Gay Erotic Stories

The Boy From Morocco This happened in Ibiza some years ago. I was sitting in a bar drinking a beer. After a while I noticed this Arabian looking guy at the end of the counter. He was looking at me, too. He was slim, had very smooth, tanned skin. He looked very feminine, and was actually very cute. He smiled very shyly when our eyes met. I smiled back. As he appeared to be alone, I moved towards him, and sat down right next to him. “Hi, where are you from?” I asked him. With his shy smile he answered, “Morocco.” I don’t remember what else we were talking about. I just noticed how cute he was, his feminine appearance, and I was wondering how would I get him to bed with me. It was obvious that he came from a country where homosexuality was a sin punishable by death. He seemed to avoid looking at the most obvious places that someone who was gay would be looking. I wore tight cut off shorts that didn’t leave much to his fantasy. Underneath I wore no underwear. My tank top was tight and showed off muscles. Every time his eyes went over my body, he blushed and he seemed nervous. I knew he was a virgin. After having talked to him for about an hour or so, I suggested that we take a walk. It was getting dark, and we decided to take a walk on the rock beach. When I was sure that we were alone, I turned towards him and kissed him. At first he got scared and wanted to push me away, but then he relaxed and our tongues met. Maybe he realized this was not Morocco, but Ibiza where everything’s legal. As I pushed my body against his, I felt through the fabric how his cock grew bigger. It was very big. I squeezed his firm ass, which was the finest ass I had ever felt. I unbuckled his belt, and put both my hands on his ass cheeks. His skin was soft and smooth. When I kissed him, his mouth opened as our lips met and my tongue slipped inside. We kissed deeply, my tongue wrestling with his, then stretching up to run its tip over his small, even teeth and onto the bony ridge above. My hand fumbled at his waist, unbuttoning his pants. He edged his bum forward, straightening his middle to make it easier for me. He wasn’t so shy now. I slid my hand inside his open jeans, down under the waistband of his pants and onto his cock. I wasn’t disappointed. His cock was thick and solid. As my fingertips stroked it, he pushed his hips forwards eagerly and kissed me hard. He’d untucked my shirt from my jeans, and his hands ran over my back. One hand tried to get down to my ass, but he couldn’t get his hand under my tight belt. “Let’s go into the bushes,” I said, and we did. The Moroccan grabbed me and began to unfasten my jeans. They dropped to my ankles when he’d undone them. He gazed down at my cock. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel by the way he touched it that he liked it, caressing it reverently with his fingertips. I pulled him to me, catching his hand between us, and pushed down his pants. Then I cupped his ass, squeezing and molding the small, firm buttocks, as we kissed. The evening air was cold on our bare legs, but we hardly noticed. Pressed together, his hand moved deliciously in my groin, my finger found his puckered anus and probed inside. He threw his head back and I kissed his little Adam’s apple. I sank down onto my heels. His rigid cock stared me in the face. Gripping his ass, I stretched out my tongue and gave the head of his circumcised cock a few little flicks, teasing him, and he ran his fingers through my hair, gently urging my head forward. But I wasn’t going to hurry. Leaving his cock to beg, I went to work on his belly and thighs, kissing and licking them. He thrust his hips forward, opening his legs, and I pressed my face between them, exploring the sensitive flesh around his balls with the tip of my tongue. My hands were running up and down his slim hard thighs. Finally my mouth reached his cock. I ran my lips up and down its sides, the tip of my tongue dancing over it, making it ache for the firm strokes that would satisfy it. On to the bloated head it moved, my tongue probing the gaping hole before tracing the rim of his glans penis and tickling it underneath where the nerve ends are crowded into the cleft. He sighed audibly and pressed my head harder into his groin. By now my mouth needed his cock as much as his cock needed my mouth. I put my lips to the head of the rod and slid it in, over my tongue, right to the back of my throat, until my nose touched his belly and my lips met the bush of dark wiry hairs clustered around the base. I squeezed his ass, pulling it towards me, my tongue wriggling against the hard flesh that filled my mouth. Slowly I began to suck him, swinging backwards and forwards on my heels as my lips ran up and down his cock from tip to base. If a man ever loved his work, I loved that, pleasuring this Moroccan boy. I wanted to hear him moan and I was soon rewarded. Little explosions of breath, caught in the throat and then released in a soft “aahhh!!!,” could be heard above the distant sound of traffic and the beat from the discos. I’d assumed somehow that he was a virgin and I was surprised when he pulled me to my feet and, after some passionate kisses and groping, whispered in my ear, “I want you to fuck me!” I answered him with more passionate kisses and a finger wriggling into his ass. The Moroccan took my eight inches with a grateful sigh. Arching his back, he began to jerk himself. He didn’t hide the fact that he loved to be fucked. I’d never felt so virile as I did then, feeling him writhe under the strokes of my cock and hearing his heartfelt sighs. As my cock slid up and down his ass, my hands ran up and down his torso, caressing his smooth chest and belly, squeezing his tits. I’d never wanted anyone so badly. Our grunts and moans filled the air as my strokes grew harder and faster, and soon the slaps of my hips and his ass joined them. We were being dangerously noisy. It couldn’t last long and it didn’t. He suddenly seemed to collapse under me. Luckily I had my hands under him and, hardly missing a stroke, I helped him up as he jerked himself off, shooting cum across the hard-trodden dirt. I was fucking him fast, my body seething with desire, not caring about technique, just wanting to bring myself to the brink and feel myself hurtle over it. I was hunched over him. My back ached and my knees were weak, but my hips were jerking furiously. I could feel my climax boiling up and I thrashed away, desperate to feel that rush as my sperm was driven through my cock. And then it came. I gaped in a soundless yell and drove my cock deep into him. My orgasm exploded at the base of my cock, and the bushes, the beach, the town outside, everything was forgotten as it caught me up and threw me gasping onto his back. My whole body convulsed again and again as my cock struggled to pump all my pent-up lust out of me. It passed, and I lay over him, drained and exhausted, hugging him close, breathing deeply: Sweet release. We straightened up. I pulled him to me and I kissed him gratefully, my hands caressing the body that had given me so much pleasure. We pulled our jeans back on, walked back to the crowded bars and discos, and mixed with the people of gay Ibiza. I never saw him again.