his hips jerk. Meanwhile, I took Jason’s cock deep into my throat, my nose pressing against his groin as I swallowed him whole. The combination of sensations ripped a guttural groan from Jason, his hands tightening in my hair and on Chris’s shoulder like he might fall apart if he let go. His body trembled, sweat glistening on his skin as he fought the edge of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. His balls were tight, and I felt a rush of pride that I was getting him close to climax.

Chris pulled back slightly, his voice rough but steady. “Stop,” he said, and it took me a second to realize he was talking to me. Reluctantly, I pulled off Jason’s cock with a wet pop, leaving him gasping, his thighs quivering. His cock twitched, slick with saliva and precum, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” Jason rasped, his voice barely audible. His eyes were dark, unfocused, and his hands were still clenched tight—one in my hair and the other gripping Chris’s arm. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and I could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself together by sheer willpower. The sight of him—his strength unraveled, his control on the brink—sent a shiver of arousal through me. He looked wrecked, sweat dripping down his temples, his body taut with unspent need.

“Not yet,” Chris murmured, his tone low and commanding. Jason groaned, his head falling back against the sofa as he nodded weakly.

Chris leans in toward me. Then his hand turns my head. And suddenly he’s kissing me.

I freeze for half a second—then the heat hits, sharp and electric. His mouth is warm, insistent, tasting of Jason, of everything we’re doing. It sends something through me, something deeper than arousal. I kiss him back without hesitation, hungry, my hand coming up to hold his jaw, pulling him closer.

When we break apart, I’m breathing hard. He looks me in the eye, and arches an eyebrow, looking for a sign.

Everything feels louder, closer, more intense. Nothing makes sense, but everything feels right.

Chris looks at Jason, his voice rough. “I think he’s ready, Jase.”

Jason steps in close again. Not touching at first. Just there, right in front of me.

“Are you ready for more, Max?”

I look up at him.

There’s still a part of me that wants to push back. Turn it into something else. Something easier.

I ignore it.

I don’t make him ask again.

More to cum . . . Next: how far will Max go?

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CHAPTER 34 - MAX ON HIS KNEES

Narrated by Jason

The silence in our apartment is thicker than the stadium mud.

Max stands in the doorway, statue-still, built of shadows and stubbornness, his eyes flicking between me and Chris. The hallway light behind him cuts his face in half, all hard lines and darker edges. He hasn’t spoken since I opened the door.

He is waiting.

I feel the weight of that silence pressing against my chest. I’d played this moment a dozen times in my head during the drive home, tried out lines, even imagined feeling cool and in control—but now Max is actually standing here, and all that practice feels useless.

Chris is next to me, calm and steady as ever.

“Come in,” I say.

Max steps inside, moving like he does onto the field before kickoff—deliberate, all control. He doesn’t look around our place; his attention stays locked on us.

The door clicks shut behind him.

I turn and lead the way to the living room. “Follow me.”

He does.

I stop near the center of the rug, turning to face him. Chris flanks us, just off to my right, eyes watchful. My palms are slick and my breath feels shallow, but I keep my shoulders square, refusing to be the first to look away.

None of us speak.

“You know why you’re here,” I finally say, quiet but not uncertain.

Max’s mouth barely moves. “Because you asked.”

Chris cuts in, voice calm as always. “No. Because you lost.”

Max’s gaze flickers, a tiny flash.

“The game,” Chris pushes. “And the wager.”

Max inhales through his nose, jaw tight. I can see the fight in him, the part that hates giving even an inch. But, underneath all that, I can also see what makes him Max—a kind of ruthless, steel-trap honor.

He speaks, voice rough:

“I lost. The game. The wager. I’m here.”

I feel something sharp go through me—satisfaction, sure, but sharper than that, more complicated. The air seems to vibrate between my legs, my cock thickening every time I look at Max’s strong hands clenched at his sides.

“Good,” I say, pointing at the open space on the hardwood.
“Kneel.”

He freezes.

His shoulders tense. His jaw locks. “You’re serious.”

I don’t blink. “You agreed.”

Chris steps closer, his voice firm but calm. “You agreed to kneel, Max. And you agreed to strip.”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. His fingers move methodically, peeling off his jersey first, revealing the broad, muscular expanse of his chest...

Next come his boots, unlaced and kicked off with a sharp motion. His socks follow, tossed aside carelessly. His hands move to his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a slow, deliberate pull. The metallic clink of the buckle echoes in the silence. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before unbuttoning his shorts and letting them fall to his ankles.

Max stands there in nothing but his briefs for a moment, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. His body is a testament to years of discipline—every muscle defined, every line carved with precision. His thighs are thick and powerful, his hands still clenched at his sides as if holding onto the last shred of his pride.

Chris watches him carefully, his gaze steady. “All of it, Max.”

Max’s eyes flick to mine, dark and unreadable. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and pushes them down, stepping out of them with a single, fluid motion. He is naked now, completely exposed, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. He doesn’t try to cover himself, doesn’t look away.

“There,” he says, voice rough but steady. “Happy?”

He stands there naked, jaw tight, still refusing to move.

“Kneel,” I repeat curtly.

There is a beat where I think he might bolt, pride overriding everything. The silence stretches tight between us. But then he lets out a tight breath and lowers himself, one knee then the other, settling back on his heels—spine straight, fists tight, eyes up.

Max is kneeling. For me.

Stripped of every layer, every defense, his body a raw testament to the honesty we’d demanded. His gaze locks onto mine, and I feel the heat of his stare like a brand.

The room seems to pulse with tension, the air thick with unspoken words and the promise of what is to come.

Chris steps back, his voice low. “Now we proceed.”

Max’s eyes slide to him.

“The honesty rule,” Chris reminds him.

A muscle jumps in Max’s jaw.

“You remember it,” Chris says.

He gives a curt nod.

“No masks. No bravado. No pretending.”

I watch the words land, see Max’s fists flex on his thighs, tension radiating from him like heat off asphalt.

Chris takes another step, eyes level with Max’s.

“You’re kneeling for Jason right now.”

Max doesn’t answer.

“So I’m going to ask you something. And because of the wager, you’re going to answer honestly.”

Max’s fists tighten on his thighs.

“Do you feel anything,” Chris asks, “being down there?”

Max’s lip curl. “What kind of question is that?”

“The honest kind.”

He looks away, jaw clenched.

Chris waits, patient in the silence.

Finally Max lets out a breath.

“It’s humiliating.”

“That’s part of it,” Chris says. “But that’s not what I asked.”

Max’s eyes are hard as flint.

“Does any part of you like it?”

The question drops like a weight.

My pulse kicks up. My body feels powerful and alive, my cock thickening at the sight of Max—this man I’d fought so long—kneeling for me.

Max just stares at the floor, not answering, letting the fridge hum fill the space.

Then, low and flat: “No.”

Chris tips his head, unconvinced.

“That wasn’t honest.”

Max’s head snaps up, eyes flashing. “You think you know what’s in my head?”

“If the answer was really no, you’d have said it faster.”

Max goes still. I watch his whole body tense, the struggle playing out in every muscle.

Chris waits him out.

“Max,” he says, quietly. “Look where you are.”

Max’s eyes find me—then drop to my hips, and back up. He is still kneeling.

Chris’s voice is gentler now, but the words have teeth.

“You’re a man who lives for control. Built your whole identity around it—on the field, off it. Proving you’re stronger.”

Max’s mouth is a hard line.

“So I’m asking you something simple,” Chris says. “Does it do anything for you—being the one who isn’t in control?”

Max’s breathing slows.

I think he’ll just shut down, wall up, but instead he closes his eyes for a second.

When he opens them, something behind them had shifted. The defiance is still there, but something else breaks the surface.

“…Yes,” he said finally.

He doesn’t look away from me, but the word looks heavy in his mouth.

It is quiet, but it hits like thunder.

A chill sweeps through me. I feel my cock, half-hard already, twitch in my jeans. I step a little closer, drawn by the sight of him kneeling for me, my body alive with equal parts satisfaction and hunger.

Chris nods, maybe a little proud. “Thank you.”

Max laughs—short, rough, almost bitter. “You enjoying this?” he throws at me.

I think about it, honestly. My body is buzzing, my palms damp, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest. I want to reach out and touch him, to see what it would feel like to run my hands through his hair and hold him just like this. But my own pulse is pounding with the sense of what might be happening..

“I don’t know yet,” I say.

I step a little closer. Max stares up at me.

“During the ceremony, when I reminded you you had to kneel—what were you feeling?” I ask, voice low.

His eyes flash. “Anger.”

“What else, Max?” Chris presses. “What was your body feeling?”

Max doesn’t answer, staring hard at the wall.

“Remember the honesty rule.”

A long silence.

Chris: “Was your cock getting hard?”

Holy shit. Chris is going there. My pulse spikes, and I can see Max’s do the same—his throat bobbing, his fists clenching a little tighter, a flush rising on his neck. His cock begins to stir.

Chris: “Did the idea of kneeling for Jason start to make you hard, Max?”

Max blinks, quick, like he wants to wish this whole night away. His cock is semi-hard now, twitching and getting even bigger.

“Yes.”

Holy fuck.

Max’s eyes hit the floor. Chris looks at me, reading my face, as if asking if I am ready for what comes next. I flex my fingers at my side, fighting the urge to adjust the growing bulge in my jeans.

“You watched Jason the entire game tonight,” Chris says.

Max looks up, a flicker of surprise—or is it relief at the change of subject?

“Every time play stopped, scrums, line-outs, breaks—you were watching him.”

Max doesn’t answer.

Chris folds his arms, relentless. “So let’s keep being honest.”

My heart thuds. I know what is coming.

“Tell us what you were thinking out there.”

Max’s jaw goes rigid. “That’s none of your—”

Chris cuts him off: “You agreed to honesty.”

Silence.

Finally, Max speaks, staring at the floor.

“The first scrum.” He says it quietly. “Our heads were right next to each other. I could smell you. Sweat, grass, blood.”

I remember it—the hit, the bright sting on my eyebrow.

“At the time,” he says, “I told myself I was just thinking about the match.”

He half-smiles, bitter. “That wasn’t all of it.”

Chris waits.

Max looks up, eyes on me.

“I was thinking about pinning you,” he says. “Holding you down the same way. Not for the win. Just to see you fight.”

Heat creeps up my neck.

Max’s voice roughens. “You were fighting the whole time. Pushing back—that made it worse.”

“Worse?” Chris repeats.

Max glances at him. “You don’t get it. The way he plays. He refuses to back down.”

He looks at me again. “It makes you want to break him.”

The room gets even tighter.

I notice Max’s cock is now at full attention. It looks like rigid steel. I swallow. “What about when I got cut?”

His gaze moves to my eyebrow.

“You wiped the blood and kept playing,” he says, voice low. “You looked… dangerous.”

I blink. “Dangerous?”

He nods. “Like you were enjoying the fight.”

Chris’s eyes are sharp now, watching every twitch in Max’s jaw.

“And that turned you on,” he says.

Max hesitates, then nods again.

I let out a breath. I can see him move his hand toward his cock.

“Don’t touch yourself, Max” Chris whispers, rubbing the impressive bulge in his pants. “Not yet.”

My own cock is aching, straining for release. Max is looking directly at my crotch. The air in the room is electric.

“What about the try?” I ask.

Max’s shoulders tense, and for the first time since kneeling, he looks away.

“That pissed me off,” he admits.

I remember it perfectly—breaking through, diving across the line, crowd roaring.

“You beat me,” he says, voice tight. “And all I could think was you were going to pay for it later.”

Chris: “How?”

Max pauses, visibly struggling.

Chris: “Honesty.”

Max closes his eyes, then says, “When the game ended, I was already imagining what I’d do after.”

My stomach twists.

Chris’s voice was gentle now. “And now?”

Max’s eyes open, fixed on me. “Now I’m imagining something different.”

Neither of us speak.

Max shifts on his knees, tension radiating off him.

I can feel my breath come faster, a hot, nervous pressure building low in my stomach. My own voice comes out rough, almost shaky. “Max… was it always about you being on top?”

He blinks, thrown by the question, and looks up at me, wary. “What?”

I swallow. “During the game. Was it only about dominating me, or… did you ever think about me doing something to you?”

Chris’s gaze sharpens, interested. The room seems to tilt.

Max holds my stare, his jaw working. “You mean… what?”

I swallow again. “Like, did you ever think about what it’d be like if I put you on your back? If I tackled you, and… maybe held you down? Pinned you? Fucked you?”

The question hangs there, hot and rough and honest.

Max’s breath catches. He looks away, then back at me, and for the first time I see uncertainty in him—a flash of something raw and unguarded.

“There was a play,” he mutters, voice rough. “You hit me—hard. I went down, and you landed on top. For a second I thought you were going to… grind down, shove my face in the mud, pin my hips so I couldn’t move.” His cheeks flush, his fists flexing on his thighs. “I had this flash… of what it’d be like if you just… took it. If you, not me, were in control. If you fucked me.”

He looks up, and his eyes are wild, shining with shame and something darker.

“I hated it,” he whispers. “But I wanted it too.”

A long silence, thick with something potential.

I crouch in front of him, close enough to see the sweat shining at his hairline, and the precum pooling at the tip of that massive cock.

“You know what’s funny, Max?” I say, voice low and even. “You thought fucking me would break me. That I’d carry that submission with me onto the pitch. But that’s not what happened, is it?”

He shakes his head, defiant—still needing the answer.

I hold his gaze, my heart pounding. “Submitting isn’t losing. Not out there. The best player isn’t the one who never gets hit. Anyone can run until they get flattened. The real test is the one who takes the hit, gets knocked down, and gets back up—again and again.”

Max’s jaw flexes, his breathing shaky.

“Sometimes,” I say, “the one who takes the hardest hit is the one who gives it back just as hard.”

There is a spark in his eyes now. A challenge.

“Or even harder,” I say.

Chris leans in, his voice a low growl. “You always want to beat Jason at everything he does, don’t you, Max. You want to know if you can do what he can?”

Max says nothing, eyeing me like he does on the rugby pitch.

Chris: “So what are you feeling now, Max? What do you want to happen now?”

Max doesn’t answer right away.

His fists unclench on his thighs. Slowly, deliberately, he rolls his shoulders back, like a man resetting his stance before a hit. His cock bounces in the air as his body moves.

I repeat the question. “What do you want to happen now?”

His eyes lift to mine. The anger is still there. But underneath it now is something else.

Max’s answer doesn’t come—not yet. He just holds my gaze. And the longer he thinks about it … the harder it is to breathe.

More to cum . . . Next: Max’s Choice

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