Gay Erotic Stories

They continued like this for what seemed like an hour, gently moving over each others bodies, each man savouring the other's physical beauty in ever-stronger waves of silent activity, before settling into slower, calmer explorations of the warm strength that can only be shared by two men. All the while, their cocks rode high, both gleaming with thick, salty anticipation, nudging against each other, bobbing in the tight spaces that separated their torsos. Jules rolled over, proffering his butt to a deeply appreciative Max. Max parked his ever-thickening beasthood between the two mounds of firm, smooth, warm flesh, easing it between them with a low, satisfied growl of appreciation. Jules clenched his cheeks, quietly gasping at the sheer, wonderful massiveness of his catch, clamping it jealously between his butt-muscles, as Max began to pump - ever so s l o w l y - up and down, feeling the slick dressing of sweat and pre-cum that coated his colossal tool, easing his progress between these gorgeous, tempting, juicy mounds. "Now," whispered Jules, urgently. "I'm ready for it. I want it. I know this is going to hurt like fuck, Max, but there's no way I'm leaving without at least trying." Max pulled the young Brit around to face him, looked him deep in the eyes, and smiled. This guy really had the most exceptional eyes: bluey-green and so damned ALIVE. No secrets being held there: he could see Jules wanted him, he could see how much, and he felt his immense cock swelling even further. The hunger in Jules' eyes gave way to an almost-begging desperation, and the two men fell, as if automatically, into a tight embrace, each pulling the other to him, almost like a reverse tug-of-war where the victor would be the first one to squeeze every last breath out of his opponent. Their strong chests met, each feeling the ripples of the other's muscles against his own, and they threw themselves into an epic, wide-open kiss, one which made every movie-kiss you'd ever seen look like a supermodel air kiss. "Fuck, but you're a good kisser," moaned Max, slowly easing his arms down to Jules' waist. "Only as good as the materials I'm given to work with," grinned Jules, cheekily tracing the outline of Max's mouth with his tongue. That voice again - Max *loved* it - had done from the very first time he heard it, but now, close up to his ear, he could feel every deep rich, warm resonating sound coming from this man's mouth. Everything was perfect, he thought. Too fucking good to be true. Abruptly, Jules eased himself onto his knees, took Max by the hand and led him over to the huge, heavy, Victorian Gate-leg table "Here, I think," he smiled wickedly, nimbly hopping onto the table and sitting so that he faced Max. His eyes shone like a kid at Christmas as he looked down at the fat, heavy, erect colossus standing to attention in front of him. Max smiled a smile of faint superiority (not arrogance, observed Jules to himself, but the infinitely more sexy confidence of one who knows he has more than most to offer, and isn't about to apologise for the fact), slowly wrapping his right hand around his cock as though to emphasize the painfully impressive girth of his equipment, before taking a step towards Jules. Their helmets met in a marriage of pre-cum, each man allowing the other’s cock to circle his own, sliding around in juicy anticipation of what was to follow... Jules' hand slipped down to his own, twitching meat, and - enjoying the look of welling ecstasy on the other man's face - slipped a finger under his foreskin, swirling it around his tip, feeling the thick, salty coating running over it. The Yank, he was all too deliciously aware, had the definite size advantage, but he also knew that each man had qualities the other admired to distraction. As if in confirmation, Max pushed his cock impatiently against Jules', vying to share the shelter of his already-stretched skin. Jules obliged, pulling it forward and over the end of Max's bulging helmet, so that both men were united, combined even, in what Max liked to think of as a cock-hug. It felt so close, so “shared”: the slippery, warm sensation of millimetrical movements in a confined, and ever-moistening space. Juless face broke into a broad and contented smile as he observed his partner's undisguised pleasure: keeping his hand firmly-yet-flexibly around their conjoined cocks, he leaned forward, bringing his mouth slowly towards Max's. Slowly, frame by frame, close enough to feel the other man's increasingly frantic breath against his own, barely-parted lips, still moving in, all the while maintaining firm, wide-pupilled eye-contact until after what seemed like an eternity, Max once again felt the beautiful fullness of those soft, heavy lips brushing against his own, trembling gently as they pressed firmer into his mouth... then the tongue, politely probing an entrance (How *very* British, grinned Max to himself), almost as if waiting to be knocked back... feeling (exactly as hoped) no resistance, the tongue plunged deep inside of Max's mouth, pausing to wrap itself around his own in a brief tussle, before exploring every corner Max kept his tongue initially immobile, rightly sensing that Jules was on a solo mission here, pasting his ever-frantically surging tongue around the deepest recesses of this wonderful man's mouth, but as the thrusts became more urgent, Max instinctively began to reciprocate the motions: saying nothing, each man was nonetheless thinking the exact same thing to himself, namely that NEVER before had a kiss felt this... well... intimately arousing in an almost-better-than-sex kind of way. Without speaking, they still knew to continue, to push and probe till their lips began to ache, till their tongues could stretch no more, till they disengaged and once again held each other in a powerful embrace. They held this position for some time. By now, Jules had lifted his feet up so that he was sitting on the table with his knees pulled up to his chest, Max's ever-thick manhood pressed firmly against his 'magic mile'. He rocked gently in and up, as if to advise Jules (quite unnecessarily, of course) of the presence of a God-given endowment in the immediate vicinity. "Now?" he smiled. Jules leaned forward again, placing his mouth right against Max's ear. "Not quite," he murmured deeply, feeling his throat vibrating against the American's powerful neck as he spoke. "Soon, though." he added with a mischievous grin. "*Very* soon." "NOW," moaned Max insistently, slowly pumping his cock again, "I want to be right in there - I want you to feel all of this. Feel it filling you, like you've never felt before." "I think we can pretty much guarantee that," smirked Jules, trying to remember whether Max indeed knew that he was dealing with a passive virgin here. "Thing is, I've got something VERY special here [so saying, his hand wrapped itself around Max's cock], and if it's all right with you, big fella, I'd like this to last as long as we can make it. Unless you've got any other plans I should know about?" "None," grinned Max. "None that don't involve impaling you on THIS, at least!" His tool pressed once more in between the Brit's butt-cheeks. "OK" growled Jules, "You're getting pushy now. I think it's time we gave you an exercise in... RESTRAINT." Maybe it was that accent again, but never had the word sounded so deliciously erotic to Max. Jules stood up suddenly, and led his charge back to the bed. "Lie down," he snapped bluntly. Max obliged, throwing himself forward, then rolling over on to his back. His massive erection jutted obscenely upwards, dominating the scene like a towering monument. "Someone's been getting a bit “too” excited," admonished Jules, looking down at the monstrous hard-on. So saying he climbed on top of Max, kneeling to face him and straddling his torso. He'd deliberately placed himself so that Max's cock was just millimetres away from his hungry butt, brushing gently against it as he moved, teasing this beast of supreme sexuality with each shuddering contact. Max was driven wild, brush by brush, as the cruel Brit offered the faintest hope of a plunging, penetrative climax, resting his juicy man-hole atop Max's creamy tip, before pulling it lightly away, sliding it over and back again, until the American was finding it hard to stop reaching out and pulling this impudent Brat right down onto his merciless massiveness. Jules sensed it and reached behind the bed-head. Looking up, Max saw he'd gathered up four lengths of thick white towelling cord. He grinned. Jules returned the compliment with a hitherto unseen glint of wickedness, pure, unadulterated, 100% sexy naughtiness in his eyes. Leaning forward, he rested his manhole once more against Max's tool as he began to bind his catch to the four-poster. Each movement followed through to his perch, so that Max's helmet was squirming slowly, and beautifully against Jules's pre-cum dampened opening. Each man felt the passion rising, but each knew to hold himself back. For now, at least. With Max's wrists bound tightly to the upper corners of the bed, Jules slowly reared himself backwards and down, heading slowly towards the ankles, tracing his lips over Max's, running them down over his strong jaw, his neck, his powerful chest, enjoying the soft downy hair of the torso before coming mouth-to-tip with The Beast. Pausing to allow himself a purely selfish and hugely indulgent sensory overload, Jules breathed deeply as he gazed at Max's cock, taking in the rich, salty, masculinity of it all, lowering his face so that the tip traced a glistening thread of sticky wondrousness across his lips. Max watched, transfixed: both men had become oblivious to absolutely everything around them. This was the most focused, most indulgent experience either had ever been treated to, and the outside world seemed nothing more than an irrelevant distraction right now. There was just THIS. A fifth length of towelling was produced: Jules smiled (reassurance? Or the promise of something VERY special to come? Max couldn't work it out, but was happy either way) as he used it to gag his prey, finally blindfolding him with his discarded T-shirt. That was it - Max could neither move, see nor speak as Jules helped himself to a long and so VERY indulgent tour of the mighty American's body. The gentlest lip-brushes initially told Max where his young admirer was enjoying himself, slowly moving over his face and neck, taking the faintest nibble here, the barest lick there. Then he felt something resting across his face between his nose and mouth. Taking in a deep breath, he realised it was the now steel-hard cock of the other man, rich with the scent of arousal, lightly smearing its sticky cargo under his hungry nostrils. He let out as much of a moan as the gag would allow, desperately trying to slip his tongue out for the quickest lick but aware that this was an impossibility even as he tried. He felt the cock lifted from his face and was about to let out another stifled mumble, one of protest, when suddenly a heavy, borderline painful thud alerted him to the next move. Then another. And another. His body was soon taken over by a rush of ecstatic shivers as the slapping continued, becoming harder with each stroke. He felt Jules pull his face up by a handful of hair, really going in for the kill with a thwacking orgy of fantastic intensity, noticing the aroma becoming stronger, the blows becoming harder, and feeling the Brit's tool sliding off his now-wet moustache as the pre-cum flowed literally right under his nose. He wanted, needed to beg for more, but could only murmur pathetically - no problem, as Jules appeared to have no intention of stopping. The gag loosened, partly through Jules's deliberately loose knotting technique, partly through the onslaught of cock-battery it was receiving. Max felt it begin to give, slowly... He gasped as it finally fell away, only to receive another blow, right against his pursed lips. This time, the Brit let it lie there, cradled by Max's appreciative lips. "Let me see it!" He begged, feeling the hot, swollen warmth of this beautiful man's erect manhood sliding over his face. Jules obliged, yanking the blindfold off. Max blinked briefly and took in the view. He could see nothing but cock, initially. Fat, heavy, hot long cock taking up his entire field of view. As his eyes focused, each vein, each ridge took shape before him, even every last wrinkle of the Brit's retracted foreskin. He loved it. And Jules knew it, picking his cock up off his captive's now-aching face, then pumping it oh-so-indulgently-slowly, making a deliberate feature of his now well-oiled foreskin, sliding it up and over his tip, just centimetres away from Max's eyes, before releasing his grip and allowing his erection to finish the second stage under its own steam and at its own, deliciously slow speed, pushing through the now-gathered skin to erupt into view, sliding its fleshy coat backwards as it rose up. Max was transfixed. If one thing turned him on more than a beautiful, uncut cock, it was a guy who knew how to work it, and Jules - it was fast becoming clear - was no amateur. Bringing his hooded helmet right up to Max's mouth, he let out a low, deep hum of ecstatic approval as the American slid his tongue under the skin, feeling its way around under the tight glove, through warm, salty confines, loving every single inch of his tip, flicking in and out of the foreskin's confines. So lost was he, in this inhibitions-unwelcome, access-all-areas playground of sexual opportunity, that he barely noticed the Brit climbing atop him on the bed, and moving down to his now-bloated hard-on. Each man now faced the other's manhood and was helping himself to a private, wonderfully self-indulgent cock-party. Jules's lips moved slowly down the length of Max's bulging shaft, over his heavy, juicy balls, and back up to the tip again. He repeated the process several times, enjoying the increasingly insistent flicks he was causing. Max was so wrapped up n this, he barely noticed that Jules had succeeded in slipping his hands down to the far end of the bed and artfully securing Max's ankles to the foot of the bed. The realisation that he was now strapped to the bed, with a cock-hungry sex-starved Brit atop him sent a rush through Max's body - an anticipatory shiver of ecstasy that took over every inch of his powerfully muscled frame. "We like that, I take it?" grinned Jules. "God yes," gasped Max, yanking his bonds, as though to remind himself that he was just along for the ride now. Jules had taken control, and right now was heading back to his very favourite place, burying his face deep in Max's groin. The feel of wiry pubic bushiness against his cheeks drove Jules wild, and he clamped his mouth tightly around the side of this huge great cock in front of him. It was like a dog picking up a bone, remarked Max idly to himself, as the Brit sucked hard on his fat tool, sliding upwards, rising slowly over every last wonderful penile inch, until he reached the top. Then he plunged. Max had NEVER felt this before. It was like being engulfed in the blink of an eye. One second his cock was standing tall and proud in the open air, the next its erect entireity was consumed in a tight, dark, warm vaccuum. Then came the next stage, a fast, furious buffeting, as Jules's tongue ran amok, twisting over and around the tip, smacking it with increasingly urgent flicks, all the while maintaining a level of suction that blurred the line between utter, cream-yourself-on-the-spot ecstasy and bone-shattering agony. It was amazing. Almost as though his cock had lost all feeling, like Jules had succeeded in discovering the cock's own 'funny bone', and wasn't about to let it go without a damn good seeing-to. Max began to actually shiver, and wasn't even sure if he could go on with this, before the knots reminded him that he had no choice in the matter, as another rollingly ecstatic, vacuum-induced spasm took over his whole body. It was as if Jules had been denied his prize and was now doing his level best to suck the spunk right out of his captive. Much more of this, thought Max, and he'll get what he's after whether he likes it or not. Jules had already worked this out. Max was saying nothing, sure, but when something THAT size is threatening to boil over, well fuck, of course the guy on top is going to know about it. Relaxing his oral grip, Jules raised his head up, turned to look behind him and grinned down at Max. Each man wore the same expression of utter, fuck-me-NOW desperation. They were taking each other further than ever and each was torn between drawing this wonderful scenario out for as long as possible or just giving in to his increasing hunger. Neither man knew it, but they'd been together, and pretty much constantly-erect for over an hour and a half now, and each cock was fit to shoot its appreciation all over the fucking place. "NOW!" roared Max, surprising himself with the noise of his outburst. Saying nothing, Jules returned to a kneeling position, straddling Max's chest as he faced him. Still silent, he lifted himself up to once again tease the mighty Chicagoan's throbbing member with the juicy, outermost warmth of his manhole. He gyrated gently atop this towering piece of thick meat, before settling into a subtle bobbing rhythm. Max felt his tip begin to nudge into that wonderful wet warmth, prodding with increasing force against the still-resisting opening. It was like knocking at a door, and someone was sure taking their time in answering! The bobbing became firmer and Max felt that access was imminent... "UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" Jules's gasp sounded like a stadium full of shocked soccer fans, and Max knew that the beast had claimed another victim. What came next, though, amazed even him. Jules hadn't even begun to raise himself up ready for another thrust, when Max felt his hole going into rapid-fire contractions around the enormous base of his manhood. Steadying hmself with his hands on either side of Max's powerful thighs, Jules was seized by a vigorous, jerking, all-over spasm. His jaw dropped wide open and his cock jumped around like a thing possessed, his eyes clenched tightly shut as this massive, supreme endowment took over every inch of his insides. Max might be the one tied to the bed, but it was Jules who felt like the captive now. Impaled on this huge monster, feeling Max right inside, right where he wanted him, right up there and filling him with a generous massiveness, it was his turn now to experience the ultimate blend of pain and pleasure, and fuck, was it good. Still leaping around, the tip of his cock was now a deep, glistening purple fireball, and his heart was visibly pounding under his chest muscles. All this in the space of a split-second: a virginity-losing instant. Then the jerking increased, becoming more abrupt, more intense and Max's eyes widened as a deluge of thick, creamy cum started to ooze, then fire itself upwards out of Jules's cock, rising sap-like before showering Max's torso in thick hot man-lava. Just one thrust was all it had taken. The beast had - quite literally - fucked the spunk right out of the young Brit's body. The stream continued, drops falling higher up Max's body, all the while, Jules's ass-muscles clenching and relaxing like crazy, threatening to bring Max's ever-widening manhood to a similar climax. Finally, the pumping eased off, and a last stream of thick white cum oozed slowly down the underside of Jules's shaft, losing itself in his wiry hair. The rest of the fall-out lay before Jules on Max's chest. He looked down, almost proud of the mess he'd made, thought Max, before realising that it was his own, powerful chest that was the subject of his interest. Max had fully expected Jules to ease himself off now, and set about finishing him off as a matter of course, but Jules - for his part - showed no sign of fading. Smiling, he slowly, and oh-so-fucking-painfully lifted himself, wincing as the girth stretched him to near-unbearable limits, then lowered himself again. Pause for breath. Wince. Then up again. Slowly, he moved into a gentle rhythm, accepting the sheer agony of this as the necessary price of enjoying the finest meat Chicago had to offer. His hands moved onto Max’s billowing chest, swirling around in the still-warm cum, massaging the salty thickness into the awesomely strong contours of this wonderful man, unwittingly increasing his rhythm as the sheer power of this wonderful piece of prime American manhood set his now-sluggish cock back onto the road to firmness again. Size and strength, he thought to himself: the ultimate combination, and this guy has them both in spades. He knew his extreme good fortune and wasn't about to waste it. Leaning forward, he freed Max's arms. "Keep going, love," he breathed, "I'm not done yet!" So saying, he arched back, still impaled, and reached for the ankle ties. The angle gave Max an even tighter purchase on his rider, and it was now he who governed the thrusting. Free at last, he sat up, artfully swiveling Jules through 90 degrees on his hot, bulging axis so that the Brit sat in his lap facing him, with Max sat on the edge of the bed. "Going to tell me a story, Santa?" joked Jules. "You're going to get something, kid, but it's no fucking story," leered Max darkly. So saying, and without withdrawing, he put his arms around Jules, linking his hands under his buttocks. Then, ever so slowly, he stood up, lifting Jules in his arms as he did so. "Fuck me," gasped Jules in wide-eyed disbelief, looking into Max's proudly-smiling eyes. He was being fucked and held at the same time, and it was AMAZING. Max grinned, allowing himself a few casual thrusts, seeing the now-familiar blend of pain and pleasure seizing his cargo's face with each probing move. Then, ever-so-slowly, he took a step forward. Then another. Jules gasped again. This guy was now carrying him across the bedroom, mounted, if you please, on his cock. Strong? He hadn't guessed the half of it. This, it had to be said, was definitely a new one for him. Why the fuck was Max doing this? For the very good reason, he realised, that he CAN. And that alone, turned Jules on as much as the wrenching thrust he was receiving on the end of every step Max took. He was beyond impressed now, holding this wonderful specimen of male supremacy as tightly as he possibly could: the look of sheer awe and admiration in his eyes only made Max harder. The sheer physical effort involved made his chest muscles bulge tightly against Jules' body. Jules, for his part, was losing count of the sensations taking over his frame now: the agonising wonder of the man inside, the sheer, rock-hard strength of the man enveloping him, the knowing union with the man looking so deeply into his eyes, the sheer ecstatic overload of it all. Looking into Max's proudly smiling face he knew in that very second, that he WORSHIPPED this man. Totally, and without apology. And Max, to go by the look on his face, had absolutely no problem with that. Reaching the table once more, he gently placed Jules down with a smile that quite clearly said Max was very fucking proud of what he'd just done. Rightly so, thought Jules, raising his legs over Max's waiting forearms and allowing his master to grind and thrust away. The tables had turned now. Max had captured Jules and - let's be honest about it - hardly needed to tie anyone down to do so. Relying on his twin gifts of size and strength, he'd become - in Jules' eyes - a fucking God. He'd remember being carried like that until his dying day, there was little doubt in his mind about that. Max, for his part, was thrusting slowly, twisting as he did, exploring every inch of Jules' body. Leaning in to kiss again, the two men embraced over a wave of rocking motions, each feeling every move of the other, each feeling himself belonging to the other. Max felt himself rising to a head. Instinctively, and with the insight that only a perfectly compatible union provides, Jules felt it arriving too. "I want to see it.... PLEASE!!!" He gasped, still struggling to breathe properly, that powerful was the effect. Max obliged, withdrawing just as the first, fat globule of creamy-thick whiteness appeared at the gaping eye of his helmet. An astonishing stream of weighty man-fat poured forth, showering Jules in its wake. Wave after wave of the stuff, slopping onto his torso, each splash sending him into a full-body spasm, each one reminding him of the absolute sexual excellence of the man standing before him. Max's eyes narrowed and shut as the last surge of cum shot out, landing squarely on Jules' neck and jaw: he leaned in and licked it up, staring deep into the eyes of this deeply-appreciative man-boy as he did so. A mixture of awe, bliss, warmth and arousal shone right back at him. Both men smiled. Nothing was said as they again pulled together, sandwiching the sticky fruits of their labours in a tight embrace. Max's hands ran over the pronounced muscles of Jules' beautiful back and ran down, enjoying every contour, towards those beautiful, rounded buttocks. His tongue, meanwhile, moved down to the Brit's huge nipples, and gently kissed each one in turn, before once again picking up his grateful quarry and returning him to the four-poster. Both men fell together in a sea of crumpled white linen. "That...." began Jules breathlessly, "was...." "I know," finished Max. They looked into each other’s eyes again and smiled. Yep. They both knew. And words weren't about to do it justice.