Gay Erotic Stories

So it's a quiet night. Sometimes summer can be like that - everyone's out of town on holiday, sunning themselves in Ibiza and Mykonos. The rest of us are still trying to get along, same old same old. It's darker in this corner of Soho, unlike the bright lighting behind me on the main road; the heart of "Theatreland" where ten glossy shows are tempting the passers-by with neon reviews a meter tall. I'm just sitting watching the world go by my window - hot boys off to the clubs, young couples out for a meal, Chinese families off to meet in Chinatown, curious tourists and rowdy lads looking in the sex shops. But the dark streets are also haven to pushy beggars, down-and-outs with their loaded shopping trolleys, shifty pimps shadowing their girls as they weave through the dark alleyways, the pushers hanging on the corner waiting for business and the furtive punters who keep greasing the wheel. It's seedy and alive, and I'm in the heart of it waiting for the call on the radio. Everyone wants to go home sooner or later. We're the best firm in London - gay cars for gay people it started out - and many Soho visitors know it's the only safe way home if you can't face queuing for an hour for the Night Buses. We have our regulars, and we do accounts for the media firms, theatres and cinemas in the area, and we get a lot of straight women who insist to their boyfriends that they want to use us too. It's a real mixed circuit, but we get only the best customers, loyal and good tippers too. And the perk of the job, sitting here in the queer center of the city, is cruising the pretty boys and sleek young men as they laugh and joke over a latte in the pavement cafés or strut past the bars and restaurants, self-consciously on display. Eventually they pair off or find their friends, and then they walk up to our base and book a ride home. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't. I learnt a long time ago not to start a conversation - it's a professional thing, as you're just doing a job, and sometimes the traffic can be murder and you just want to concentrate on the road. Some of them just want to tell you about their night and some want you to sort out their life, and occasionally one will ask what the hell you're driving a minicab in Soho for. But often they'll start "Had a busy night?" and you groan, because you've heard it a thousand times before. I also learnt a long time ago never to answer yes to that question, as a hint of a full wallet is an invitation for trouble. For an inner city we're lucky not to have to carry around some sort of protection under the seat, you know, a baseball bat or similar. There's no need to take chances when you're already vulnerable, though, so you do check them over carefully when they get in for any sign of attitude, and you trust your doorman to turn away the problem cases. But we really don't get any trouble, and they always have money on them and pay their fares. Another car gets called by the controller - I'm next on the plot, so it won't be too long now. You get restless, sometimes, when it's quiet. Every minute drags when you're not actually driving, watching people strolling hand in hand, or running for the buses you can see going past behind you in the mirror, or just standing, ready to pounce on the unwary like some sort of cat. I'm glad to be safe here in the car, on the street but also off it, part of the pulse but also apart and looking from a distance as the city life passes me by. I like listening to the classical station on the radio - it's calming while you're stressed out in traffic and the customers like it to wind down to after the thumping decibels they have to suffer in the bars and clubs. I'm half-listening to some Mozart now, a piano concerto, just letting it tickle the back of my mind as I stare out into the hot summer night. "Six One, Six One!" Finally a job. It's been a long slow night and I wouldn't be surprised if it's another account. I just know I'm not going to see much cash tonight, but I answer the call sign. "Fare on the base, Six One." Well, my luck's changing. I turn the engine over and drive round the corner to our walk-in base. We have a nice new doorman, a history student I think, who's still enjoying bantering and flirting with the customers while they wait, so I give him a big smile as I pull up and he looks up from the clipboard. Standing there all night he gets to be chatted up by all the best-dressed talent in Soho, so he can't be much interested in a driver like me, but he smiles back anyway and I watch the cutest dimples form in his cheeks. "What are you doing when you finish, handsome?" I ask daringly, appreciating a pair of long legs through his tight jeans as they curve up to a delicious little bum, just begging to be grabbed and squeezed in my strong hands. Yes, I'd definitely like to get to know him much better. "Sorry, I've got exams tomorrow - it's straight home to bed alone." he teases. For a second the dimples deepen and he looks straight into my eyes, and I see a glitter in the dark pupils, or is it just the reflection of the bright window across the road? "Oh, good luck with that. Maybe tomorrow then?" I'm not normally so bold, but maybe I'm just bored with this slow night. I'm over ten years older than this kid, for heaven's sake, so whom am I kidding? "Yeah, I'll probably need a coffee then. Fridays are hard work out here, you know." The dimples are back with an even wider smile and there's that glint again. I feel a sudden surge of excitement and anticipation and I can't help breaking into a cheesy grin. My luck is definitely changing for the better. "I know - it's no fun driving either. It's a date then, tomorrow after work! So ... do we have a fare here?" Business must come before pleasure, I guess. As he breaks eye contact and checks the clipboard I sneak a lustful glance at his crotch, full and well defined in the stretched fabric and right at my eye level. I think that tomorrow is going to be a memorable night. "Yup, you're off to Bromley." he confirms, opening the door and calling the passenger waiting behind him. Bromley is a very good fare, about 18 quid for a nice long drive out of London that takes a little over an hour there and back on quiet nighttime roads. Tonight is just getting better and better, and I'm mentally adding up my earnings when I register the guy getting in to my passenger seat as he puts a small rucksack on the floor. He's barelegged, wearing loose shorts and an open shirt over a plain white T-shirt, with sport socks and trainers. The legs are fair and slender, with the lightest covering of blond hair, and the body displayed through the thin T-shirt is nicely defined but not muscled. He's just a boy, really, maybe 18 or 19, and as he turns towards me he pushes back his long highlighted hair reflexively, revealing a slightly nervous smile and two of the most beautiful puppy-dog dark brown eyes I've ever seen. I'm lost in them and almost speechless, and believe me the engine is not the only thing revving hard round here. "Hi." "Uh, Hi." I inwardly kick myself for my manners and try to concentrate on the gear lever, the radio announcer's voice, anything but those eyes. I suddenly realize that the doorman is watching this with some amusement so I pull myself together fast. "You're, uh, going to Bromley, then." "Yes, near the Common." I know the way - I've been to pretty much everywhere in London by now - so I pull away and onto the main road, heading for South London. I'm trying not to be distracted by those gorgeous legs every time I change gear and the image of that little-boy-lost face is driving me crazy. The voice fits that face perfectly, quiet and mannered, even cultured, and he seems to be appreciating the music as the station switches to some Dvorak. The cab radio starts to crackle with instructions for another driver, so I tune into the side of the conversation that I can hear to take my mind off this smoldering pit of temptation sitting next to me. As we pass Westminster and cross the bridge out of the traffic, we both start to relax and he shifts and settles in the seat. "So, has it been a busy night?" I roll my eyes and find a stock reply automatically - "It's been OK - it is midweek." A long pause, followed by - "You like classical music, then?" "I guess - I used to be a musician until a few years ago." And although I miss it sometimes, I never met honey-sweet boys like you sitting in orchestras, so just keep on talking, baby. "Really? What did you play?" "The violin." I sense the genuine interest behind the question and start to soften a little, even risking a glance over to see him watching me, those eyes wide and serious. "Nice. Do you still play?" I knew that was coming, but I can also sense a respect from the boy, which is flattering but kind of daft. "Not often. I'm too busy working like this most of the time." "That's a shame. I'm studying dance at the moment - I've got an audition next week for a place in a boy band." That figures - that cute face could launch a thousand broken teenage girl hearts, and those glorious legs and thighs are really trim. I can't help stealing a glance, and see that he's spread them quite wide, so that I will have to brush against them when I change gear. Normally that really annoys me, but he doesn't move them even when I've had to touch his knee three or four times. I'm getting more flustered and trying to tell myself that he's just a tease, but I don't dare look at him. We make some more small talk, then after about ten minutes - "Can I push this seat back?" "Sure, if you want - there's a lever on the side." In a minute he's pushed down the seat back maybe 45 degrees and is lying down watching me, with his hands in his lap. At first I ignore it and carry on driving, and then I realize that he's rubbing away and those loose shorts aren't so loose any more, and he's working up a bulge that's rivaling mine. This doesn't happen too often in my car, and rarely with the ones you want, so there's no way I can let this pass even though there's a little voice in my conscience telling me that's not the professional way to deal with the situation. Hang professional! There's a horny kid jerking off in my car and I want those bare legs wrapped around me and my hands all over his tight dancer's ass right now! I stand it another minute, trying to play it cool, and then give in. "Would you like some help with that?" "Mmmm, yeah. I think there's a track just ahead on the left if you want to pull off the road." Boy, do I? I'm so hot watching the kid now I can hardly concentrate on steering, but I see the track and pull into a wooded lane for a couple of hundred meters until we're out of sight of the main road. With the engine off it's completely silent and the clear night is lit sharply, starkly by the full moonlight. I let my own seat fall back and turn to the boy, putting my hand over his and feeling the hard outline of his large dick through those shorts. I'm in paradise! We kiss passionately as I run my hand up and down his thigh and push my way up the leg of the shorts, into the briefs underneath where I massage his firm buttock, smooth to the touch, probing gently with my fingertips at the hot gateway to his core. He moans slightly, and as I reach for the raging prisoner behind his zip I scold him jokingly. "You know, you're a very bad boy taking advantage of poor defenseless cab drivers." I feel his hard dick jump as I say the words and I realize maybe I've hit the jackpot, and we might share something that's going to make this even more fun, but I'm not expecting what happens next. There's a long pause as he pulls away slightly and then he takes a deep breath, as if having decided something . "There's something I should tell you." "Ah, okay." I stop my deep explorations and remove my hands. I'm a little intrigued and concerned, but I can handle most things, as long as it doesn't stop me ripping the clothes off this kid in seconds and ravishing him. He's shifting uncomfortably and avoiding my gaze. "I - um - I don't think I've got the money to pay for this journey - I can't find the cash where I left it in my pocket." Not the words I thought I'd hear. It's suddenly very quiet, as I think carefully about the options here. I don't really believe his story, as money is normally the first thing you check when you get in a minicab, and I didn't notice him looking in his pockets so I figure he probably never had it. The money is important to me - I have bills to pay too, you know, but I'm just about to get the boy's shorts off and that promises to be worth a month of bills! I have to consider the principle of the thing, though, and that's when I remember his involuntary reaction and the plan hits me. Maybe I can turn this to my distinct advantage. I decide to push the boat out - everything tells me he's just the type that will appreciate this maneuver. He certainly didn't need to mention anything just yet about the fare, so perhaps he's actually asking for this? I sit up and work as much authority as I can into my voice . "Well now, that's very serious. Are you sure you don't have the cash?" He shakes his head slowly. "I don't drive young lads like you around just for fun, you know." I can't believe I just said that - whom am I kidding after the way I groped him? "I should take you to the nearest police station and report you for theft, as you're not able to pay for the service you've had." Those brown eyes grow wide as I mention the police, but there's no fear in them. I'm sure he's playing me along now, and he knows I'm taking the bait. "No, please, please don't do that. Is there another way I can pay? Can I make it up to you?" Funny, he isn't pushing the point that he's lost the money, and he probably knows I was bluffing about the police. What he thinks he's offering, though, and what I want to take could be quite different things. He won't be expecting my next twist! "Perhaps. I think you need to be taught a lesson, and be reminded not to take advantage of people who work hard and drive you around in good faith. I think you need to learn a bit of respect here, so you don't try a stunt like this again." It's corny, but I'm starting to enjoy myself even more as I become this macho character, and he isn't running away yet - in fact, that bulge is larger than ever. "W-what do you mean?"

Now he's scared, and he catches my eye warily, searching for the truth. I lean round him and cup my palm round his left buttock and begin kneading it through the shorts, firmly and insistently. "Oh, I think you know, lad. What always happens to naughty boys like you?" What could he know? How could he know? Kids his age just don't get it any more, not in school and not at home. It hardly ever happened to me and all my schools had already phased it out when I was there, so how could he understand? They don't even read about it in books any more or see it on TV. But he knows all right - those dark brown eyes widen further still and he wriggles slightly against my hand, not hiding another strong surge in his straining groin. Oh, this is definitely going to be fun, and I think not just for me. "Y-you mean you'll ... spank me?" No doubt at all now - this is what the kid wants, so the game is won and it's time to reckon up. My poor dick is trying to break free from my jeans and screaming for attention. "Of course - a good hard spanking to teach you some respect and thought for hard working people. Then you'll pay for the fare - with my belt on your bare bottom. You're going to get 18 strokes for the 18 quid fare." I like that little touch, but he is shocked - "Not a belt - please, I can't take that!" He hasn't said anything about the spanking though, so I push the point home - "It's either that or the police, so you decide." All the time I'm stroking that beautiful firm cheek, pinching it, slapping it lightly then grabbing it so my fingers drive deep into his crack, and he is working with me, pushing back against my hand and holding my gaze in those big eyes. I lean forward to kiss him again, and his soft lips meet mine and yield as I run my fingers through the soft bleached hair, mussing it gently. I know he has given in now and he's mine to spank and whip and more. "The fare must be paid," I breathe into his ear, and I feel him hold onto me with both arms tightly. "Yes, I know," I hear him say as I pull his head onto my shoulder. I hug him back, amazed that this is all happening. I start thinking how I can go about this circus. I have to get tough again for starters, and ignore my own aching need for sweet release. That can come later, when the boy has taken his whipping. "Right - it's time to pay up, so out of the car!" One more glance from those soulful eyes, flared not with fear but excitement, and he scrambles upright and outside into the warm night. As he stands by the door I open the boot and get out a blanket I always keep there, and then scan the track until I find just what I'm looking for a few yards away - a stile over the fence. As I walk up to him I realize that I'm an inch or two taller than him, and he buries his head in my neck as he hugs me tightly, his hands running down my back until they find and grasp the wide leather belt that I always wear in my jeans. I can feel him trembling slightly and it's not from cold. Gently I ask him - "What's your name, boy?" "Davy, sir." Oh, that little word is music to my ears, and now I'm convinced that this is the right scene for us, but I have to let him know it's OK. "Well, Davy, I'm Ian. You know what's going to happen, so let's get it over with now." I catch his hand and lead him over to the stile, where I fold the blanket up small and place it on the step to make a seat. Then it's the perfect height so I sit down and pull him to my side. The tent in his shorts is confirmation that he still wants this, so I slowly unzip them and drag them down to his ankles, and make him step out of them. Then I pull him down over my lap, his hands on the grass and his beautiful bottom raised high up on my knee, and I push his legs apart so that I can reach every inch and into every corner of that naughty behind. Rubbing my right hand over the seat of his white briefs I am intoxicated by the sight, seeing the submissive, graceful curve of his slim body bent over taut like a bow, the strong legs splayed and the bottom pushed up, inviting me to... SLAP! "Aah!" Hardly more than a breath, so I spank the other cheek just as hard. I am rewarded with a wriggle, and I feel that red-hot poker burrowing between my thighs as my own erection pushes up and nudges his flat stomach. I push the shirt and T-shirt up to his armpits and begin a steady stream of stinging swats, from top to thigh, alternating left and right until the wriggle is a constant motion and the little cries change in pitch. Now it's time to see this bewitching little bottom in all its glory, so I hook my fingers in the waistband of the briefs and drag them down his thighs and off his feet . "Oh, please no sir!" Davy murmurs, a little half-heartedly. I lean over and kiss each splendid bare cheek, firm and pink and already nicely warm all over. "I did say on your bare bottom, Davy?"

I am cruel, rubbing it in, but I am also rubbing my hands all over the exposed flesh, down his crack so I graze the tight puckered hole and even reaching right between his legs to grab his furry balls. He's moaning louder now, and trying to rub his throbbing dick against my thighs, so I reach round his waist with my left hand and grab him by the root to stop him moving, while I start to punish his perfect mounds all over again, harder and faster. As the redness spreads and darkens I land some slaps to the tops of his thighs, right in that tender crease where I know he'll really feel it. He yelps and bucks wildly, but my grip is firm and the hard trunk of his young manhood shows no sign of diminishing. When he starts to sob quietly and the fight in him is spent, I land a few more hard spanks to each cheek for good measure, and then kiss them again before starting to rub the sore, tender flesh slowly. Even in the heat of the night I can feel the warmth from his punishment glowing on my face as the sweat runs off my forehead and drips onto the small of Davy's back, where it joins the trickle running down his furrow. As we both regain our control I remember what I have promised him. I suddenly feel sorry for the boy slumped over my knee, so I lift him up and comfort him, one hand resting lightly on his bruised rear, the other smoothing the tangle of matted highlights . "Why were you spanked, Davy?" Through the sobs comes the answer I want to hear - "B-because I was d-disrespectful to y-you when you w-work hard, sir. I'm s-sorry I t-tried to take advantage of y-you, r-really I am, sir!" How can you not forgive such a sweet boy so sincere in his remorse? I feel really bad about what is coming next, but there are two hard poles jousting at our groins and demanding satisfaction, so I gently lift his chin up to make him look at me. As I gaze into those loving, trusting, tearful eyes I feel I am drowning in the depths of those pools, reaching out and touching his inmost soul. We both know what he wants, and what he needs. "What happens now, Davy?" "I-I have to pay the fare, sir!" he sniffles, and I hug him again, proud of him. I lift the blanket off the stile and lead him back to the car, where I drape the blanket over the bonnet. Standing in front of him I tug both his shirts up and over his head, right off, so that he stands magnificently naked but for the socks and trainers. He is perfectly formed, smooth-chested and lean with a narrow waist. I run my fingers down the little trail of dark fuzz and gently hold his beautiful dick, still full and stiff, kissing him urgently on the lips before indicating to him to bend over the front of the car. He stretches right over the engine, still hot from the journey, holding onto the side wings with his legs spread wide and that pert bottom was jutting forward, perfectly presented between the headlights.

"Don't move and then I won't have to add any - do you understand me, Davy?" I ask gruffly, pulling out the belt from the loops and doubling it over as I watch him tremble. He knows this will hurt, but the waiting is only adding to the pleasure for us both as I drink in every detail of this submissive sight. "Yes, sir." There is a firmer note to his voice now, as he resigns himself to pay up what he owes, in broad red stripes on what half an hour ago was creamy smooth skin. I gauge my swing, aim, and then let fly a hard stroke right across the center of his burning behind. The crack of leather on flesh is vivid in the silent wood, and he squeals in surprise. I can see the mark darkening across both swollen cheeks in the cold moonlight. "Owwww please, sir, no more! I'm sorry sir!" He is pleading, but not making any move to get up so I line up another and deliver it just below the first. More twitches, more pleading, but he pushes that bruised bottom out again for number three and I just keep on going. By fifteen he's really starting to cry, and I'm beginning to worry that he's had enough, but he just lies there and repeats his mantra over and over - "I'm s-so sorry, sir! Please forgive me sir!" I take pity on him, and decide that the last two won't be so bad. So I'm surprised when he suddenly jumps up, rubbing his sore behind when I tickle him with number seventeen - its just half the strength of the others. "Get back down now, Davy. You've nearly paid the fare but you've still got two to go and that one doesn't count." Slowly he bends back over into position, with just a quick backward glance at me with an unreadable expression. I can see that he's still hard so I lift the heavy belt again and slash it down harder this time. He moves a little but doesn't try to get up this time, so I give him the last one when he's settled down. It's not that hard, but again he jumps up and looks at me, those deep eyes flashing strangely. There's no hesitation though as he bends back down again. "I'm very, very sorry, sir. P-Please--give me the last stroke again." I suddenly realize what it is he's doing. Caught up in the bravura of this intense game of pain and pleasure, he's deliberately paid me not just the fare, but added a tip on top! I laugh at the courage of the kid and then make the final stroke a real stinger, catching him right on the lowest part of his bottom. He squeals and writhes in pain, but doesn't jump up again. He's been thoroughly punished and he knows it. "It's over, Davy. You've paid for your journey, so you can get up now." "Thank you s-sir." He's sniffling as he stands up stiffly and carefully feels the damage that has been inflicted on his poor little buttocks, now covered in purple welts. I lay the blanket out on the soft grass, and then hold him close, ruffling his hair as that incredible dick throbs hot and hard against my stomach. We both need release, so I start to undo my shirt as he grabs my zip and yanks down my jeans, and finally my own naked hardness wrestles his as I pull him down with me onto the blanket. I roll on to my back, wrapping my legs around him and holding him tight on top of me in a kiss that seems to last forever in that dark, hot, sweaty night... Some hours later, emotionally and physically exhausted, we finally reach Davy's house in the bright glare of dawn. Bromley's a very quiet neighborhood at five in the morning, even on a Friday. I help him out of the car and he leans back in to pick up the rucksack, tying it up or something. As he's bending over, I can't resist slapping that beautiful ass once more and he protests in pain, before turning round and sucking the last of my heart and soul out with another amazing kiss, those deep dark eyes now burning with an inner fire. I'm spellbound and I can't bear to let the kid go, after what we've shared, but eventually we disengage and just hug gently. "Will you be OK, Davy?" "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm going to be a bit sore for a few days, though, so I won't be doing much dancing." "Let's hope the marks have gone when you do your audition next week!" "Oh god, I'd forgotten about that!" He thinks for a minute - "What if I need to get home again?" My heart misses a beat in hope and surprise - "Then you know where to find me. Freedom Cars, number Six One - but make sure you have some money next time!" He smiles and gives me that strange look again and walks toward the house - "Maybe. But I do always pay my fare, Ian." I watch him go, smiling back and waving until he's inside. Sighing, I turn back to my car and try to put hopeless, lingering thoughts of Davy out of my mind. I'm suddenly starting to feel very hungry and I have to go home and get my beauty sleep - after all, I have a cappuccino date tonight with our doorman after work. I shall have to replace those packs of condoms and lube I keep in the car for emergencies, too... I'm just about to pull away, thinking about how maybe this wasn't such a bad night after all, when I notice the smart business card lying on the passenger seat next to me with Davy's contact numbers on it, right next to a crisp new note--20 quid!