Pull out your diagrams and organizational charts. Axel is Drew’s number one. I’m number two to Drew. He’s my number two, and my teen is my number one. I suppose I’m not really anybody’s number one, though I hope I am my teen’s number one, but I am definitely a number two and a number three. It sounds much more confusing than it is but the whole summation of this is that I am quite okay with being the third in this relationship. In fact, I love it.

So there have been questions about what it is like being the person who is the third person in an already committed marriage. It’s different than any other relationship I’ve had before. Drew and Axel just celebrated 23 years together and, within days, it will have been year since I met a man for lunch. A man with a beautiful titanium encased dick and those eyes we have talked about. A man who, at the time, I had no idea I would call Master.

Shortly thereafter I met his husband. His handsome husband with the deep brown hair and equally deep brown eyes that look at you like you can tell him any secret without worry. While I did meet this man while naked and bound by Drew – a gift wrap of sorts for Axel – it felt right and soon I would call him Daddy, as he is just such a Daddy in all the right ways.

This past year, despite everything that is wrong with the world, has been personally been my best one yet. 

What these two have given me is acceptance beyond anything I have ever had before. What they have taught me is that it is okay to be me. I have not one, but two amazing men who are always there for me. As it just so happens, if one isn’t available the other usually is. They have shown me unconditional love. They have given me the gift of knowing that being me, truly me, is fucking amazing. I have two fucking amazing men to share that with.

See, it is perfectly imperfect and far from perfectly smooth.

There was one time I remember when I was deserving of a punishment and Axel was giving me a rubdown on the massage table because that is what Daddy does. Drew wasn’t thrilled.

Then, there was once an issue about where I sit to eat my dinner or how I was dressed (or not) for dinner, once or twice (Axel doesn’t love naked dining).

I still wonder how to introduce them to people. Most wouldn’t understand that this is my Master and my Daddy. Friends, is the word I use for the boring world- which in some way pisses me off these two are so much more than friends. Drew calls me his best friend. I do the same. Luckily in a locked down world we don’t see many people. Ha.

On the other hand, I spent the day with them today. We did some necessary things around the house. Drew and I made the weekend Target and Costco runs. I spent part of the day between the two of them. Spanked, paddled, flogged by both. A mixture of pain and pleasure and the three of us just being who we truly are. That’s a freedom that most people will never experience. It’s incredible sex without actual sex.

My attempt at a more traditional relationship was probably the most miserable I’ve ever been. I got my teen from it, but that’s about all. I think if you knew me before this past year you’d notice the difference these two have made in my life. People have, It is more than just a shiny metal dick and amazing sex. It is the weekend Target runs and discussions about the merits of different toilet tissues. It is the knowing that I am never alone in anything. Ever.

So being the third seems like the best place for me. Drew is the number two best thing that has ever happened to me. Turns out being his number two is way better than being anybody’s number one, in my opinion. 

Being number three is in no way being third place. Trust me.

(Drew has indicated that he is going to post from his side of this soon – so stay tuned).

The discussion started with something like, “I think I need to unlock.”  I felt like I had been kicked in the balls (well, my left ball to be exact), and something just didn’t feel right.  I had dad duties to take care of this afternoon that I was not particularly looking forward to handling, and I tend to handle those situations better, I think, with a locked dick.  Regardless, the last thing I wanted to do was unlock.

I don’t like being unlocked.

After discussion, I was ordered to unlock to check things out, handle the things I needed to handle, and lock back up later that evening- assuming all was well.  I just wanted to take a quick look and see if things were okay.  Honestly, I was a bit disappointed that I was told to wait until later to lock back up.  However, my left nut is a little bit sore, so I know that my Master was right in telling me to do so….not that I questioned it.  I also know that he has my best interest in mind.

So some thoughts about an unlocked dick that I don’t own….

Part of why I like having my cock locked is because that Steelwerks looks so fucking amazing.  I love looking in my pants and seeing that beautiful chunk of shiny titanium.  A boy gets used to that.  In comparison, the dick attached to me seems a bit mediocre and not nearly as shiny.  Even with a shiny barbell protruding from it, it is still quite lackluster.  

Mentally, I don’t like being unlocked without my Master physically close to me. You see, that shiny titanium represents a lot of things to me.  (If you haven’t figured out I’m a bit of a sap, you are about to). Every time I look down and see that shiny metal encasing my dick I’m reminded that I’m unconditionally loved. I’m reminded that I’m owned. I’m reminded that I’m someone’s number two.  I’m reminded how much I love Drew and Axel and how they make me a better man, a better father and just so much better at all aspects of my life. God damn.. I love everything it represents.  I think about those things every single time I see it, feel it, feel this dick pressing against the inside of that tube. In some weird sense, I feel a little like I might be forgotten if there isn’t a cage in my pants and around my dick. Today has been a busy work day for both of us, and I do miss our random throughout the day chats, but those didn’t happen as much today and I know it only has to do with the fact that we both have to actually work and all day everyday can’t possibly a kinky BDSM fest (sorry if that let you down…Santa isn’t real, either). I know that being forgotten because there is no metal around this slave’s dick is the farthest thing from the truth, but it does’t mean that thought didn’t cross my mind.  If he could reach me where I am sitting now, I’m sure I’d get one of the NCIS Gibbs style slaps across the back of my head.

Physically, I don’t know if my dick has always been this sensitive or not. However, I notice every move I make as the liner in my shorts touches my dick or my barbell moves. I mean, it has been a LONG time since I have actually experienced an orgasm (9 months ago today in fact – Dec 25, 2020). The thought crosses my mind, but it quickly dissipated as I laughed, “It isn’t Christmas, duh.  I wouldn’t disappoint my Master like that (part of me wonders what the punishment might entail, but I don’t want to find out).  He knows he can trust me not to break that bond.  More than that, the fact that I can be trusted is better than any possible not allowed orgasm I might ever imagine. Of that, I am absolutely certain. I will be locked back up shortly and my world will be right again. I have a feeling all of those sappy feelings and the shininess of the metal will no doubt make it difficult to shove myself back into that tube, and that makes this pervert smile.  

On of the things I remember reading about before I was a slave and when, at that time, I could never even see myself submitting to a man, was that a slave should never make eye contact with his superior. I always thought that sounded weird but it did make sense, I think. However, as you know, Drew doesn’t think of me as “less than” so, for us, eye contact is actually very important. Let me explain…

As cliché as it may sound, it is said that a person’s eyes are the windows to the soul.  A long time friend has always told me that my eyes are such a dark brown that they are almost black.  Basically, he interpreted that as meaning I was full of shit or maybe demonic.  I’d like to think that if eyes truly are the windows to the soul, my eyes tell a deeper story than that.

On my mental list of super intense swoon-inducing intimate things, looking into someone’s eyes is near the top as one of the most intimate things that a person can do, especially when it comes to Drew.  Yesterday was a very normal day, well as normal as it gets for slave with a locked dick and a plugged hole. My Master and I took care of some around the house repairs while Daddy worked at his office with Saturday patients.  We got the shutters hung back up, the light fixture in the hallway bathroom repaired and a few other miscellaneous items checked off of the weekend chore list.  We washed his car. We planted some things and, then, we trimmed some trees in the back. I was later instructed to choose one of the switches to be used on my unusually not red nor sore ass. I was thrilled. Choosing a switch is something I always remembered from movies when I was growing up or books I read. However, yesterday,  in retrospect, I realize that I knew the the switch I chose would be painful but my eager, straining titanium dick overrode sound logic.  However, it made my Master happy, and I have the still stinging marks to show for what I have decided was either an excellent choice or quite a poor choice.  The jury is still out on that one.

As the day continued and Daddy arrived home from work, we settled in for a little down time.  Usually on days like this, after a spanking, Axel likes to be tender and  nice and usually lets me up on the couch with him so he can help soothe my ass or relax my muscles. Normally, Drew looks somewhat discussed about me being comforted (I am kidding) and sits on the other side of the room with his Master, aka his work Macbook, and just glances at us with a smirk that says the equivalent of “get a room”. Yesterday was different as Drew came and sat with us and the two of them held me while discussing, as if I wasn’t even there, about whether or not having pain and pleasure at the same time was a mindfuck for me. As I spent time with Drew and Axel, my gaze kept returning to my Master’s eyes. This happens often, even in conversation about the most mundane things in our lives. They are beautiful…why any man wouldn’t want to just gaze dreamily into them, I don’t know.  For us, in particular, eye contact conveys many things and serves multiple purposes.  For one, it lets my Master know I am focused on him. At times I can feel a tangible contact when we look into each other’s eyes.  I really fucking feel it.  I see his wheels turning.  They have a certain look to them when he is proud of me, happy with me, impressed by me, or even irritated by me, or, fucking pissed with me, all without saying a single word. I would even go as far as often his expression doesn’t change, but something about his eyes conveys these things. Oh, btw, when he’s hurting me (not harming me), they have a look, too. I know why he is so good with his job because apparently his audiences just watch only his eyes. 

Actually, our eye contact was never part of our rules or requirements, it just became part of all of this that we are and has evolved slightly to have some rules. As a slave, my only rule concerning eye contact is that I must never break eye contact first. I can only think of one time that happened, and I honestly didn’t realize it…my eyes may have been unconsciously rolling into the back of my head – but I paid later. So, our eye contact conveys a range of emotions and feelings.  It holds some sort of tangible feeling across a room at times.  It can even put me into a submissive headspace without even a word.

That eye contact communicates so much without a word.  It encourages me. It tells me I am cared for, and so much more. It helps me to endure some painful times that I wouldn’t otherwise feel I could handle- physically, mentally, and emotionally. I can feel the contact in my body when our eyes meet.  So without any physical touch, I can feel him, communicate with him, and know so much about him.  Our eye contact allows us to be who we truly are unconditionally even out in the boring day to day world.  There may be so much going on around us, but when our eyes meet, the world tends to stop for me.  I can slow things down, process things, be vulnerable to him, and know that I am loved.  

All that, but the absolute most important thing our eye contact tells me is that I am valued, appreciated, and absolutely respected as the slave I have become. I have zero shame in my slavery and, if I every did, there is a pair of bright blue/green eyes to remind me that slavery makes me a special man in the eyes of my Master.

(And did I mention he’s got fucking beautiful eyes?)

Note from Drew: Another post by boy Jack. Stay tuned for some design changes which should eliminate the need for this note.

Who’s a Good Boy? Spoiler alert – it’s me.

I’m sitting here during my supervised (via text, pictures and FaceTime) deep clean and soak of my titanium dick….  I mean, it has to be done for hygienic purposes, unfortunately… my mind wanders a bit.  I forget how how sensitive this flesh dick attached to my body actually is, and I wonder if it always felt this way or not.  Anyway, that is another topic that might require revisiting around Christmas some year.

Back to the supervision during my cleaning.  Is it the supervision really necessary?  Yes and no is the complicated answer to that.  The supervision itself isn’t necessary.  As much as I’d love to have an orgasm that I’m actually conscious of, it isn’t allowed without permission. That is permission that I have not been granted.  You see there is something you might not know about me, but I am a good boy.  My Master tells me that on a regular basis, so I know it to be true.  Regardless of my status of being good or not, the supervision is required because the dick attached to me doesn’t really belong to me.  I mean you wouldn’t let somebody else just do what they pleased with your exotic, one of a kind, sports car would you?  Of course not. This other person just couldn’t possibly treat it the way you would treat it because it doesn’t belong to them.  You might let them take if for a test drive, but I know damn well that you’d be in the passenger seat supervising said test drive, even if you know them to be a “good” person.

There is a connection to being a Good Boy in there somewhere.  Just go with it.  That term, Good Boy, carries a lot of meaning behind it.  I hear that term often when my Master is pleased with me.  I am sure that is no different from any other dom/sub or other such type of arrangement elsewhere.  It is not anything that is necessarily extremely unique or new.  All three of us have a mutual friend who is a slave and  he hears that term from me when he deserves it, and I am sure he hears it from Axel and Drew, too.  It is a common term, but when my Master says it to me, it means so much more.  When you are owned by someone like I am, it isn’t just a term of endearment.  

You’re thinking, “Okay, you’re a good boy…..get to the fucking point.”  When he tells me I’m a good boy (in addition to the swooning and attempted titanium stretching) I know several things to be true.  In no particular order, I know that he is happy with me.  I know he loves me.  Inside the lock that he had made for my collar is an inscription that only one other person has seen besides Drew, Axel, and myself (and he made it).  When he calls me good boy, he may as well be calling me by that name.  It makes my knees a little weak, to be quite honest.

So here I am, with a Master who is happy with me and loves me, swooning, attempting to stretch titanium, and weak kneed, and I know just what I mean to him when he tells me again that I am a Good Boy and rubs my head.  If I were a dog, you would hear my tail thumping the ground at that very moment (and maybe a bark of excitement.  Given the timing of the term’s use, it ALWAYS helps to flip that submissive switch just a little bit more.  It never fails to help get me in that headspace.  In some way, it lets me be the owned pervert that I am and be accepting of myself, truly me- maybe for the first time ever.  It also means that I am unconditionally accepted by him.  Drew knows me unlike any other person on this planet.  There is a lot to be unpackaged here, and yet he still unconditionally accepts ALL of me <insert swoons, titanium stretching, etc, etc).

The point of all of this?  I am a Good Boy.  I love it when he tells me so.  It means so much more than I did a good job.  I means that I am cherished by my owner.  It means that am free to be truly myself.  It means that I am unconditionally loved , cared for, and accepted.  It means that I unconditionally love, care for, and accept my Master and my Daddy.  It reminds me of the bond Drew, Axel, and I have.  It means, well, it means the fucking world to me.