Gay Erotic Stories

I’ve read some bizarre fantasy stuff about gay sex and forced sodomy, and what doesn’t quite ring true is the erotic romanticizing of homosexual bondage and discipline. There is nothing sexy about gagging on a stiff cock ram-fed down your throat while you are cuffed wrist to ankle and another faggot is drilling your rectum for depth. The erotic part comes in reliving it, relishing the humiliation without the discomfort, and the lewd excitement of knowing you did something that was so outrageous you cannot talk about it. So I’m going to write about it instead, and submit this Anonymous. If you have ever been in a situation similar to mine then this will ring true.

I met Bill and Eddie at a fundraiser-BBQ. They were unapologetically gay and very comfortable with their public displays. It was on the occasion of paying for an auction item (which Eddie grossly overbid) that led to a harmless conversation about the TV series Mad Men, which led to the topic of mixology, and finally Eddie’s invitation to come by sometime for a cocktail.

“Address is on the check,” Bill said. (I was sure he was checking out my potential)

“I might just do that,” I said.

Eddie was a bit more overt with his oogling. “oh, doo.” They left, but the invite lingered in my mind for a while. There were probably about a dozen of us “straights” at the BBQ and yet they homed in on me. Before I deposited the auction proceeds I committed their address to memory. I gave it a few days’ distance before deciding, “All right, get over it. Go have a drink at their place.” It wasn’t like I was going to turn gay just having a drink with them.

I parked a block away. I walked past their house – well kept yard, two nice VW’s in the driveway. I remember thinking, “Why do they go for the German cars? They always go for German.” I circled back and waltzed up their walkway. I wanted to give the definitive masculine first impression. They needed to know I wasn’t interested in a three-way, or a one-on-two, or two-on-one, or anyone-on-anyone. I rang the doorbell and waited. Eddie recognized me through the screen. “Oh, uh-oh,” he said. “You look lost.” He opened the door and reached out to yank me inside. “Quick!” he snapped, “Before you change your mind – Bill! It’s you’re volunteer fireman!”

Eddie liked to chatter. He liked to keep the conversation going, even if it amounted to listening to his own voice. He asked where my car was and before I could answer he asked if I had eaten, would I mind taking my shoes off, and would I like something to drink?

Bill came from the kitchen and smiled, “You found us.” He held out his hand. I probably looked stupid as I shook it. No reply came to mind. “Make yourself at home,” he said.

I forget what we talked about. It began with that awkward kind of banter that happens in stuck elevators or stranded metro cars. I told them about myself – with deliberate injects about women, my rugby club, my love of fishing, etc. When they talked about themselves, it was always with reference to them as a couple: they were software designers, they had a favorite place on the coast – it was their place –they didn’t own it, but that’s where they went, as a couple, to get away for a weekend and do whatever it was two adult gay men did to each other. Understand, I’m speaking from the perspective of what was going through my mind as I was getting to know Bill and Eddie. I was comfortable drinking with them.

Two hours or so past my initial cut-off time, Bill leaned toward me and said, “You came here to get fucked by another man.”

“No!” I protested.

“Well it’s not going to happen,” he stood up and took my glass, “tonight.”

I got over Bill’s forwardness. I told them both thanks as I was putting my shoes on. Eddie held the door for me and smiled saying, “Come back. We won’t have so much to drink next time.”

Of course I went back! I’d gotten a look at what was behind the gay curtain and it wasn’t so scary. It was like a challenge, an intrigue, because I knew they were both interested in me for gay reasons, but they were also genuinely good company. They were comfortable with their effeminate ways, and masculine in a shrewd no-nonsense sort of way. And there was that parting comment Bill made, that came across like a dare, as in, “I dare you to admit you came here to see what all the fuss is about.”

I showed up unannounced. I should mention that I had a couple of confidence drinks before I got in the car and wound my way through the neighborhoods and parked in front of their house. I took it as a good sign when the porch lit up. Bill answered the door. “I didn’t scare you off,” he smiled.

“I’m here,” I said, and stepped inside.

Eddie came traipsing down the hall wearing boxers and an open robe. He stopped and pointed toward me, saying to Bill, “See what happens when you feed stray cats?” Then to me, “Hi hon, what can I get you?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Eddie went into the kitchen, I sat down and Bill stood over me. “You look good,” he said. I squirmed at the compliment. “I’m not going to bite you.” He had a smooth southern way. He was staring at me and I waited for him to say something. “Come here,” he said. I got up and stood in front of him. Bill put his hands on my hips and it felt like I was crossing a line of some sort. He stood up and his hands moved to my buttocks. “What’s a cherry like you want with me?” he asked.

“I’m not gay.”

“Then what is it?” He stepped back but never took his eyes off mine. “’cause I’ll give you what you want. I know Eddie’ll play with you. So what is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Eddie came around the corner and placed himself between us. “Too serious,” he handed me a gin and tonic, “Has Bill told you how it is yet?”

“Not yet. He was just telling me he wants to put his prick in my ass.” I said that! It was true, and saying it out loud was my way of clearing the air.

“What do you make of that?” Again, nothing came to mind. Eddie took me by the shoulder to where I sat next to him on the couch. “Glad you came back,” he said, and “No hurry.”

“I cant get past the fact that I’m here and you both want to have sex with me—“

“A gift horse,” Eddie pointed out. His easy demeanor did nothing to disarm me. “What do we owe the pleasure of your company, hon?” he asked.

I took a slow drink, looked at Bill, then Eddie, and came out with it: “I want you to turn me gay—just while I’m here. I mean, I’m not gay, but I want you to turn me gay, like temporarily.”

My words hung in their living room as my eyes danced back and forth at both of them, trying to get a read on their reaction. Finally, Bill said, “You want us to make you gay.”

“Yes.”

Then Eddie: “You want to be our bitch?”

“Yes! I want you to treat me like your faggot.” (that passed my lips before I could reconsider, because I knew faggot was an offensive term) They both laughed.

“I see,” Bill said. “Well, that’s not going to happen tonight.” I must have let a dejected look loose. Bill got up and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. “Come by tomorrow, sometime after noon—” he scribbled some, thought a moment, and scribbled some more. “And we’ll see what we can do for you.” Bill handed me the paper and I folded it without looking.

“Now that was easy, wasn’t it?” Eddie asked me.

I finished my drink and moved to leave. I let myself out; they stood like a couple, Eddie smiling broadly. I waited till I got home to look at the list. Alone, I studied it and tried to construct whatever it was Bill had in mind.

• nylons • panties • garter belt • lip gloss • eyeliner

The next day I set about filling the list. It was exciting; I had to curb my enthusiasm in the intimate apparel department as I held up various pieces of lingerie and then tried to mentally size myself. I settled for a black bustier, matching nylons and panties, and on impulse I went to the local thrift shop and bought the largest pair of black heels I could find.

I lightly rapped on their door around three, more or less to see if they were waiting for me. Eddie answered and swung the screen back. He didn’t say anything, but he was grinning. I started to take my shoes off when Bill appeared. He greeted me with a hug and his hands lingered on my waistline. I was starting to shake from nerves and he said. “You could use a drink.” I followed him to the kitchen where he poured me a strong gin and tonic. “How about a tour?” he said. I nodded and followed him from the kitchen to the hallway, where he opened a couple of doors and chimed, “Guest room, den, bathroom, exercise room,” and lastly, “master bedroom.” I poked my head in and saw a king-size bed with a gothic headboard and heavy nightstands on either side. Tasteful, as I had come to expect from them.

I realized I still had the bag with my purchases in hand. “Is this where—“

“No,” Bill injected. “Not in here.” He turned me back down the hall and led me to the den. “Here is where.” I walked in and looked around. There was a leather couch, coffee table, a large screen TV, and a freshly vacuumed carpet. “Get undressed,” he said. He took the bag from my hand. “Let me know when you’re ready.” He shut the door behind him.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and undressed. I neatly folded everything I shed. Then I gulped down the remainder in my glass. I stood in front of a full length mirror set into an armoire. I tugged at my penis to elongate it as much as possible. “Not bad,” I said, then opened the door and called down the hall.

When they both appeared I took a step back. Eddie was the first to touch me. He lifted my penis with two fingers and then stroked his thumb across the topside, ending with a forceful pinch that did not let up. I gasped and he said, “Not used to being handled?” He guided me around to the coffee table and told me to sit as he loosened his finger grip. Bill opened the armoire and I saw a collection of cuffs and locks arranged on a shelf. I also saw a ballgag, a butt-plug and a spreader bar. What got my attention though was an enormous silicone schlong – a caricature of the real thing: bulbous head, thick veins, and a girth at its base that could not possibly be used to its full potential.

A few minutes later I was cuffed wrist to ankle, secured with a spreader bar, and my legs were bandied with leather dress belts. I was ballgagged, splayed out on a towel and propped up with pillows. I watched in the mirror as Eddie applied a liberal dollop of Butt Butter to a plug about six inches long and shaped like a fat miniature baseball bat. I felt his finger enter my bottom, then another, and I held my breath as he plied my pucker. “You’re so tight,” he chirped. Then he pressed the fat end of the bat against my anus and held onto my penis as he guided the plug into my rectum. I squirmed as he pulled and plunged until it was seated inside me with only the tapered base protruding.

They stood over me and seemed they were admiring their catch. Bill said to me, “You’re locked up nice and tight and that ballgag’s not coming out. If you push the plug out, well, we’ll just have to go the next size up.” Bill opened the armoire door and placed the schlong up on end. It was at least ten inches long! Eddie traced his finger along my dick and tugged, “We’re going to have so much fun making you our bitch.”

They closed the door behind them, and I was alone, staring at the spectacle of myself in the mirror – naked, bound, ballgagged, and butt-plugged in the playroom of two faggots. After some earnest writhing and attempts to push the ballgag loose I realized that I was in fact helpless and from there I started worrying what it would be like to have another man in my mouth, especially the part where his sperm would meet my taste buds. But after so long I was resigned to my predicament and tried to relax.

I was alone entirely too long. When they opened the door Eddie was still in his pajama bottoms. Bill was bare chested. He had a network of tattoos on his shoulders, chest, and belly – none of them lewd, but he made an intimidating image.

“He looks ready,” Eddie said.

Bill unzipped his jeans. My heart rate went up knowing what was going to happen next. He reached behind my neck and loosened the strap; the gag dropped around my neck. His dick was inches from my face. “This is the part where you take my cock into your mouth,” he said. I looked up at him; I couldn’t hide my anxiety. The thought of a penis in my mouth made me squeamish. I shook my head. Bill started slapping my face his bulb until I parted my lips and then he mounted my mouth. “There, that’s not so bad,” he said, and put his palm to the back of my head. His penis started to swell inside my mouth till it became impossible to keep from wrapping my lips around him. He encouraged me, “Use your tongue.” Bill pulled back, waiting for me. I leaned forward, hesitated, then went after his shaft with my lips and tongue. I recall thinking, “I’m giving another man head!”

Bill held my head in place as he slowly pushed against my throat. I had a gag reflex, and I heard Eddie say, “My turn.” Then I was staring at a much larger penis. Eddie was at least eight inches long, thick like a beer bottle, with a banana bend. I reluctantly let his engorged bulb in. I struggled; I resisted when he tried to push himself in further. And the bat slipped out of my bottom! I froze with Eddie’s cock in my mouth. I was staring at his navel, when I heard Bill say, “What was that?” Eddie dismounted my mouth and I was left with a loss for words as Bill stood over me with a look of disgust. He grabbed the spreader bar with both hands and twisted me onto my knees and chest. I gasped when Bill held my hips and entered me. It was happening so fast that I didn’t have time to process the fact that there was a man’s cock rooting around in my ass. It wasn’t unpleasant – what I mean is, my anus was lubed, so his dick felt like a fleshy piston stroking my rectum. Then Bill threw his hips into a deep drilling that made my eyes bug and toes curl. I yipped!

“That hurt!” I snapped.

“Start sucking Eddie’s cock you little slut,” he said, and then pressed my rectum with a deliberate grind to make his point. So with my wrists locked to my ankles, wearing a pair of too-tight highheels, a sweat-drenched bustier, and my panties wadded around my thighs, I was forced to serve those two bull homos with my lips and hips. Bill gave my bottom a firm swat. Eddie positioned himself in front of me and held his shaft with one hand and the back of my head with the other. I took him into my mouth, but just barely. Bill was fucking me with grinding thrusts that made me shudder and brace. Then Eddie had me by the ears and was pushing himself toward the back of my throat; at the same time, Bill was starting to climax and going for depth, pulling out, then plunging and pumping his way toward my colon wall. My fingers were splayed, and my toes too.

Bill came in my ass, but Eddie couldn’t get there – or, I failed to bring Eddie to orgasm. I was expecting Eddie to mount my bottom, but instead he only fixed my ballgag in place and they left me laying there, stunned, closing the door behind then. After a few minutes’ struggle I was on my back looking at myself in the mirror. I was drooling behind the ballgag. My anus was distended and glistening from Bill’s reaming. I could only flex my fingers and toes. I made myself as comfortable as I could, not knowing how long I was going to be kept under lock. Bondage may sound exciting, but the truth is it is you cannot stay aroused thinking about how vulnerable you are, or how the next time a dick is put in your face you’re going to be difficult just to see what happens. When you’re locked and gagged, all you think about: I am locked and gagged, and bored! I was relieved that my ass was not plugged, but as time elapsed I was looking forward to Bill and Eddie’s return – it meant a change in situation. I would’ve eagerly latched my lips around either of them if it meant no more ballgag.

Eddie came in and dropped the keys on the carpet along with the bag I had brought with me. He said. “You can use the guest bathroom, wash up, whatever you have to do. Then be back in here, waiting.”

I got myself unlocked, ungagged, and unbandied after some exhaustive straining. My jaw ached, my legs were numb, and my asshole was tender. I gently probed my anus; I had never been swollen down there before. I gathered my bag and tip-toed out into the hall. I did not want to risk doing other than what I was told I could do, so I went straight to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

I cleaned up, rinsed, and then started getting myself dolled up. I pulled the fresh nylons up my legs and squeezed into the bustier. The garters took some tweaking and adjusting, and I had studied enough glam-porn to know that the panties go on last because they come off first. It was an effort to stuff my penis inside; I was aroused and by design panties have no pouch. I applied my make-up and posed for several minutes. Every move I made brought fresh awareness to my greased sphincter, as if my tenderized asshole was the center of my being. With that in mind I wanted to show a bit of girly bitchiness, since I was now a proven piece of ass. The heels, however, did not fit. I could barely pry my feet into them; walking in them was out of the question!

I returned to the den, took a seat on the couch, and waited with my hands folded in my lap. Not a long wait – Bill rapped on the door and I felt the intensity of his stare as he took in the sight I presented.

“Where are your heels?” he asked. I told him them were too tight. “Too tight? Let me see you put them on.” I got up from the couch and dug them out of the bag. I felt conspicuous in my slutty attire, and adjusted a stubborn garter that had come unclasped. There was no graceful way to get my feet into those heels, but I did it standing up, and then stood with my fingers laced in front of me. Bill stepped closer. He reached out and pulled me toward him, my palms were on his bare chest. His fingers plunged into my panties and found my penis. He groped at it, pulled it out of its silky covers and told me to turn around. I did; then he commanded me to spread my cheeks. I slid my panties down and stood stalk still with my butt cheeks plied apart. Bill frigged me and I rose up in my heels. He reached into the armoire and pulled out the schlong. I feared for my ass. He licked his finger and rimmed the suction cup on its base and stuck it to the mirror on the armoire. I had no idea what he was up to.

Next, he put the cuffs back on my wrists. He told me to do the same with my ankle cuffs. Then he told me to get my ass in the air. I obeyed and waited as he plugged my butt with the bat. Bill wasn’t as gentle as Eddie upon entry, but he spent some time twisting the bat in my bottom, and made a point of tapping its base to let me know he could make me yip if he wanted to. Then he told me to stand up and fix my panties, which kept the plug seated. “So you won’t be thinking about your feet,” he said.

Bill made me squat in front of the mirror and lifted my chin. He told me he liked the lip gloss. It was firehouse red. With his crotch just a few inches away I was expecting him to unzip and demand attention. Instead, he closed the armoire door and borrowed my eyeliner to mark a ring around the schlong. It was at eye level. Bill told me to wrap my lips around it. I scooted closer and lapped the monster dick into my mouth. Then he locked my wrists to my ankles so that I was trapped in those too-tight heels. He put his hands on my shoulders and I watched him in the mirror.

“I want to see lipstick cross that black line. Understand?” I nodded. My feet were throbbing and the torpedo in my ass was straining to launch. Bill called Eddie into the room. I met Eddie’s stare, feeling as hapless as the little Dutch boy at the dike. “How do you come up with these party games?” he asked Bill. They left the door open.

I rested on my knees and practiced time and again to get the schlong further down my throat. When I heard them coming down the hall I tried to take in as much of it as I could handle without gagging.

“You’re pathetic!” Bill laughed. He pushed the armoire door closed and the silicone dick popped out of my mouth. He unzipped his jeans, and squirted a huge glob of KY on his shaft. He told me I needed lubricant. The thing about forced fellatio is it’s really no different than bobbing on a dildo. I did it knowing it would end at some point. So Bill got himself charged up in my mouth and he pulled away to a hand-stroke finish. He spewed a couple of bursts on my face, for which I thanked him for, sarcastically. He swung the schlong on the door toward me and said, “Practice.”

I found that after bobbing on his prick for a few minutes and getting a slippery KY coat on my throat I was able to consume about four inches of that superhuman dick. It was lodged in my throat when they came back in.

“Hold it right there!” Bill said. He stood directly over me. “What do you think, Eddie?”

I watched him step out of his pajamas and take his plump dick in his hand. I had abandoned all modesty as I gulped at his shaft. Eddie started swelling in my mouth; I struggled because the bend in his shaft meant I had to raise my feet off the floor. I stayed balanced with my lips wrapped around him!

“This isn’t working,” he said.

I let him slide out of my mouth and pouted, “I’m trying!”

Eddie took a seat on the couch and waited for me to come to him. Even though the butt-plug was implanted in my pantied bottom, the act of hobbling on my knees gave the sensation of an imminent launch. He held his erection in place and I resumed my servitude. With some effort I was able to get his engorged bulb lodged in my throat. Eddie was patient, even supportive, as I caught my wind and began swallowing him a little at a time. “You’re getting it,” he said, and, “Keep your throat open.” He was building. He put his hands on the back of my head and held me in place as he thrust. I pulled away and gasped. “You were doing fine,” he said.

“I could do better if you unlocked me.”

Then I felt Bill’s hands on my hips. For a moment I thought he was going to unlock the cuffs, but instead he tugged my panties down far enough to extract the plug and then I felt him spread my cheeks and push himself inside. He pulled back, and then drilled me.

“Ou!!” I screeched, turned around and hissed, “Faggot!”

Bill began pumping my bottom. It was impossible to get away. I was skewered between the both of them; Even so, Bill had to grip me by the garters to hold me still. I was trying to avoid another piston punch to my colon wall. I could feel my eyes welling up at times from the strain of Eddie’s cock in my throat, but I was relieved when I knew Bill pulled out and slapped his dick on my cheeks.

Without a cock in my ass I was able to pull off of Eddie and ask them again to unlock me. “I’ll be good,” I pleaded. Perhaps out of pity, they consented. I tried a different approach with Eddie. “How about you let me enjoy this?” I cooed. I took the base of his shaft in one hand and his sack in the other and lathered him with as much saliva as I could muster. Then I licked, kissed, and suckled his erection till I found a soft spot that got him twitching. I curled up on the couch with my head in Eddie’s lap and took to sucking on his bulb. I started bobbing on him, and without any coercion or force I was able to get more than half of his length past my lips.

Eddie couldn’t help himself – he put his palm to the back of my head and pushed to get more of him in my mouth. I made slurping gaa-gaa sounds and drooled. “Hey—” I told him, “let me do my thing here.” Eddie leaned his head back and let me take him in a little bit at a time. I was in control for the first time.

But believe it or not, giving head can get tedious! It took Eddie a long time to climax. He finally came in gobs and spurts. At the first taste of his semen I figured I had gone this far, so I pursed my lips on his tip and let him gush, then lapped the last of his juice with my tongue. Semen does not taste bad, but it has a distinctive flavor. I wanted to satisfy the devilish pleasure of reliving my accomplishment as a fellateur later.

I had weathered an afternoon of strict bondage, humiliating domination, tedium, and torrid sex. As I was putting myself back together on the couch, still wearing the cuffs and heels, I marveled at myself in the mirror. I could feel Bill’s semen seeping from my aching pucker, leaving a wet patch on my panties. My eyeliner had run in streaks down the sides of my face and there was a dried sheen on my chin and neck. I sat between them and coyly asked, “So how was I?”

“Well, we took it pretty easy on you,” Eddie said. Bill agreed. “Easy! Look at me!” I grabbed each by the thigh, “You wrecked my asshole, and you I swallowed. Look – you made me dress up like your bondage slut!”

Bill grinned, ran his hand across his goateed chin, and said, “It was all in fun. You wanted to get used like that. You’re still straight.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said, though I was hoping for a better report card. I tugged at my nylon. “And I am still straight.”

“Of course you are, hon.”