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Beautiful Bondage

by Habu


I had been told that the assignment was a bit kinky, but a weekend stopover in Hawaii and three days on my own in Tokyo, paid for by the generous fee addition, were enough for me not to care. My pimp, Leon, told me to make myself blond all over, which I had grown used to in any assignment sending me to the Orient. And I was a bit intrigued because I was told up front that the client was Matsu Shinjuto, an elusive Japanese billionaire much of whose wealth came from his Japanese ink paintings and block prints of ancient Shinto shrines during the various seasons.

The limosine sent for me at the hotel stopped at a massive set of iron gates at the base of a sharp steep slope up a hill, heavy with ferns and carefully pruned weeping trees, and I climbed slowly up to a hilltop eerie high above Kyoto where my client had placed his many-pavilioned Japanese-style mansion floating over Japan’s cultural capital. As I climbed, I looked up at the red-lacquered railings on the terraces above, feeling many sets of eyes on me, assessing me, although I wasn’t able to discern any movement.

I entered the compound through a brightly painted torii gate, ushered by a black-robed figure nearly bent at the waist while we moved through a series of white rice-pappered-walled, wood-framed pavilions seemingly floating in the clouds. Between each pavilion was a austerely beautiful, uniquely landscaped stone garden atrium straight out of the master’s style of painting. I was to find that his art went much beyond the scenic, however.

When I entered into the first courtyard, a deceptively small, square space that used stunted Japanese maples, mountain-like rock formations, and running water to provide the elusion of scenic splendor, I was escorted into a small room off to the side. I was asked by the elderly, severely demeanored gatekeeper who had taken over as my escort at the entry of the second pavilion, which seemed to mark the beginning of the core living area of the compound, to strip down and wrap an emerald-green kimono around my torso and tie it off with a royal-purple sash. There was a tube of scented lubricant on a low stool, with instructions, written on rice paper in elegant, black-inked calligraphy, to apply it generously to my channel. None of this was shocking to me, of course. I was way beyond the capability of being shocked in the world of the extremely highly paid male prostitute.

When I was escorted to the third pavilion, I was motioned to sit, yoga style, with my kimono billowing about me on a cushion placed in front of a squat rosewood tea table. Another, more luxurious and plumper pillow was set beside me. As a willowy young Japanese man in a shiny silver and black kimono served me a glass of perfectly chilled Sapporo beer, I gazed, in great interest and awe at the walls about me, where a large collection of traditional Japanese ink drawings were displayed—composed of highly graphic male-male gay erotica set in some ancient oriental era.

As a whole, the exquisitely drawn collection could stand as a tutorial in the many exotic positions men could get into in fucking each other. I was particularly drawn to the style Shinjuto—because they unmistakably were the work of the master—used to gain maximal erotic images from the clothing. Rarely were the models completely naked; rather Shinjuto had used clothing to enhance the senses and understanding of the paintings. By exposing only fingers on a nipple and a half-buried cock in an ass—along with the expressions on the faces of both taker and taken, Shinjuto had perfectly caught privacy and sensuousness in one work. And in yet another, by showing the clothing in dishabille as in a struggle, the bent-over position on a moss-covered rock in a garden, and the panicked look in the face of the significantly smaller, taken one and of the flailing, helpless position of his arms, Shinjuto caught nonconsensual ravishment perfectly.

“Ah, do you find my private collection to your liking, Mr. Smith? I presume we can refer to you as Mr. Smith in our arrangement?” Shinjuto had arrived, on silent rattan sandals, while I had been absorbed in his artwork and settled very close beside me in a sigh of satin and silk. He was in his early senior years, at least into his mid sixties, but he looked toned and handsome in his traditional kimono of pure white undergarments and an over dress in a blue oriental waves pattern. He was well groomed and had long, elegant, strong fingers that attracted the eye with their fluid motion and precise placement while he talked.

“Yes, that name will do, Sensei,” I responded, using the term for master teacher and lowering my eyes as I had been instructed to do in a quick tutorial I had been given before I left Los Angeles. Shinjuto was paying top dollar, and I was warned to treat him as such. “And, yes. I find your art extraordinarily . . . melting. It has me . . . excited . . . with anticipation, if I might be so bold as to say.”

I saw no reason to mince words. Shinjuto already had one hand behind me and at the nape of my neck, running his elegant fingers through my blond hair and his other hand buried inside the folds of my kimono below the purple sash and gently encircling my engorging cock. The preparation, the foreplay, had already begun.

“And which do you find most erotic, Mr. Smith? Perhaps that one over there, depicting much of what we are engaging in now?”

He had indicated the work where the two figures were nearly fully clothed but undoubtedly steeped in a very intimate act of taking. As he spoke, he had untied my sash and folded back the material at my breast, exposing one of my nipples. And his fist had brought my cock out from the folds of the material below where the sash had fallen away.

I sighed and trembled for him as I had been carefully taught men of refinement appreciated. The fingers at the nape of my neck tightened as did the fist on my cock. Shinjuto pulled my head back and down, and I arched my back for him, my chest expanding and bulging out from the draped kimono.

“I wish you to come for me, Mr. Smith. In good time, while I tell you why I have engaged your services.”

So, it wasn’t to be just a simple job. What he was doing now wasn’t the main thrust of why my time and body had been bought by him for top dollar. His lips and teeth went to one of my nipples as my back was arched by the tension of his closed fist in my hair and his other fist slowly and relentlessly jacked me off. He had a thumb on my piss slit, and as I flowed in precum, he thumbed the fluid around on my swollen glans.

“Yes, like that, Mr. Smith,” he said when he lifted his head from one nipple in preparation for giving equal attention to the other one. “I want to see how large you can become. I was explicit about that . . . and it seems my desires were satisfied.”

“I am paying well for you, Mr. Smith, as you no doubt are aware, but you are a means for me to make millions.”

I moaned and trembled a bit at what Shinjuto was doing with his mouth and fist. He drew his head back and watched the effect of his artwork, as he briefly took his fist from my cock and then glided the palm of his hand up my torso, his moistened thumb, moistened by my own precum and raised outside the fold of my kimono, up to my mouth. He rimmed my lips with the moisture from his thumb and then pushed it past my lips, into my mouth, and I sucked on it.

While he was doing this, he was rearranging my body as well from where we had been sitting, yoga style, very close beside each other. He had moved one of his thighs beneath one of mine, and he was twisting my torso to the side, the arm of hand that had been in my hair now wrapped around my shoulder blade, his arm supporting my torso in its twisted, but still upright position, and with an elegant, long-fingered hand palmed across a nipple.

“Have you ever heard of the Japanese art of Kinbaku-ji, Mr. Smith? Translated as “beautiful bondage?”

“No, no, I . . . haven’t,” I managed in a gurgling tone, the thumb of his other hand still in my mouth, before I involuntarily groaned. Shinjuto had moved his face inside my draped kimono, forcing my arm over my head, and he was licking his way up the side of my chest, headed for my pit. He had also pushed his thigh farther under mine, lifting my hips up over into his lap. His kimono was open below his sash, and he was naked under the elegant white silk. His thighs were hard for a man his age, and I could feel the power of a strong cock, as well. I also could tell that it was sheathed, ready for me. There would be no clumsy pauses or wasted movement in his flow toward the taking of me.

“I have a Chinese client. A very, very wealthy Chinese client, Mr. Smith. He also has an attitude toward the West. He will pay me dearly for a collection of art, using the Kinbaku-ji style, but depicting the East dominating the West. You are to be my model for the West, Mr. Smith. And this client has eclectic tastes. While I am painting these scenes in traditional style, one of my students will be taking still and video photography, and my son will be developing a Hentai version.”

I grunted and strained at this point, because the elderly Sensei, showing his extraordinary strength and flexibility and sorely testing mine, had drawn my leg straight up to rest on his shoulder between our torsos, which were now bowed away from each other. His thumb had left my mouth and had returned to fisting and slowly pumping my cock.

“Does that sound interesting to you, Mr. Smith?” Shinjuto said this just before his teeth and tongue found the most tender hollow of my pit and started devouring me there.

“Yes. Oh, yes. Oh . . . OH . . . . YESSSS!” I cried out, not so much in response to his question, but because he had now opened and positioned my lubricated ass to his shaft, and he was burying his strong, virile cock deep inside me and somehow finding the leverage to piston fuck me as I found myself in a melting fuck position I’d never experience before. I knew it was a traditional position for Shinjuto, however, because, as I threw my head back in the passion of the taking by a Japanese master, my eyes caught one of his drawings depicting exactly the same position.

* * * *

The modeling project was much more involved than I had thought it would be. After Shinjuto had jacked me off and cum with a very satisfied and decorous grunt, he rose and readjusted his kimono, which more or less fell back into an innocent drape line as he stood, and glided back out of the room. While a few young male attendants cleared away the pillows and table and half-empty glass of beer, which I could have used after the muscle-stretching exercise I had just gotten, a couple more helped me groan to my feet and took me to another pavilion, where I was bathed by them in a copper tub and dried off with fluffy towels.

All of the male attendants were handsome young men. The two who attended me were especially nice, and apparently instructed to please me. Their appearance along with remembering and reliving what Shinjuto had just so expertly done to me, made me hard again, and, seeing this and while they both giggled, one of the young men leaned over from above my head and possessed my lips fervently with me and reached over and pinched my nipples while the other lifted my hips to the surface of the water and sucked me to ejaculation.

After they had left me, I had a surprise visit from what must have been Shinjuto’s art students. I stood stock still and stark naked in the middle of the pavilion while four young men painted my body. What they were painting depictions of Western arrogance and power projection—polluting mills, dollar bills, conquering armies, plundering ships, and every form of avarice and crass consumerism they could get on my body—in angry red and orange and yellow and black body paint colors. One design flowed into the next. My cock, of course, which they had to pump up to paint properly, was a guided missile. They were quick and inventive and highly skilled. I’m sure that they had worked all of the designing out in advance.

When I was “done,” I was summoned to the first of several “stages.” This was one of the austere stone gardens. The attendants made me lay in the center of a flattish platform rock, where I could barely touch the ground with the heels of my hands as they arched over and out at the corners of the rock toward the ground. White shiny silk runners of cloth ran out from under the rock, at the center of which, they must have crossed and been knotted, and streamed off at the four corners. I was forced to dig my heels into the sand at the lower quarters of the rock, and then the streamers were wound around my wrists and ankles, binding me to the ground in a backward crab position, my cock pointed at the sky.

Through intricate windings of the silken runners, my head was arched back with a strand running taut under my jaw, the runners criss-crossed my chest, and another of the strands wound up a leg and then under my balls and tightly encasing the root of my cock, which effectively kept my cock both pointed straight up and engorged.

Although I had sort of figured it out beforehand, I knew for sure what the body paint was about when I saw the two lithe but well-muscled and very agile Japanese young men who came out into the garden after I had, by the Sensei’s definition, been “beautifully bound,” or prepared for Kinbaku-bi. The two young Japanese were also covered in body painting—but in more subtle greens and blues and whites and certainly in more refined and artistic images than was slathered on my body. Everything their bodies depicted was the antithesis of the crass and angry and grabby images on my body.

I got it. Shinjuto was going to used as a traditional Japanese sexual art form to give his Chinese client exactly what he wanted—an exotic and erotic collection of art showing East controlling and fucking West.

And that’s exactly what they did. After the master and three of his prized art students had arrived and settled themselves in three different areas of the periphery, the two young men representing the East began to regain their dignity. Shinjuto was sitting cross-legged, in an elegant heavily brocaded vermillion kimono behind a sketching easel. Beside him sat a younger man, of maybe nineteen or twenty, and achingly beautiful—but with a melancholy aspect. He handed implements and inks to the elder Shinjuto upon command, and, when not doing this, he was sketching with rice paper pad and charcoal. Every time I looked at him, I found him slack jawed and watching me intently. I knew he wanted me. But I equally knew that he wanted me to fuck him.

Another of the students was busily moving around the garden, snapping photos and switching now and then to video—and always checking and scowling at the light sources. The third young man was sitting as his computer, doing whatever one did to adapt what was happening in real life to the Hentai world.

But I hardly noticed the actions of either of the latter two; I had my mouth and ass full with the two painted models. I was sucking one off, my head pulled back by the “beautiful bondage” so that he could just pump his cock inside my by standing above my head, his fingers busy worrying my nipples. And the other one was between my legs and fucking my ass, while his hand was moving my “missile” to lift off.

In a second “beautiful bondage” setting, I was lying on my back at the last step of a rock-based water cascade formation descending down into a small pond. My wrists and ankle were bound together by the silken runners, which then rose to the graceful limb of a pine branch jutting out over the water cascade. Two runners wound around my waist, with one snaked around an ankle of one of the painted East figures and then to the other, binding him to me, as he stood at the base of the cascade between my spread and raised arms and legs and fed his cock in my mouth. The other East model was lying below me in the shallow pond at where it was cascading down between my trussed appendages. Bondage runners ran from his waist up to around mine. His cock was buried in my ass, half visible and rocking in and out for the artists to see, appreciate, and capture in their various mediums.

In the third and last scenario, although it provided a double bonding image, I was taken into a large pavilion bedchamber. In the center was a large, square bed, covered in mussed silken sheeting of the purest white. Hanging from a hook in the ceiling above the center of the bed was a silken runner, the richest red this time, gathered up so that it was well off the bed. Similarly, there were two other hooks and red hanging runners at either side of the center hook, each positioned near the edge of the bed. I was forced down on my belly in the center of the silken sheets. My wrists were bound together behind my head and encircling my jawbone and then attached to a runner around my chest at the level of my pecs. Inside this runner clips had been sown into the fabric and were clipped securely onto my aureoles, pinching my nipples closely.

Another runner ran off of this chest wrapping from between my shoulder blades and went back and was tied to my left ankle taut enough to pull my leg at a side angle. A runner encircled my waist and another, wider-banded one tied at the chest banding both at the sternum and between the shoulder blades. It wound down and through my ass crack between these two points, winding once on each side around the waist wrapping as well. My right leg was bent back upon itself with a tight wrapping holding the ankle up against my thigh at an awkward position that, by design, left my butt cheeks stretched wide.

I didn’t notice that the runner going between my crack had a shallow cylinder pouch in it at ass level until the East models began fucking me. They took turns. And although their cocks weren’t thick, they were long. The deeper they fucked, the deeper the pouch that now ran up inside my channel was pushed. And the deeper this was pushed, the more tension that was put on the “beautiful bindings” attaching at my chest and ultimately around my jaw and at my nipple clippings. With each thrust, my head was been jerked back, my back was arching involuntarily, and my nipples were being pulled.

From this point to the end, the photography guy was going to video only. He had his microphone down close to my head and he was capturing some sounds of taking like he’d never heard before.

Both I and the men below me on the bed were doing a lot of writhing, and the body paint was coming off onto the white silken sheets. While I was trying to focus on something other than this excruciatingly painful-pleasurable fucking, I briefly wondered how much Shinjuto could get for the framed silk sheets at an art auction in Chicago. Knowing that it could go for high money with the right background story, I was getting fully into this East fucking West scenario that had been created here.

The finale was a doozy. Before the two East models came this time, they untied my legs and undid the binding around my jaw, and I found out what the red runners on the ceiling hooks were for. The ones at the corner were let down and my legs were split wide and my ankles were bound in red well off the bed and straight out at my sides. The center streamer, which was on some sort of pulley system was lowered, and my bound wrists were bound on this and I was raised above the silken sheets in a spread-eagled form.

The two East models then laid stretched on their backs below me, their heads in opposite directions and joined at the pelvis, the thighs of one over the hips of the other. One of them held their two long, but happily not all that thick, cocks together until an attendant had wrapped a binding around the base of their cocks, make their tools one, thick cock. Then the binding between my ass cheeks was taken away, the pouch slurping out of my channel, as I was lowered onto the two cocks. Skewered deep by two throbbing, joined tools, and then raised, and lowered, raised, and lowered . . . until both of the East models had come in much jerking and thrusting up of themselves from below me.

* * * *

As I was being unbound and praised for my contribution to art by the attendants and the photographer, I looked up and saw Shinjuto standing there, half way between his easel and the bed. He stood tall and straight, but he was shaking. And I could tell how wound up he was and moved to a higher plane of desire by the expression on his face alone. His sash had come untied, and the kimono had fallen away from his body. His heavily-muscled chest was heaving, his nipples were puffed and rock hard, and there was a thin film of sweat glistening at his sternum. His erection was gigantic and angry red and slightly bobbing up and down.

The young man who had been handing implements to him and crouching beside him and sketching as well was still huddled back at the easel. I could see the want and need in his eyes as well. But I could also see fear and confusion, and it hit me at that moment that he had no experience in this. Only want and need.

“Come. I am well pleased,” Shinjuto said in a wavering, barely controlled voice. “I will pay double. I will also charge double. And my client will gladly pay it upon seeing the samples.”

He took my hands, my wrists still bound in “beautiful bondage,” in a firm grip and led me over to the side of the room. There was a contraption in front the rice-paper wall that looked like the side view of gymnasts’ parallel bars—quite widely divergent parallel bars. The lower bar was the nearer one and was set at mid-thigh level. The one beyond it was set at shoulder height. One this higher bar, there were silken strands wrapped near each end at a wide angle.

In short order, my thighs were straddled on the lower bar and my ankles were bound above the higher bar at the widely spread interval. Shinjuto was crouched down behind me, his angry red, gigantic tool working its way up into my ass channel, his long, elegant fingers digging into my aureoles. My bound wrists were thrust over his head, joined behind his neck, which held my shoulder blades against his heaving chest.

I saw the young assistant in my periphery vision, at Shinjuto’s elbow.

“Please, uncle, please. You said that I might . . .”

“Yes, Kanto, you may have your first taste.”

The younger Japanese came around in front of me and knelt and tentatively started to taste my cock. As he worked at it, he quickly got better, no doubt having had a lot of instruction in the theory of it from his father’s art.

“One last Kinbaku-bi, just for my own pleasure,” the Sensei was muttering. This does not go to the Chinese client. I have this part of you for myself.”

I was thinking—between grunts and groans at Shinjuto’s expert fucking and the young one’s pleasurably learning—that it was a shame that this wasn’t being captured in art if it meant so much to Shinjuto.

But even as I thought that, the pavilion wall panels before my eyes were splitting and being drawn back . . . to reveal a life-sized, obviously Shinjuto master painting of just what I would see if there had been a mirror there. The agency must have sent him a photo of me, because it clearly was me in the painting, trussed up on this apparatus—and clearly Shinjuto fucking me and showing a pleasure in the fuck in his face that I couldn’t see in real life from where I was bound. And between my legs in the painting was the bobbing head of the handsome young Japanese nephew of the master.

Shinjuto had orchestrated it all. He was the master.

* * * *

I never saw Shinjuto again. As far as he was concerned, I’d done what I had been paid handsomely to do and now he was going to be paid even more handsomely for having created art out of his sensuous, torturous taking. He was the master, the Sensei. Before he released me from his bondage, however, he told me that before I left Japan, I would received one more token of his appreciation. But that I should only accept it—and he declared that it would be quite valuable—only if I would grant the one wish of the one who delivered it to me. I hesitated slightly in responding, but he reassured me that the present would be worth far more than I would have to give for it, so I told him I accepted.

I was intrigued about what this present might be, and it was that more than the declared value of the gift that made me say yes. Shinjuto had been very generous to me. But, despite all that I had made—and even how much I had enjoyed the exotic taking and learning of the Japanese sexual art of Kinbaku-bi, I was just too mischievous and imbued with the need to control in my heart to leave it all completely at Shinjuto’s design and command.

I had seen that Shinjuto was holding his nephew back—that he had every intention of teaching him in the ways of men with men. But that he was going to dole it out piecemeal and almost reluctantly—and completely under his control and at his direction. That he was going to torture the handsome youth with it.

Kanto, the nephew, was in the pavilion where I was being cleaned up and given a chance to rest. I could tell that he wanted to linger when the others were finished, and I decided to help him with that and to assert a little control of my own and to leave my mark on Shinjuto’s well-ordered and orchestrated life.

As Kanto was putting the towels into a bin, I went over to him and took him by the hand and walked him around the walls of the pavilion, which was the same one in which Shinjuto had first taken me. We viewed the erotic art together, going from one to the other. I felt the intake of his breath and his tightening up as we stood in front of one that showed a young, willowy Japanese receiver rolled up onto his shoulders on a mat, his torso rising in the air and the older muscleman Japanese giver standing over him, one leg over the thigh of the younger one, whose heel rested on the older one’s butt cheek, the older man holding the younger man’s leg at the knee. The younger man’s other leg was spread out wide, being held by the older man’s hand under the thigh. The muscleman Japanese was fucking down into the receiver’s hole, his thick cock only half buried. The expression on the giver’s face was one of triumph and lusting cruelty, and the younger receiver’s head was arched back in a cry of passion and overstretching.

I unknotted the sash of my kimono and let it drape open. And I searched down in the folds to ensure that the tube of scented lubricant I had retrieved from earlier and hidden there was still there. Then I came up very close behind Kanto and drew him into me.

He shuddered at the feel of my cock in the small of his back, and he moved as if to pull away from me, but I held him fast to my chest. I held his torso to mine with a palm spread on his chest and I untied his kimono with the other hand and, tugging at the kimono at his shoulders, made it drop unto the tatami mat below.

Kanto whimpered and struggled again, but I held him fast with a palm over his chest and the other hand going to his cock. He was already almost fully aroused. He was ready for me already.

He swiveled his head away from the painting, but I raised one hand to his jaw and held him there, face forward, fully looking at his uncle’s masterwork of an older, muscled man dominating the younger virginal man. I got a large glob of lubricant on the fingers of the other hand, and I started working his tight asshole with my fingers. First one finger and then another.

Kanto was panting heavily and moaning, and I could feel his legs going to rubber. But I held him up with the framing hand under his jaw, forcing him to look at what was happening in the painting and with the strong finger of my other hand skewering up into his tight ass.

When I felt he was open enough to take me, I crouched down at the knees a bit and just picked him up off the floor with my hands on his waist and sat him down on the crown of my cock. He cried out at the pain of the taking, but now he had thrown his hands around my neck and locked his fists and his chest was arched out. He jutted his butt cheeks back into me, helping me to bottom.

We were united there, joined at the cock and channel for several long minutes, while we waited for his virginal channel to stretch to accommodate me and his pain and suffering to turn to wanting and lust. We were both panting, and he was groaning and moaning and telling me he never knew it could be like this and that this was his first time—which he hardly had to tell me.

Holding him to me with one arm across his panting chest as I lapped him in my semicrouched position in front of the painting, I reached down and fisted his cock in my other hand. He ejaculated almost at once with a joyous shouting that sent my own fluids spewing through me and deep into him.

Again we held the pose for several minutes as we cooled down and recovered the strength of our manhood, which he was able to do quickly because of his youth and because it was all so new and arousing to him—and I was able to do through professional conditioning.

Still, I had thought that would be enough. I had taken the virginity of Shinjuto’s precious nephew, who he intended to slowly cultivate. I had thus accomplished my little flash of mischief and grabbing for control. And, just as important, I had thoroughly enjoyed myself.

That thought caught in my mind with a guilty twist, though, because Kanto was shaking inside my grasp. Perhaps I hadn’t thought of him well enough in all of this. I’d thought he wanted to be relieved of his virginity as soon as possible, and his body had been sending out unmistakable signals to me. But he was trembling, so maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was upset at what he had lost.

“Kanto—” I started. Not really know how to say it; not even knowing what to say, what to ask. I couldn’t given him back his innocence.

“I’m sorry. I can’t pay you much,” be blurted out, ending it with a sob. But then he continued in a flood. “I know you make a lot of money at this. I have very little, but I could send you a little at a time . . . for as long as it takes.”

“Oh, Kanto,” I said and then laughed with relief. “I didn’t do this because I wanted you to pay me for it. I did this because I thought it was what you needed, and, frankly, because you are super hot and I wanted you. I don’t have to be paid when I want to do it. You honor me by giving my your virginity. You don’t know how thrilling that is to a man. To be the one to deflower a hot young man like you. So, now, shall we clean up and—”

“No. Please . . . no.” His voice started off stubborn but then got shaky again.

“No, what?” I asked, surprised.

“The painting. Can you fuck me like they are doing in the painting first?”

“Yes, of course,” I said, laughing again. And, taking him off my lap and turning him around and setting him gently down onto his shoulder blades, I showed that I could . . . and I did.

* * * *

Three days later as I was packing my bag and getting ready to leave Tokyo after having had a great time in the Shinjuku ni-chome bar scene—and after bar hours activities, where I picked up some extra cash from several randy Japanese men with open and overflowing wallets, I answered a knock at the door. Shinjuto’s son stood there, grinning in recognition and, no doubt in remembrance, and, after bending in synch low at the waist, handed me a wrapped package.

“From Sensei Shinjuto, with regards and thanks,” he said. And then he came out of his bow and gave me “the look,” and I then knew much of what receiving the gift would entail.

“My father said that you would grant me my one wish,” he said, and then, when I nodded in assent, he said, “My one wish is one last Kinbaku-bi with you. I assure you that it will not be as strenuous for you as my father was.”

“Certainly,” I said. “Come in.”

I was already starting to strip down when he went back out in the corridor and returned with a laptop computer, which he sat at the foot of the bed, facing the headboard, and revved up. He also had red silk bindings with him.

I watched the computer screen in fascination as he put me into beautiful bondage, one wrist bound to the railing of the bed’s headboard at the left corner and the other wrist and my left ankle loosely bound together at the right corner of the headboard. I was then trussed up, my butt resting on the side edge of the bed near the headboard, left leg raised and torso stretched back toward the other side of the bed.

What fascinated me with the computer display was that it was of an animated Hentai of the cartoon me and Shinjuto’s son in just this position. Shinjuto’s son stripped down. He was slender but well muscled, a handsome young man, and his quite presentable cock was already engorged. He must have been a little self-conscious about his endowments, though, or overly ambitious, because the cock on his Hentai character was the size of a baseball bat. But then, so was the dick on my Hentai character—and my character’s hole was big enough to take the baseball bat.

I watched both on the screen and in real life, as Shinjuto’s son bound his forearm to my right calf with the silken bounds. Then, already encased with a condom, he just pressed between my spread thighs and fucked me as closely as he could in real life to the exaggerated good sex unfolding in the Hentai animation on the computer.

When he was finished, he just quietly unbound me, turned off and closed his computer, gave me a look and salute of full satisfaction and appreciation, and departed.

When he was gone, I opened the package to find an ink drawing, done in bold strokes, undoubtedly by the master, Shinjuto—of me fucking his nephew, Kanto, in front of the painting depicting the same act.

I had to laugh. Shinjuto had mastered me again. He had planned even what I thought I was controlling—the deflowering of his nephew—for free. And he’d managed to get a free Kinbaku-bi fuck for his son thrown into the bargain as well.


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146 Gay Erotic Stories from Habu

Angled Entries 1: Big Balling

Angled Entries 1: Big Balling [Author’s Note: This series follows on from “Dueling Regeneration” of the Philippe LeCroix short story series.] Chas Angle strutted down the stairs of his new plantation house, gathered his extra-long sweat shirt around his waist, climbed onto his cycle, and roared off down the long driveway on his way to the Hornet’s basketball stadium in downtown New Orleans.

Angled Entries: Painted Laddie

When Ms. Elisha came off the stage at the Bourbon Street female impersonators’ club and swished into her dressing room, Chas Angle was waiting for her. The meta hunk had worn a muscle shirt barely covering the superhuman bulges of his torso and a silky pair of shorts that barely held the bulge of his twelve thick inches. So, when he asked her if she’d come pose for him for photos, her quick

Angled Entries: Hard Decisions

Years and then more than a decade went by with nothing much happening in Philippe LeCroix's rotting plantation house on the Mississippi beyond the dust accumulating and the oaken walls drying out and spitting. Chas Angle still held his mentor and tormentor in his bed chamber on the second floor of the mansion, shackled to his bed, and rejuvenating himself only when Chas brought him young men to

At the Reservoir

I take three- to five-mile hikes about twice weekly. I have five nearby nature trails I rotate through (in addition to a few more urban walks). The park I went to recently—at the town's reservoir—has been on the Internet for years as a male pickup spot, although the police seemed to have stopped that a few years ago, I thought—and the pickup spots (the restrooms and an old barn) aren't near where

Azores Assignation

Edgar steadied himself against the bulkhead as the wake of a passing yacht sent his own ship to wallowing and scraping against the dock. He was hunched over the sink in the closely confined space, space being at a premium even in a Latitude 44 such as he’d sailed from Marseilles to the harbor town of Horta on Azores’ Faial Island. He believed that he could find exactly what he wanted here, and

Back Where . . .

I rolled over in the bed, reaching for Esteban, but he wasn’t there, setting off in me a mild zing of irritation. He’d gone to sleep last night while I was fucking him and now he wasn’t there at all in the morning. This brought the decision I had to make back to mind and was, perhaps, yet another nail in the decision—two decisions actually. I had an opportunity to head up the Radio y Televisión

Beautiful Bondage

I had been told that the assignment was a bit kinky, but a weekend stopover in Hawaii and three days on my own in Tokyo, paid for by the generous fee addition, were enough for me not to care. My pimp, Leon, told me to make myself blond all over, which I had grown used to in any assignment sending me to the Orient. And I was a bit intrigued because I was told up front that the client was Matsu

Being Fussy

I was going back from throwing some hoops with the guys one afternoon when I decided to drop in on Charlie and see how he was doing. He was a little high strung and had been having trouble with his latest live in of late. Denny was a real cocky asshole, so sure of himself and going directly for what he wanted—and usually getting it—and taking advantage of everyone along the way. And he was messy.

Bermuda Triangle

“A candidate for the Bermuda Triangle, might you say?” Dean said to Penn across the cocktail table. They were sitting at a window of the Splendor Lounge on the Champion of the Sea mega tourist ship on the first full night of its sail from Baltimore to Bermuda.The two, both members of the ship’s dance troupe were looking over a thirtiesh blond, well-formed, and obviously well-heeled hunk

Beyond the Beaded Curtain

I had been holding up the bar in the smoky lounge for more than a half hour, and Nick hadn’t shown. Felt pretty sorry for myself. That had been my story with my encounters with Nick: fuck ’em and leave ’em. I didn’t really want to play that game anymore, but here I sat, waiting for Nick. I had waved off several guys in obvious search of a pickup when the mystery man appeared at my elbow. As time

Biloxi Renewal

\Ham couldn’t sleep, and he thought he heard a noise from downstairs. Probably only one of the many ghosts haunting this old, rotting mansion, he thought. But, still, he was fully awake now. He rose off the cot he’d set up in his room until after everything was packed out and padded down the stairs into the music room. He was barefoot, only wearing his muslin sleeper pants. In twenty-four hours

Bite of the Schlange

Jacques, the young comte de la Arbois, nearly fell off his horse, both steed and rider trembling from exhaustion, into the arms of the innkeeper of the small village of Saint-Avold, a hard half-day's ride west of Metz. "A fresh horse," Jacques muttered feverishly through swollen lips. "We have such a horse for you," the innkeeper exclaimed. "But you are in no condition to ride on, young

Cast Party

I could not have been in any steamier place or time for my sexual awakening. Bangkok, Thailand, in the eighties was sin city extraordinaire. Anything went there; everything was tolerated. It was a mai bin rai (“nevermind; whatever, it’s OK”) place and everything was not only tolerated, but it also was on offer—and almost always for free or at a very good price. And it was an innocent time. The

Chain Gang Banged

I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.

Chain Gang Banged

I was only in for thirty days, and then not because of something I’d actually done. My buddy Phil had left drugs in my car, and the cops found them when they stopped me because I was driving a little too fast when I pulled away from a country beer hall they were staking out. I should have known better. I was only nineteen, and I shouldn’t have been in that beer hall at all, let alone drinking.

Chaz's Choice

“Are you sure? You don’t have to go through with this.”But, who was I kidding. Julio’s choices had been shut down that first night—the night I’d found him supposedly by chance, but with chance having nothing to do about it. He’d been had even before I approached him at the Noobai Café, the discreet little gay hookup bar in the Restele district of Lisbon, not far from the Cuban consulate.

Cockpitting

After two years in the male-male paradise of Bangkok, a short assignment to Okinawa, Japan, seemed, for most of my tour, like entering a monastery. I was supposed to rotate directly back to the States with my SR71 supersonic photoreconnaissance unit, but the North Koreans were acting up on the DMZ, and the government wanted an intense look-see at whether or not they were building their troop

Congo Drums

The riverboat hit a log, or something, on the hull right at my head, and I woke with a start. The first sensation in the soft, wavering light of a single lantern hung by the doorway was the sound of the drums and low chanting from somewhere above. The driver and cook at it again. The sound was monotonous and comforting all at the same time. It also seemed to be richer than before, almost

Creamy Thighs

Tight, hard and hairless bodies with creamy thighs, resilient flesh on muscles of steel; and flexibility; flexibility is a must. I insist on that; and obedience and total subservience. And I possess them all. I fuck them all, women and men alike. I fuck them all regularly, without showing favor. That’s the only way to keep order. And they stand in line, audition for the privilege of being

Dagger Through the Moon

I am Darien, magician to the D’Ibelins; son of Jared, magician to the D’Ibelins before me; and grandson of Deter, magician to the kings of the Aquitaine. Can anyone deny my powers after the Horns of Hattin? But, no, no one but me knows of what really happened there in miracle of the stronghold of Belvoir. And that, perhaps, is as it should be. But as I glide across the sky, I look at that brand

Dangerous Experiment

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment.” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe had just been renewed, and he was

Deal Closer, Part 1

As we strapped ourselves in across from each other, knee to knee in the sleek corporate jet, I was wondering why CJ had picked me to fly out to the coast to try to close this business deal. I was pretty new to the company and no where near to having the seniority to be included on this trip. But I wasn’t complaining. A week in California and time to get to know the vice president of sales better

Deal Closer, Part 2

We got into L.A. that night and CJ and I went straight to the hotel. I was exhausted after my in-flight service training. CJ had booked a suite with two separate bedrooms, so I went to my room after dinner, showered, and went straight to bed. I was laying there on the wide bed, on my back, staring at the ceiling and just about asleep, when CJ crept into the room, came up on the bed and sat on my

Deal Closer, Part 3

When I had cleaned up and returned, I found that CJ had wiped himself off with a washcloth that Binggum had conveniently previously located in a bowl on the coffee table and was stuffing and buttoning his sausage back into his red-silk pouch. Binggum was stretched out on full the sofa, another wash cloth lying near him on the floor, probably used with a gentle touch by CJ in the most

Director's Couch

I often did things backwards in life. The old Hollywood adage goes that many a starlet—and we can add many a leading man, now that the cat is out of the closet on that—got their film career break by the audition they did on the director's or producer's couch. In my case, however, I got the part before the director had me taking direction under him on his couch. I had been a child actor on

Do You Trust Me?

Angelo had been so tense through his set at the café this evening, that he was afraid that it could be heard in his voice or in a change in how he coaxed the music out of the strings of his guitar. But those sitting around a smoking and drinking long after the food service had been shut down didn’t seem to have reacted any differently than before, with just those exceptions. Although all of the

Doubling Bets

(Suckered into betting against the double penetration myth) I should have known the sneaky Dutchman had all the angles figured when he suckered us into betting against a myth in the Men Only back room at Cowboy's Bar in Bangkok's Patpong district. He waited until the third revolution of the happy hour clock—when we were all soused and sluggish—and entered with a boy-built Thai. I recognized

Dueling Regeneration

[Author’s Note: This story completes the Philippe LeCroix series, which is best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment.” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe LeCroix, with his new chauffeur,

Egyptian Ram

I was nearing the end of the fourth group lesson on self-defense techniques at the store-front gym under the instruction of a heavily muscled Egyptian wrestler named Anwar, when he took me aside and, after telling me he thought I’d make a natural wrestler, asked me if I’d like to stay after class and have him demonstrate some holds to me. I had admired his massive build—a bodybuilder’s barrel

Eight- and Nine-Inch Drills

Ad placed by Andre (9 slender inches) and Mike (8 thick inches) in the local weekly newspaper: - - - - Power Drills: GBM’s, Strong, hard, silent eight- and nine-inch power drills seek tight BWM or SWM who seeks filled fantasy experience for multiple drill role play says-no-but-wants-yes bottom. Call Mike at 945-6036. - - - - Ad Rob saw instead in the local weekly newspaper and decided

Elementary, Snidely

“But I don’t understand how you can just stand here, out on this beach, and declare that Jason Dunn has run away with his college football offensive team coach and lost his virginity, Doctor Klein. The Dunn’s paid us to find their son, and I very much doubt they will be amused with the elaborate and very offensive story you’ve come up with by way of explanation.” “It’s elementary, Snidely. And

Elusive

I waited until we'd almost reached Miami's airport, but I couldn't leave it here.

Emmet

We live in a university town, my wife and I, and we live in a neighborhood within five blocks of the edge of that university. It’s an affluent neighborhood, built on heavily wooded, well-manicured lots on the side of a ridge, with narrow streets running up and down and twisting here and there. Almost like the country, but a wealthy enclave right in the small city. Quite staid we are. Not ones for

Enticingly Unnaked

“How about I treat you to a drink? You must be thirsty from all that naked time on the platform.”I had just climbed down from the velvet-covered bench on the platform where I’d been posing, in the nude, for the past hour for Chad Simmons’s Savannah College of Art and Design night school art class. I’d barely had time to shrug my white cotton dress shirt over my shoulders. That didn’t stop the

Ernestine

I’m not sure why I went to Club 216 that night. I’d joined months before but had gone only rarely. Joining put me on their e-mail list, though, and I kept seeing announcements go by of their semiannual beauty contest. It didn’t pay much attention to it—or at least I didn’t think I had—but that Saturday night found me there, just a couple of table rows away from the stage. I was by myself at the

Ethiopian Cabin Boy

When I left Bangkok, Thailand, the first time, I originally thought I'd be returning to a world that was almost completely straight and that my days of enjoying a rich and active bi lifestyle were over. My work with the government, with its strong homophobic policies, just didn't seem to leave that avenue safely open to me. And for a couple of years, when I was assigned to Washington, D.C., and

Family Day on the Pool Table

I had always thought that about the only thing you could do on a pool table was play pool, but the Taylor brothers went to great length and depth to teach me otherwise. I’d met the three brothers on the beach at Pataya, Thailand. Their family owned a hotel construction company and was making money hand over fist in throwing up fancy hotels in downtown Bangkok and at the Pataya and Hua Hin

First Threesome

My first, memorable threesome was in that fancy gym in Bangkok where I had recently met who I called my Indian magician, who had seduced and initiated me. And the threesome was orchestrated by that Indian diplomat as well. He had been eyeing a military attaché from the Israeli embassy on the exercise floor—a man pushing his forties, built close to the ground but with long arms, almost simian in

Firsts With An Indian Magician

My first time for a lot of things came within a three-week period. I was a young Air Force pilot, living in Bangkok, Thailand, and flying the SR71 photoreconnaissance airplane. I was as virginal as they came before arriving in Bangkok. Sports through school and Air Force training and heavy workouts pretty much had taken all of my time and energy. I was about as Mom, apple pie, and country first

Friday Nights with Lenny

I stepped back from the sidewalk, hugging my arms close to my sides, and leaned back on the wall at the corner into the alley, raising one leg, knee bent, and my cowboy booted foot flat against the wall. The hole in the sole of that boot was worn clean through and the cold of the wall wasn’t as cold as that of the sidewalk pavement. Besides, it was a good pose for the purpose. While still

Garden District Plunge

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation,” “Natchez Refreshment,” “Biloxi Renewal,” “Reconnected Recovery,” “Theatrical Revival,” “Sailing Back into Life,” “Harvesting in the Park,” “Garden District Plunge,” “Dangerous Experiment,” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe watched them from the shadows in

Getting . . . Educated, Conclusion

The next day was my next tennis date with Ben. As I had thought and hoped for, after we’d played and I’d beaten him for the first time, I learned that he was in bad condition again and needed help. We both took showers, and he started back for the massage room, but I stopped him, telling him I had found a better place for him to get relief. We hurriedly both put gym shorts and T-shirts on, and I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 1

It was the first month of my graduate school, and it was my turn for the “introductory” evening with my Logic professor, Paul Hollings. When I’d asked someone who’d taken his class the previous year what the proper attire for such an event was, he had just given me a lopsided grin and said, “For a handsome guy like you? I’d suggest very bulky clothes.” He hadn’t elaborated, but I probably

Getting . . . Educated, Part 10

Although I had several white bandana encounters that week in which all a stranger needed to do to get submissive sex from me was to ask for my bandana, none were as strange as the one I had while I was on my way to play tennis with Ben the first time. I was strolling along, racket case under my arm, when a big black limousine, with smoked windows rolled up beside me, the driver’s window rolled

Getting . . . Educated, Part 12

My next team punch event day was more memorable for being the day of the double massage than for my losing a wrestling match and getting fucked. I lost the match, of course. This time to Greg, who was perverse enough to make me swing both my arms and legs over the parallel bars and then got on a bench under me and fucked me first from the front, my ass tipped up and then from the back, my ass

Getting . . . Educated, Part 13

I still felt better about the possibilities of taking control the next evening, which may be why I took that ticket the doped up rocker had given me and attended his concert. His band really was quite good. He had a large crowd in the university’s soccer stadium and it was even filmed for national sale as a video. The rocker who had fucked me had a great, raspy, character-laden voice and he

Getting . . . Educated, Part 14

At my next tennis match with Ben, he allowed as how he wasn’t in nearly the same painfully hard condition that he had been when we’d done the prostate procedure, but he did show a bit too much eagerness to repeat the massage that day if I thought it was advisable. I wanted him at full staff for presentation to the coach, so I asked him if he could hold off until our next practice match, to which

Getting . . . Educated, Part 15

Coach Seeman had told all of the wrestlers that they could come over and use his swimming pool at any time, and I was so sore and strung out later that afternoon that I took him up on the offer. I knew there was a wrestling meet during that time and figured that Seeman and the real wrestlers would be busy with that and that I’d have the pool to myself. I did, in fact, have the pool to myself

Getting . . . Educated, Part 2

I trudged back to the dorm from having been raped by my Logic professor, feeling very down and very sore, hoping that no one would ever learn about my humiliation; angry at the professor, not knowing how I was going to be able to sit in his class in front of him now. Worried about whether and what demands he might make on me for the rest of the semester. I wasn’t that way. I didn’t want to be

Getting . . . Educated, Part 3

I had been sexually assaulted by three men within my first week at school. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I let it go for several days and then, when I was on my way to throw some hoops at the gym, I just snapped and found myself seeking out the dean of men students. I didn’t know if I could get a walk-in appointment with him, but I felt like I needed to talk to someone about

Getting . . . Educated, Part 4

It had been three days since I had been raped four times within two days, and I was hiding out. I had taken a by-week apartment made over from a motel not too far from the campus, dropped the logic class, and kept as low a profile as I could. I’d found the former motel too noisy to study in, so I was camped out in a small overgrown park nearby, where I was studying on an old picnic table. I

Getting . . . Educated, Part 5

I’d had enough of these repeated sexual assaults; being used like this. The next day, I packed my car and headed for home. No more than three miles beyond the campus gate, though, I heard a police siren and was pulled over to the side of the road. I sat in the car, wondering what I had done wrong, as a policeman strutted around and took a look at both license plates, all the time swishing a

Getting . . . Educated, Part 6

Coach Seeman delivered me to Nate’s door, ravished and still in handcuffs, which had been moved so that my arms were in front of me, and with my jeans barely covering me. When Nate answered the door, he was wearing only his briefs. As the dorm counselor, he had an actual one-bedroom apartment, including separate bedroom, a kitchenette, and a bath—which made me wonder why he showered in the common

Getting . . . Educated, Part 7

I stayed with Nate for the next two weeks, taking in my regular classes in the afternoon and spending most of the mornings learning the fundamentals of wrestling from Nate and Greg in a small room off the main wrestling gym while the coach’s regular “Greek Wrestling” class went on in the main wrestling gym. I thought I was getting the hang of it until I was called in for what coach termed one of

Getting . . . Educated, Part 8

Later that afternoon I got my first glimpse of my possible ticket out of this “team punch” hell. I went to class and the professor, who was also my faculty advisor, asked me to come see her in her office after her next class. When I appeared there, she wasn’t alone. A young student was sitting and chatting with her. I took to him immediately. He was perhaps the most handsome youth I’d ever seen;

Getting . . . Educated, Part 9

My next team punch event defeat wasn’t too taxing. I was getting steeled to these attacks on my body. The winner was one of those lean, mean Marines, without an ounce of fat on a very efficient body and a shaved haircut. Not much to brag about in the below-the-belt category, which probably is why I’d seen him hang out with one of the bantam-weight wrestlers, a willowy, but obviously strong,

Getting. . . Educated, Part 11

The exhaustion of and loss of strength from the previous day’s unexpected sex encounters may have accounted for my tennis match the next day, but it’s just as likely that Ben was just a much better tennis player than I was. He agreed to let me try to recoup the loss and set up another match for two days hence. As I had hoped, we were the only ones in the graduate gym shower room when we went in

Gotta Keep This Job

I had been summoned to the medical suite at my office at the end of the Friday dayshift of my second week on the job, and I showed up with a great sense of trepidation. It had been hard finding this job, and I just had to keep it. But I’d scored drugs for a short time when I’d been in college, and I knew this company had a strict drug policy. I hoped that they hadn’t found out about that—or that

Handed On

“I really do worry about you. When did you eat last?”“Please, please, don’t stop,” Marc whimpered between pants. “Finish me, please. Don’t make me wait.”“Now you want it,” the dance master laughed. “We’ll see how badly you want it.”The two young men were lying on a pile of old costumes in the dark corner of the back of the stage behind the wings. The dance master, Patrick Moran, only

Harmony and Dissonance

“Are you sure this is the address?” Lars Krieger asked, as the hotel car stopped in front of a massive, carved-wood, two-panel door in an otherwise blank concrete wall on Bangkok’s Soi 51 Sukhumvit. The road was narrow, almost an alley, it seemed, to the young German engineer, with one, long stuccoed wall running down its full length on each side with doors like this and wider garage doors at

Harvesting In The Park

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Philippe had found this one particularly

Highballing

If the CEO of my company hadn’t seen me recently in that gay bar over on 12th and Madison, I don’t know how long it would have taken me to get invited to the executive floor. But Pete Peterson had seen me, and there I was, in his conference room, sitting in a second-row position in the weekly executive meeting. I’d been surprised, but pleasantly so, to see Peterson in the bar. He was one of

Iced

If I didn’t get a good fuck in before tomorrow evening, Tonya and I would be out of the medals for sure. We’d come to the Paris Grand Prix with good hopes of standing on the platform, but my timing was all off in the twists and throws we’d attempted in our practice session tonight, and I knew it was because I was so jittery from not getting my rocks off since we’d been at Skate Canada a couple of

Iced Flip Side

I had had my eye on Aleksey since the skating season began. He was the new partner for Tonya in the ice pairs division, and he was sheer sex on ice. He was all dark, brooding good looks; muscle and power and with curly black hair on his arms and legs and swirling around his pecs and diving in a wide path down into his leotard. He wore his jet black hair long, in a pony tail, with a few strands

Into the Dark

Momma, please. I won’t talk back anymore. Let me out of the closet, Momma. Or turn on a light. You know how scared I am of the dark. Don’t leave me here in the dark, Momma. Please. Please Momma. Momma? Momma?* * * *Brandon leaned over the low, padded cubicle wall and winked at Colleen and told her she was looking mighty fine today. Then, as he turned and moved down the corridor between

Israeli Assault

I'll always remember the Israeli by the image of him standing there at the window of the Oriental Hotel room, the strong Bangkok sun bathing his body in afternoon light—that and by the cockiness with which he took control. The Israeli army officer, a military attaché at his country's embassy in Thailand, had just two weeks earlier been part of my first threesome. He had seen me working out in

Joggered

“Open to me. Open to daddy.” And I spread my legs for him. Before he pushed me back gently onto the thick carpet on the moss covering the little sun-spackled glen, he had me kneel before him and take his beautiful, huge cock into my mouth, where I worked it up to over ten inches of hardness to the sounds of the birds twittering in the trees and the jogger emitting little sighs and moans of

Kasem's Kitchen

If the kitchen of Kasem’s family in the upcountry jungle of Thailand hadn’t burnt to the ground, I possibly never would have found out what the special Bangkok sports massage was all about. Kasem was my masseur at a fancy Bangkok gym, which was open for “men only” a couple of nights a week and which was a major pickup place for prime cuts of male meat. Of course, when I’d started going to the

Last Rodeo

Lattimore stopped at corner of the cookhouse as he was crossing from the main house of his ranch outside Laramie, Wyoming, to the corral to train the quarter horse he’d bought on the last cattle drive to Omaha. He leaned on a fence and watched young Kit chopping wood. The young man was stripped to the waist while he chopped.Bulking up real good, Lattimore thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad

Late Night Workout

I had been going to Gabe and Steve’s Gym for a couple of months, and I was quite pleased with the results. I could tell that Gabe and Steve were pleased too, as they’d both been giving me the eye when I was in the shower. I didn’t mind all that much; it was a free world and looks didn’t cost me anything—or so I thought at the time. I knew that Gabe and Steve were a couple, but that didn’t mean

Legend of Cowboy

All sorts of expatriate “characters” gravitated to Bangkok, Thailand, in the seventies and eighties, and none were more colorful than the man known simply as Cowboy. Cowboy was a six-and-a-half foot black American stud, who was said to have been a pro basketball player of some note who had retreated to Bangkok in the face of possible charges for point shaving and racketeering. In Bangkok, Cowboy

Like Father Like Son

As I walked into the city on the main street, Damrak, leading directly from Amsterdam's central train station, I nervously fingered the folded e-mail I'd been carrying tucked in my wallet for the past month and a half. Damrak changed into Rokin, and at the end of canal off the Amstel River, I made a right onto Heiligeweg. I had thought of this possibility on and off for the whole cruise down

Locker Room Revelation

It wasn’t a regular day of practice; only Hank and I had come in, and we’d worked out in the gym after we’d done laps on the field. I could tell he was steamed about something, but I didn’t ask about what. He had finished first, and it looked like I had the locker room to myself when I came in from the gym. I took a quick shower and pulled on my briefs and some baggy shorts and an athletic T, and

Loving Wife

“What’s for dinner? Lamb chops, I hope. You do those so well.”“Of course, if that’s what you want, Ely. If that’s what you want, than that’s what we’ll have.”He’s got no taste buds left, I think. What does he care if it’s lamb, pork, or shit? Note to self—while I try to keep my voice from having the sarcastic edge Ely had complained about of late. Of course we don’t have any lamb chops in

Master of the Boardroom

The reports of the week were winding down, and I looked around the table, only half conscious of what was being reported. The three older guys at the table would take care of all that for me. I was sizing up all of the young and beautiful people I’d stocked the board with. The power to do this was the joy of heading a robust family business; I could stock the board with the pick of the crop, and

Mentoring

Is this the very café table where we sat? Yes, I think it is. In fact, I’m sure it is. It’s as if time has stood still. The café is just as it was nearly thirty years ago—or at least I don’t remember anything as different. It’s hard to believe that as much as London has changed over the last twenty years, Norwich might not have changed at all. Or so it seems. And so I want it to be. I don’t want

Nailed By Obsession

He had become obsessed with me. The party was large and boisterous and our eyes had met across the room and he gave me a brilliant smile. A short time later, he’d sat down beside me with people swirling all around us and had put his hand on my thigh and had given me that brilliant smile again. I tipped my glass to show I needed a refill and glided away from him, not wanting to make a scene. Not

Natchez Refreshment

The cyclist was racing along the top of the Mississippi levee, anxious to get back into Natchez before the rains hit. Sweating profusely in the humidity and under the blazing sun, he had stripped his jersey off and wrapped it around the handlebars of the bike. It was almost dusk now, however, and the storm clouds were rumbling in. He felt chilled and tried to free the jersey from the handlebars

Naval Dilemma

Dutch came first. It was a particularly busy and boisterous night in the Dick Hut, tucked in the back shadows of an alley off the Nuuanu Stream in the heart of Honolulu's red light district. The sign over the door actually said

Neighbor's Hot Tub

My wife was off to see her mother, and for the first time since he’d gotten it, my neighbor, Marty, had invited me for an evening in the hot tub he had put in. His house backed onto my side yard, and he’d done a whole lot of nice renovation on his property since he had moved in. Marty was divorced and probably was in his early fifties, judging from his graying hair, but he had kept himself quite

New Master at Riverbend

Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn’t ready to go yet. That’s all Thomas, Master John’s carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he’d found when he’d entered the house on Decatur Street and been waved to the second door down the hall

New Orleans Rejuvenation

I was there for three nights in the basement strip club on Dauphine Street in the French Quarter, always sitting at the same table. I had picked him out on the first night—a lithe but well-muscled, dark Greek, displaying a mixture of danger and sassiness; much more into what he was doing than any of the other performers. His act was black leather. Studded-leather harness crisscrossing his chest,

No More Evening Shifts

There were four of them who entered the store close to closing time, all muscled punks decked out in black leather. I owned the small convenience store but found myself behind the counter this evening because my regular night clerk called in sick. The hunkiest of the four came up to the counter and puckered his lips and gave me a air kiss. He asked me where Jake, my regular evening clerk, was.

Norwegian Stallion

One of the saddest—and most ironic—casualties of the internecine Greek-Turkish war on Cyprus that divided the island into warring camps three decades ago was the once-famous and elegant Ledra Palace Hotel. The Treaty Room of the Ledra Palace, a hulking stone edifice in the Moorish style, had been the venue where the British secretly committed the crime of slicing up the Arabian Peninsula and

Nuclear Meltdown

It was all happening so fast. I didn’t even have time to feel panic. I just felt a dullness and a foreboding—and a creeping sense of being trapped in a web of some sort. No, more like a cocoon, the sticky thread winding around and around me. Smothering me.“Just a few minutes, Dr. Winthrop, and you can go back to your room. I know this has been a shock to you. We have just a few more questions

On a String in Bangkok

In more recent years I look back on my mid-1970s (and then again early 1980s) Bangkok adventure and just shake my head, wondering what we were thinking we were doing then and how shallow we must have been to be so totally focused on beautiful bodies and the striving for perpetual orgasm.I think that for most of those I played with for two-and-a-half years in the 1970s, the hedonist urges

On The Roof

It was a hot day, and I was out doing my laps in the pool when the roofers arrived. They had started the previous afternoon, just diddling around and getting their supplies where they wanted them. The older of the two was a well-turned-out, chiseled-featured, and solidly built dude, probably in his early forties, with prematurely graying dark hair. He looked like he’d taken real good care of

On The Trail

I had never tried to seduce another guy before, but Dale was just there at the right time and place. We were both runners—he because he was on the college football team and running up and down the Pine Mountain trail helped keep him in shape and I because I wasn’t that long out of college myself and I was doing the best I could to keep my fine form in shape. We had passed each other a couple

Only a Custodian

“And a ten-inch cock.”“You’re shitting us now,” Oliver said.“Yes, I’m shitting you,” Porter answered. “But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him.”“Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to,” Adrian interjected.“And put the toilet seat down too?” someone asked. They all laughed.“No, thank god,” Adrian answered

Pay-as-You-Go Hitching

I saw him from a good distance away, walking down the highway in the direction I was driving shortly after a big cloverleaf marking the intersection of two major highways. He hardly looked like an experienced hitchhiker, but that was exactly what he seemed to be doing. Not only was hitchhiking illegal on a highway like this, but I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a hitchhiker on the

Pianoman

“First the tide rushes in, plants a kiss on the shore . . .”Matt often started a set with something quiet and slow, like “Ebb Tide,” when there was a convention or two in the hotel, like there was today—electricians and bankers. What a combination. Something quiet tended to settle and quiet them down to the point that he could stand it.It wasn’t a question of being a prima donna and

Picking the First Fruit

I think I just might be the best peach picker in Virginia. Well, in Rockingham County at least. And that isn’t just me boasting. That’s what Brother Jeb said all the time I was picking peaches for him. And Mr. Howell said that to me too. More than once he said that. I’ve heard both men say that, in the peach business, it’s getting the first fruit of the season to market before anyone else does

Pirated

I was just about home free with the tasty wench the lads had brought on board for me from Kingston when the attack started. After some mouth play, she hadn’t objected in the least when I’d unlaced her bodice and started giving her ripe melons the attention they deserved. We were entwined together in the window seat of my vessel’s fantail, and, forward lass that she was, she had unbuttoned my

Porn War

The song “Kisses Sweeter than Wine” sprang to my mind, because that was what his kisses were. As far as I could tell in the dimly lit Blue Moon resort hotel room in Las Vegas, he was a young hunk, no older than I was. Most of the men in the room were older, a few probably twice or more my age. None were complete throwaways, but he was prime among them. And he had latched on to me as soon as I’d

Reconnected Recovery

[Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The young, drunk construction worker

Remembering Miles

I hadn’t seen Cousin Miles for nearly twenty years, and he looked more like it had been thirty. He looked so defeated and withdrawn into himself. And my memories were of a vibrant athlete. He wasn’t really a cousin in the blood-relative sense. Uncle John and Aunt Frieda had adopted both him and his sister, Mandy, because they couldn’t have any of their own. You could have told he wasn’t really

Renewal of Passion

I had been down and just marking time ever since I'd left Beirut three years earlier. I hadn't really been able to write that whole time either; I was just floating on the royalties from my earlier novels, written in the passion of my youth—passion that I just couldn't find in me anymore. Perhaps it was having hit that deadly age of fifty; perhaps passion naturally dissipated from that point.

Rest Stop

We were tooling down the highway in the early evening at a pretty good clip in my BMW Z4 Roadster when Perry started to get frisky. Perry was this hulking blond roommate of mine who also was on the football team, but who was a couple of years older than I was and played first-string tailback. I’d just started college this year and was still warming the bench, although I’d impressed the coach

Resting a Demon

I thought I was going to be sick. His mother asked him to entertain us, to play something for us on the piano, and the pert-butt blond tossed the curl out of his face and flowed over to the piano and started to fill the room with Chopin. I’d had this kid in my craw for a good fifteen years, and all I wanted to do was to slam him to the floor and fuck the stuffing out of him. And that was when he

Ride Em Cowboy

Since the 1930s my extended family has had a remote ranch in a hidden Colorado Rockies valley abutting Medicine Bow National Park south from Laramie, Wyoming. The mountain fasts there—almost alpine in environment—are majestic, but they can be raw and cruel as well. Our family raised cattle there and took timber off the mountainsides in a planned "thinning" harvest pattern that supported a

Rude Awakening

The most wonderful thing a lover has ever done for me was to give me my life. I didn’t understand it at the time, but if he had loved me as I wanted him to—as I begged him to—I would be long dead today. The days of my sexual coming of age in Bangkok, Thailand, during the early eighties were paradise followed by a rude awakening, a realization of how life can come back at you hard that I didn’t

Sacrificed by Curiosity

Doug had been conditioning me for months. We had met at the gym, and several weeks after we’d become regular spotting partners, he revealed to me, almost in an off-hand manner, that he was bisexual and that he actually preferred gay sex. He didn’t come on to me—at least not directly—and I consider myself fairly open-minded, so I continued with our informal spotting arrangements. I also had an

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 1

* * * The coven was good enough to dump Doug on the steps of an ER in a cross-town hospital and to drop me off at home with one of the younger men from the group there with me to clean me and the damage to our bedroom up and to provide an alibi for me when the police arrived later that evening. After the police left, I went into the bathroom and ran a steaming bath. I stretched out in the

Sacrificed by Curiosity, Part 2

I had been playing with the brunette’s tits, just as she was playing with mine, and I just got my hands away in time for Doug to take over. He must have been rougher on her tits than I was, because she was yipping and moaning and groaning and bouncing a bit on my skewer, which went to twelve inches under her attention. After a few minutes, he wish boned my legs again so that he could bury meat

Sailing Back into Life

Sailing Back into Life [Author’s Note: When the Philippe Lecroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” "Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] Alphonse waved

Sailors and Flyboys

FlyboysPete swung into the gym with a big grin on his face. “Fleet’s in and I’ve already talked with Javier. His ship will be in early, on Thursday. Says he can get a three-day shore pass. Time for a special weekend.”“I’m game,” Todd answered, but he was looking up at the man spotting him on the bench press and asked, “How about you, Dan?”“Every weekend’s special with you, babe,” Dan

Satin Circus

(Written by request for a satin fetish story by James A.)The music swells and the lights dim under the big tent, as the excitement builds in the audience and the buzzing conversations subside with the rising expectation that something—something special—is about to happen. Strobing lights and laser beams come up, gyrating around on the floor below and under the canopy of the tent above,

Satin Sleigh Ride

Count Gregor Arninov towered over his elegantly dressed host and hostess in the foyer of their winter dacha as his sleigh was being brought around. He was leaning over them and holding the admiral’s wife’s small silk-gloved hand in his appreciably larger satin-clad one while he murmured how wonderful their ball had been and that, yes, he had enjoyed dancing with their daughter immensely. The

Satisfaction Ashram

As I stood outside the entrance to the old British colonial-style Windsor Hotel in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka, in the shadow of Mount Pidurutagala, waiting for someone to take me up to the ashram, I couldn’t believe how far—and how far back in time—I had moved from Teddy’s cabin in the Catskills. From the moment Teddy’s business partner, Mort Whitley, had driven up to the cabin and told me how

Searching for It

Searching for It(Corbin and Ethan both go looking for it on the New York docks)(sounding, fetish, docks, gay male clubs, domination, gay anal, rough sex, daddies, obsession, collections)“Yo, there, buddy. Lookin’ for somethin’? Cause I got somethin’ for you.”Corbin took a good look at the burly man who had materialized from behind a stack of metal barrels beyond where the light

Snaked on Anjajavy Beach

I had both the advantages and curses of being a rock star. I could afford to go anywhere I wanted on the spur of the moment or as the mood hit me, but if a mood hit me that would land me in the tabloids, I’d better be prepared to go to the ends of the earth.The mood had hit me to get the most exotic and total fuck that I could find by the most talented cocksman I could attract. I had been on

Snow Trap

Boyd had been leery of the arrangement from the very beginning, but he hadn’t said anything to his father about it. His father seemed so happy about having found Vic, one of Boyd’s college prep school coaches, two years after Aaron, his former lover, had died. Boyd would much rather it had been anyone other than Vic, someone who Boyd hadn’t known before Aaron died. But, when he was being honest

Snowy, Snowy Nights

In most senses Bran had been invisible at the Hayden saloon the couple of months he’d been there. But as he came out of the back room into the main saloon hall, carrying the bucket of water Levi Yost, the saloon keeper, had told him to use to freshen the bowls in the rooms upstairs, he looked at the tall Christmas tree in the corner. Sadie, Katie, and Faye were busy happily decorating the tree

Solicitous Service

Goran saw the young man standing nervously at the reservations desk and liked what he saw. He was even happy that Serge, the maître d, was pretending not to see the young man, because that meant that Goran, the waiter, could see him to the table—and could make contact of some sort with him on the way there. Goran was one to make an immediate assessment of the playing field and pick out who he

Someday My Prince Will . . .

Last night I dreamt I went to paradise again. I believe we can credit the encounter to Daphne du Maurier. My tour in Cyprus was at an end, but I had hung on for a month, sending my wife back to Washington, D.C., to get the house open up again and everything there back in working order and to guide one of our children into a new university year. I had stayed past my assignment rotation date to

Sweet Sanjay

I heard my name being called out from the midst of the teeming horde pressing in on the barriers after customs in New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi international airport, and a head and arm waving a sign was bouncing up and down over the tumult. The sign the young man was carrying said “Clifford Jenkins” with “New York” written under it. That was me. But I wasn’t being met by anyone that I knew of. The

Swimming Lessons

“I’d like to make an Australian Crawl.” Stan gave a hearty laugh and acknowledged an empty glass up the bar. While he was gone, Keith, in turn, acknowledged that his own beer glass had miraculously filled on its own. He didn’t have much doubt that Stan was trying to get him drunk so that Keith would go in the back room with him. The burly barkeep had been putting the moves on him for some time

Ten Slash Two

I had been jittery and conflicted for the entire two weeks since I’d seen that big black topping a guy at a pool party in Bangkok. I had been bottoming for a Swede in a nearby patio lounge when I looked over and saw this monster cock jack-hammering in out of the other guy—who clearly was in seventh heaven—and I almost melted on the spot. I was conflict, though. Obsessed with desire because the

That One Exception

I have always managed to keep my bisexual world in check and separate from my public straight world by always putting my wife and children first and by committing only to them—that is, possibly, with one notable exception. I had an atypical long-term relationship with an Australian colleague that seemed innocuous at least at the beginning but that has grown stronger over the years—possibly beyond

The Awakening

I guess it may have been because of my mother—and of the strange beliefs my grandmother formed around her. Up until the time my grandmother’s ill health coincided with me being old enough to go to college, I’d been kept in the dark about so many things. I knew that my mother must have done some really, really bad things from the way that my grandmother just tightened up, crossing her arms under

The Caregiver

Perhaps I gave in so easily because Lenny embodied the best of two worlds. First, he was a wonderful, gentle caregiver. He had been coming to my house twice a day for several weeks to take care of my bed-bound grandmother, who was recovering from a broken hip. Second, he was drop-dead gorgeous. All blond Swedish muscle with a shy smile to accompany his sensuous mouth. I’d had a rough week

The Celtic Sonata of Life

I was sitting outside the cottage door, just in my shorts, wondering if the farmer who had rented the rustic Cotswold cottage with the thatched roof and the rose trellis beside the door to me for two weeks had misinterpreted my offer. It hadn’t been in so many words, but I think I had been clear enough in my nonverbal delivery. But maybe not. Maybe signaling here in England was much different

The Clothes Horse

“You’d get half of the bid, plus you’d get to keep the clothes.”I didn’t know that I was all that wild about being auctioned off, but I had to admit that I liked—no, I loved—Zhao Zeng’s clothes. That was what had attracted me to him in the first place. His black satin shirt and trousers were cut so well—and so provocatively—on him that I could hardly keep my eyes off him, even though I’d come

The Commander

“Ahhh, that were very nice,” I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des’s chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we’d have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.“Cig?”

The Compassionate Reporter

“Lou is chasing another story down, Gavin, and this one doesn’t look like more than a short paragraph in the local news section. So if you’ve got an hour or two, could you check this out? And if you don’t have an hour or two, I’d like to know what you’re doing; what you’re working on now was due on my desk an hour ago.”The city editor handed Gavin a telephone message form.“OK, boss. I’ll

The Cure

I came to slowly, the flashing colored lights taking their time to form in my consciousness and whatever Tony had spiked my drink with slow to let loose of me. I was lying on a bed. I tried to rise, but my hands were cuffed together above me and my legs were cuffed as well to the lower corners of the bed. But the bounds were loose there. I could raise my legs as I wanted, but I couldn’t rise from

The Darling

“I’m going to take you to the Darling tonight.”I froze. I’d been chatting with three other guys on the sectional sofa in the conversation pit, not even aware that the major had reentered the house. I was studiously avoiding thinking of where he was. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been in this conversation group at all. I normally tried to stay well away from these three. The three pansies we had

The Day the Earth Moved

The two construction workers worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning up for the evening around the construction site on the new house on the steep hillside overlooking the pounding surf on the rugged coast below. The two moved together, in fluid motion. They were having a boisterous and obscene conversation of what the two horny hunks planned to do to their girl friends that evening after a

The Netotiator

I wondered what he could tell about me that no one at home or the office—at least I hoped and always had thought—knew. He had introduced himself as Hal when he’d appeared beside me in Business Class and I’d stood from my aisle seat so that he could get over to the window. He’d had a friendly smile, and if I hadn’t been busy during the first two hours over the Atlantic from New York going over the

The Thunderstorm

I fully acknowledge my weakness, but I think Janine has a share in the shattering of my vows to her. I’d only had that one fling back in college—with Phil. But Chet and Phil had had an affair after college, and now Chet was living in the next acreage to ours. Obviously Phil and Chet had talked about me, and Chet knew all about me before he moved here, because he had made quite clear to me that he

The Video List

“It sounds too complicated for you, Matt,” Jason had said. “Getting a list would be the hardest part—impossible, I think. This is a small potatoes town. I think you should just keep it to the street and be happy when it works out. And get a job.”I’ll admit that getting a job was what got the plan rolling. Then getting a list turned out to be one of the easiest parts. The roughest part,

Theatrical Revival

Theatrical Revival [Author’s Note: When the Philippe LeCroix series has been completed, it’s best read in the following order: “New Orleans Rejuvenation” “Natchez Refreshment” “Biloxi Renewal” “Reconnected Recovery” “Theatrical Revival” “Sailing Back into Life” “Harvesting in the Park” “Garden District Plunge” “Dangerous Experiment” “Dueling Regeneration”] The bodybuilder

To Die in Madeira

I closed my lips over Sir Guy’s cock and pushed his foreskin down with them, my tongue going to opening and flicking down into his piss slit as my mouth slowly took more and more of him inside the moist warmth of my mouth cavity. He sighed contentedly and ran his fingers through my hair. He reached up and pulled my cock down to his lips and started returning the compliment.We were half way

Training Asu

“You cannot put it off any longer, my friend. If you do not choose for Asu soon, the priests will take him. The choice will no longer be yours—or Asu’s. He is of age for starting the life chosen for him. He cannot do other than meet his destiny.”“I know that, Sargon, it is just so hard . . .”Baltasar, the wood merchant, was sitting at a table outside of the tea shop in the bazaar, sipping

Trip Money

I had become a regular at the gym on Tuesday nights, and this 40-something businessman named Clint, who was also a regular on that night, and I had gotten to where we regularly spotted each other through our bar bell work. He was in great shape for his age, leaner than I was, but with well-defined, ropy muscles and chiseled square-cut features. I’d been trying to save the money for some time to

Trucker Bait

As I came up from the beach, I saw Carl and Angela on the deck, He had her top off and was stroking her breasts, and she was sitting astride his lap, having made who knows what connection. I knew what they’d be doing for the next couple of hours, which would leave me at loose ends again. I decided to take the initiative. “Hey, Carl,” I yelled out from below the deck sight line. “Would now be

Trunk Of The Car, 1

Trunk of the Car, Part 1 I found I had a carefree weekend on my hands, so I had driven into the small town to answer an ad for a classic Triumph convertible that I might want to add to my collection. But I had been up and down the street several times without finding the address I was looking for. So, I just parked my car and started hunting on foot. I did find the address, but no one seemed

Trunk Of The Car, Part 2

Eric must have enjoyed the polishing job we’d done on the trunk of his Tempest, because when I’d finished shooting off into him, he said, “Well, Peter if you’ll get this beautiful body off mine and stop entertaining the neighbors, perhaps we should go in and shower.” “I want to fuck again. I want you to fuck me,” I said, without moving. “That’s not out of the equation,” Eric said, with a

Trunk Of The Car, Part 3

As we were leaving the shower, Eric took the tube of mentholated lubricant, squeezed out a large glob, and asked Claude to apply it, which Claude was more than happy to do, pushing his hand deep down the back of Eric’s silk shorts and massaging the gel into Eric’s ass as Eric grunted and twitched his butt. “As soon as this does it’s magic,” Eric said. “I want you to have another go at me, Claude.

Trunk Of The Car, Part 4

Sometime later, I was awakened by Eric pressing on my shoulder. I raised my arms to bring him into bed with me, but he shushed me and said in a low voice, “No, not that. We hear something downstairs. Claude’s gone ahead to check it out. He wants us to follow him down. When we got to the first floor, we could see Claude at the back of the house, near a door that went into a workout room. Claude

Trunk Of The Car, Part 5

After hosing ourselves off again and getting back into those silk shorts, Claude suggested we go down to the living room and drink beer and watch a football game on TV. So, down we went. After I tossed off my first beer, I began to feel a little sorry for the dude hanging up in the gym and asked if it would be okay if I went in there and cleaned him up a bit and put some salve on the new hole

Trunk Of The Car, Part 6

When I awoke, the room was dim, and the house seemed very quiet. It had been a great day, but it was time to shower off one last time and hit the road. But first I’d find the guys and see what they were up to. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard some noises from the back of the house and padded into the gym. The pizza guy was still on delivery, I could see. They’d pulled out the

Turkish Delight Times Six

While living on the island of Cyprus, I developed quite a taste for young Turkish men. If you could get a good-looking, well-constructed Turkish guy before he got too far into his forties, you could almost guarantee you'd have something forceful, vigorous, straightforward, and good natured to play with. You also, quite often, would have a guy with a pretty heavy pelt on him. Now, I didn't

Two Men in a Dungeon

The Hulk crouched near the bolted heavy oak door, eyeing Rab, ready to pounce, trying to anticipate where Rab might try to scurry next. The stone-walled chamber wasn’t small, but it wasn’t so large that Rab had much of a chance evading the Hulk much longer. Both men were panting, having played this cat-and-mouse game for several minutes, but Rab was more winded than the Hulk was. No one in his

Wrong Choice

It was the wrong choice of swimwear, and I was headed back to the guest room to rectify that, when the cause of it all stopped me in the hallway. The new owner of our company had invited me to his country place for a weekend to discuss some details of a project we were working on and it turned out there was a pool party included. But, not knowing that, I hadn’t brought my suit. I had assumed this

Zonked

I had literally creamed myself almost nightly for Phil’s body, but Phil was about as straight as they come--and getting all the female tail he could handle if all the talk around campus was true. We were both attending the university on athletic scholarships--Phil on a football and baseball scholarship and me on a wrestling scholarship, wrestling being a good way for me to get down and dirty with

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