Gay Erotic Stories

He walked into my study and closed the door behind him. I looked him over closely. He was in his mid-twenties with a devastating tan and an ill cut, sun bleached shock of light brown hair. We’d have to do something about the latter. He was wearing the custom summer uniform I had specified to my haberdasher: a tailored white shirt with epaulets and white shorts that ended in the middle of his long thighs. The shirt was a bit tight around the chest. (Was he getting bigger? Setting up staff hours in the gym may have been a pretty good idea after all.) His nipples were visibly puckering the thin silk-blend fabric. The shorts were as tight as I felt I could get away with in that neighborhood. We’d leave the scandals to the Kennedy’s a half a mile or so down the beach. A lot of detail showed through the fabric of the shorts. I wondered what kind of underwear he wore—if any. As he closed the door, I could see no seams or "panty-line".

He walked up to my desk and said, "You wanted to see me, Sir." It was not a question.

"Yes, Alan. How long have you been working here?"

"Six months, Sir," he answered.

"It’s time for your probationary review. You’re the first household employee I’ve hired since my father died, so we’ll have to wing it. You’re twenty-seven?"

"Not till December."

“Right. I see. Tell me in your own words, then, what you see as your job here."

"Well, I started out as a part-time pool boy, but you began to add more duties, so I moved into the servants quarters as a full-time employee. I still do all the pool work, but I’m also responsible for overseeing all the outdoor upkeep of the premises and a fair amount of the indoor mechanicals. I manage the exterior budget and the performance of contractors, like the gardener and when necessary plumbers, arborists and such. I decide when to call for outside help, I negotiate prices, and I stay within the budget you set."

"And you’re good at it. Are you paid well?"

"Everyone would like a little more," he smiled, "but, yes sir, I’d say that I am well paid--even by Palm Beach standards."

“Do your specified duties include fucking my wife?" I asked.

"No Sir. They do not." He did not react.

"Then why are you doing it?" Before he was tempted to lie, I flicked a remote that started a tape in a TV across the room. The tape immediately began to play. Two gorgeous bodies were locked like rutting dogs. The faces were clearly visible. My wife was on her hands and knees and Alan was mounting her from behind, thrusting with long hard regular strokes. The angle of the shot suddenly changed, showing him from behind. His hard ass clenched tightly with each thrust. The sound was clear but there was no talking, just pants and groans. After two more changes of angle the tape returned to the original perspective. Then camera panned and zoomed in tight on his crotch revealing his long rod as he withdrew and watching it disappear with each new thrust. We said nothing for about 60 seconds. I muted the sound but left the tape playing. It was one of my favorites. I reached down and fondled my rock hard cock through my trousers.

"You know," I finally said. "I never realized that Kate took it up the ass with such enthusiasm. It might have made a difference. As far as I can tell you two seem to do it that way about nine times out of ten."

He looked at me without expression and without comment. I had not asked a question, so he did not speak. Good.

"So, when did it start?"

"About two weeks after I moved into the servant’s quarters," he replied.

That was about right by my reckoning. "So what do we do now."

"I guess I pack my things and get out," he offered.

"That’s one option," I said. "And it may come to that. But frankly, I’m prepared to put this in the ‘resourceful’ column of the evaluation form. A good employee sees something that needs attention and takes action without further instruction. It takes a load off me. I guess she told you about us."

"She said you hadn’t fucked her for over a year," Alan replied matter-of-factly.

"Getting near on two now," I mused. "And we’ve only been married for three. My father arranged it, you know. I’d have never done it on my own. He made a good choice. I like her. I really do. Did she tell you why we don’t fuck?"

"I gathered that you were…uh. You had…"

"…performance problems," I completed his thought for him. "That’s perfectly correct. She’s a beautiful woman and she deserves better. I don’t begrudge her any outside activities. I hope that you don’t think you were the first. The trouble here is that these particular activities are not outside at all. They are taking place inside my compound. That’s embarrassing to me and more than a little disrespectful."

"I am sorry, Sir. I never intended…"

"Not you, Alan. Her. Kate should have thought a bit more about doing it under my own roof. And she’s pregnant, too. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. How is she going to explain it to me? A fucking virgin birth?”

"She’s getting an abortion when she gets back from Lauderdale," he offered.

"I don’t blame you, Alan. It was her responsibility. Christ, all she had to do was take a fucking pill! I guess you were just too much hunk for her to resist." I paused as though thinking it over. "Speaking of hunks, do you keep in touch with Luther?"

He knotted his brow. "Who?"

"Cut the shit, Alan," I barked. "Luther Martling. The top con you shared a cell with for 15 months in Joliet prison in Illinois. The guy that paid a fortune in drugs to get you transferred to his cell. The guy you met at the gate when he was released two months after you. The guy you lived with for another six months." Alan started to speak, but I waived him off. "I have known about this since you first arrived. There is virtually nothing I don’t know about every person in my employ. I have considerable money and no job. That gives me time to be a first class busy-body."

"You do what you have do in prison," he answered. "You couldn’t understand. I owed Martling quite a lot. I wouldn’t have made it without him. My first two weeks in prison were sheer hell. After he got out, I wanted to help him stay out. If that meant helping him adjust by living with him for a while—and yes, doing other things—it was small payback. It didn’t work out, though. He went back to dealing and was sent up again. He won’t let me call him or write him. He insisted that I start over and stay clean."

"That’s what he told my investigator," I confirmed. "Luther said he was glad that you had a solid position and good prospects here. But I’ve got bad news. He’s dead, Alan. Drug overdose in prison."

Alan blinked twice. "Shit," he said. He swallowed, then asked, "So where is this all going? First it’s a job evaluation. Then it’s about fucking you wife. Then you congratulate me on my resourcefulness and taking a load off your mind. Then it can’t go on because it’s under your own roof. Finally, it’s all this prison shit that you’ve known about from the start. Frankly, Sir, it seems like you’re fucking with me. I think I should just get out of here."

"Well, its pretty clear that I can’t keep you in your position under these circumstances."

"I can be gone in half an hour," he announced.

"Hang on," I insisted, pulling roughly on my cock under the desk. The rutting couple on the TV had collapsed on one another in post coital exhaustion. I flicked it off with the remote. "Circumstances change. John and Marie are retiring next month."

He looked puzzled, “They haven’t said anything."

"That’s because I haven’t told then yet," I replied. "They’ll have a nice annuity. More than enough to find a place in Lakeland or Lady Lake or one of those retirement towns. The point is that this is another opportunity to restructure the way things function here. My father’s been dead a year. It’s time I made this place operate my way. Hiring you was the first step."

"Look," he said. "I don’t think of myself as a glorified butler. And I really don’t see how this solves anything about your wife."

"One," I answered. "John is a major domo--the head honcho of the household. The boss of every single employee, except you. Two, I don’t need a butler. The nearest servant can answer the door or bring me a beer. Hell, even I can answer the door myself if I’m passing by. Three, the new position would be Residential Administrator. An extension of what you do now to every aspect of the compound, including employee payroll. Four, your pay would be tripled."

His eyes widened. I has his interest. "Five, I cannot have you and my wife fucking one another…"

"I can stop it," he offered, "but I don’t know if she’ll let me."

"…unless you and I are fucking too."

He didn’t actually take a step back, but it seemed as if he had. "I haven’t done anything like that since Luther," he said.

"A whole eighteen months!" I taunted. "I guess you’ve forgotten how. Well maybe this will be an incentive. She must have told you about it." I stood up and stepped around the desk, unzipping my pants. I pulled out my tool. It sprung out, all ten fat inches of it.

"Not bad for a white man," he said, eyeing it carefully. "She did make a mention of it. She thought its size was a part of the problem--too big for you to keep it up. Doesn’t seem to be an issue right now."

"Right now, I’m loaded with Viagra," I answered. "But her theory doesn’t wash anyway. I don’t have any trouble getting it up when I’m watching you do her. But then, I’m not watching her at all. Go ahead. Touch it. Grab it. Use both hands!"

He reached out and grasped the shaft with his right hand. His fingers did not quite meet his thumb. He stroked the head with his left hand. There was visible movement in his shorts. I pinched his nipples through his thin, tight shirt. He let out a sharp breath.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked.

"Just about everything you can imagine," I offered, "as long as it ends with my cock up your ass."

"That’s what I was afraid of," he replied. "I can’t do it. It’s so big. Even if it weren’t, I won’t take a cock anymore."

"Luther was pretty big, wasn’t he? That’s what other prisoners say. It helps establish the pecking order, I guess."

"You don’t understand," he was almost crying. "Luther never put his cock in me. Not once. I was raped maybe three dozen times in those first two weeks. I was a wreck when I was transferred to his cell. I cowered in my bunk and wrapped myself in a blanket. The first night, he just held me. The next night, he gave me a blowjob, the best in my life up to that point. The third night he begged me to fuck him. Luther liked to be fucked. He lived to be fucked, but he had to keep it quiet or he’d lose standing in the yard.

We set up blankets for privacy around the lower bunk. It was against the rules, but he kept the guards greased so we had no problems. I made the fuck-me sounds and he made the grunts, but it was my cock in his ass every night in prison and out. Except that out of prison, he got to say ‘Fuck me, Alan. Fuck me hard. Cum in me.’ He loved being able to do that. He said it made him feel freer than anything else. I hope he found the right boy for himself when he got sent back up."

"Well, the deal is still as I laid it out," I insisted running my finger along the bulge in his shorts. "My cock up your ass or nothing. I’ve got poppers to make it easier for you. It won’t be the same as when you were raped. I intend to make you to like it. If it hurts, I’ll make it hurt good."

I began unbuttoning his shirt. He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t help either. I ran my hands across his hairless muscular chest. Shaved, I bet. I stepped close enough so that my cock was sandwiched between our bellies. I reached around and grabbed his perfect ass cheeks. I plunged my tongue into his mouth. He responded enthusiastically. He was as hard as I. I wanted him so bad that I was tempted to settle for a blowjob. But no. It had to be a fuck and he had to be bottom. It was my house and my wife. I released him and stepped back.

"Well it’s time for a decision," I said. "Three or four centuries ago, a Paris nobleman was offered the French monarchy on the condition that he switch religions. His answer was..."

"‘Paris is worth a mass’," he finished. Not bad for a high school drop out.

"Well, Alan. You have to decide: Is this job worth your ass?"

He waited a long five seconds, then slipped off his shirt and began unbuttoning his shorts. It turned out that he did have underwear on. It was the thinnest thong I had ever seen. It couldn’t contain his raging hardon. His cock stuck out the side about seven and a half inches.

I reached into my desk drawer and brought out two bottles and a tube of KY. From one I took out a handful of poppers and laid them on the desk. I snapped one under his nose. From the other, I took out a single pill. "You take a Viagra, too," I ordered. "I know you think you don’t need it, but I guarantee that you won’t be able to keep up with me all night unless you do." He complied without complaint, washing it down with water from the pitcher on my desk.

I dropped to my knees and flicked my tongue at the head of his cock. It danced wildly with each lashing touch. I buried my nose into his groin, between his huge ball sack and his right leg. He had been working outside for much of the day. The man smell was strong and the sweat salty. I licked both sides, then the sack itself. I took the eggs gently into my mouth, one at a time. I got some KY and worked my thumb into his ass hole. He shuddered.

"Does it hurt?"

“God, no! Feels good."

I took the head of his cock into my mouth and worked the slit with my tongue. It was quite a mouthful. I slowly worked my way down the shaft until the head was at the back of my throat. I opened as wide as I could. It hurt, but it went down. Alan grabbed the back of my head and started to pump. I replaced my thumb with two fingers, then three. He was naturally tight. He would need another popper. Nevertheless, he worked his ass back onto my fingers. I pulled them out and brought them up to his face. He smelled them, then licked tentatively. I wiped the traces of shit off on his face.

After snapping another popper under his nose, I pushed him back onto my desk. Raising his legs over my shoulders I pushed by face into his ass. It wasn’t too skunky. Digging my tongue into the hole, I tasted the remnants of his last shit. Alan was pulling on his pole.

"Oh, fuck! Oh fuck!" I pulled my face out of his ass and pried his hands off his cock. I grabbed the KY and led him across the room to a leather couch with large overstuffed arms. I bent him over one of the arms and squished out half a tube of KY into my hand. I took all the fingers of my right hand and made them into a point. Slowly, I worked them into the rosette. It was easier now. I didn’t go past the last set of knuckles. We’d leave that for another day. He was sweating heavily. I could smell his fear--probably memories of those first days in prison.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I can handle it," he replied through gritted teeth.

I figured it was now or never. I used the rest of the tube to grease up my member and placed the head against the hole. I pushed in to no avail. I didn’t say anything, but gently stroked his back. The next time I pushed, he opened for me and I was in. Gently, slowly I forced it in. He moaned quietly as I did so.

"Does it hurt?" "Fuck, yeah!"

"Do you want me to pull out?"

"Fuck no!"

"Here we go, then."

I pulled out slowly until only the head remained inside then pushed back in. I could feel his cramping and I stopped. A cold sweat poured out of him. I paused until he indicated I could go on. Again and again, slowly in and out. After awhile, I could feel the heat return to his back. I raised the tempo and he responded by jamming his crotch into the arm of the sofa.

"Fuck me, Sir. Fuck me hard! Cum in me!"

Not yet buddy. Not just yet. I slammed him repeatedly. I loved the ‘thwap’ when my hips slapped into his buttocks. He was now covered in a hot sweat. His ass clenched tight.

"I’m cumming. Oh, fuck, I’m cumming!" he screamed. I kept my rhythm, holding back my own cum. I felt wave after wave of pulses through his prostate. When they had subsided, I stopped with him fully impaled on my rod. I lay across his back and licked his ear.

"That was fucking great, Sir!"

"Not ‘was’, Alan," I chided. We’re just stopping for you to get your second wind."

"Don’t bother," he replied. "I haven’t got a drop left. Cum yourself and be done with it."

We’d see about that. I pulled back until the head popped out, then immediately jammed it back in all the way. He screamed, and I jammed a throw pillow in his mouth. Out and in, as hard as I could.

"Fuck my wife, asshole," I said evenly, "and you’ll take it hard. Is this what it was like in prison? Are you getting homesick?"

His only reply was a series of small whimpers. Then, remarkably, he began to jamb his ass back onto my pole. I stopped moving and let him run his ass up and down my tool. I reached around and grabbed his cock, squeezing the tip hard between my thumb and the knuckle of my index finger. He became frantic in his gyrations. I knew had him now. It wasn’t the money anymore. My cock was what he wanted. Me. Just me. I let loose a torrent of juice in his asshole. It was I that was screaming now. I released my grip slightly on his cock and a needle-like jet of his own stuff made an audible zit as it hit the leather of the couch. We came together in one of those rare bits of perfect timing. I timed his releases by loosening and tightening my grip on the head of his cock.

"Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus…" he cried, once for each of eight or ten releases. My cum leaked out and quickly covered his ass and my own crotch.

When it was over, I pulled out and sat at one end of the couch. He lay on his back with his head on my lap, forcing my still stiff cock against my stomach muscles. I reached down and scooped up a gob of his cum from his stomach and licked it from my fingers. He reciprocated by grabbing a sample of my brown stained jism from between his legs. I pulled his head up and kissed him. We mixed the samples with our tongues.

"I can fuck you easy or I can fuck you hard" I explained. "If you keep screwing my wife, buddy, I guarantee you it’ll be hard."

"Then I’ll have make sure she is the most satisfied woman in Palm Beach," he smiled.

I gazed seriously into his eyes. "Did I mention that we’ll need a new pool boy? Line up a few candidates and we’ll, uh, interview them together."

He smiled broadly. "I think I can find a few likely prospects down in South Beach."

I stroked his hair. "What about the baby? What do you think about it? Do you want her to have the abortion"

"I’d like to be a father," he sighed, "even if only from a distance. It can wait, I guess."

"With a couple of Viagra on board," I mused, "I think I could keep it up enough to give my wife a surprise when she gets back. That’ll give her the cover she needs to keep the child. But I figure I’ll be a pretty distant father. The kid’ll probably wind up spending a lot of time with the staff. You know, like Shirley Temple in all those old movies."

He threw his arms around me and kissed me. We fucked one last time that night, this time gently.