Gay Erotic Stories

He paged through my resume again and looked up, "I don't really think that there is a match here, Mr. Walker. We're looking for someone with more systems experience and a more consistent employment record."

I was interviewing with the president of a hot computer apps firm, one of the minority that had survived the dotcom bust stronger than ever. More than survived, it had grown. I had applied for a job as a project leader and, much to my surprise, had landed an interview. It had gone well for about ten minutes. Then my interviewer began a line of increasingly negative questions.

"What, for instance, have you been doing for the last 18 months?" he asked.

"As it says, I've been consulting," I replied.

"I've found that 'consulting' usually means 'unemployed' when it follows a job with a company that went belly up."

No shit. After Selpro imploded, I had had no luck in getting a new job at a decent level. All I was left with was a bunch of worthless stock options. My wife and I had acquired a pretty high standard of living and couldn't make it much longer on her salary alone. If I didn't get a job soon, my finances--and most likely my marriage would be bust.

"Well, not this time, Mr. Marks. I've been working on systems integration and online technology for a number of firms"

"So? Who were your major clients?"

I didn't reply immediately. Wagner Buick, Ansoni's Pizza and Oswald Proctology Associates probably wouldn’t cut it. "Sears. Mastercard. USAir. A few others."

"You always were a major league bull-shitter, Jake?" he laughed.

"I'm sorry. I don't…" Then I realized that he had used my old nickname, not "John". No one had called me "Jake" since high school. Oh shit! Not that Steve Marks!

"Ah, I see a glimmer," Steve smiled wickedly. "I'm not that fat kid you called a fag anymore. I've lost weight, had Lasik on my eyes, and have gotten pretty rich since our high school days. When your resume crossed my desk, I just had to interview you."

"Look, Steve," I blustered. "I'm not the same guy I was ten years ago, either. You're right about that consulting business. It doesn’t even pay my real estate taxes. I really need this job. I'm good at what I do and I promise that I'll deliver for you."

Steve stared at me without response. He sure had changed. He was about six-three, blue eyed with receding close-cropped hair. He was working in his shirtsleeves. The shirt itself was severely tailored, showing that he worked out regularly. There was no way I would have associated this man with that flabby high school nerd.

"I'm sorry about those 'fag' comments," I added. "It was stupid, high school shit. I did a lot of stupid things back then."

"No doubt," he replied slowly. "Just what are you willing to do for this job?"

"Anything. Everything," I pleaded. "If you hire me, Steve, you own me. Totally. I'll do whatever it takes. I guarantee you won’t regret it."

"Well, we'll see about that," he said as he stood and came around the desk. "But you don't have to apologize about those fag remarks. You were right on the money there."

He stood over me and unzipped his fly. Out came a half hard cock of a considerable size. "You never knew what a crush I had on you in those days, did you, Jake? I wanted to suck on your uncut jock cock so bad I couldn’t stand it. But there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then. My tastes have changed. You know what you have to do to get this job, don’t you?"

"Steve, I'm not …," I started.

"I don't give a flying fuck what you are or aren't," he cut in, grabbing my hair and forcing my head close enough to smell his musk. "You have a choice to make. You said I'd own you. Prove it."

I had never had even the faintest hint of a homosexual experience at any time in my life. No exploratory teenage groping. No circle jerks; nothing. I was happily married (or had been before I was fired) with two great kids. But I also had a big house on two acres in a very nice neighborhood with a mortgage to match. I swallowed, opened my mouth and took in the fat head sticking proudly out of its sheath. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't, well … THAT bad. He still had my hair in his hand and he pulled me in tighter. He was only half hard, so his cock curved in the back of my mouth. My nose scraped past his zipper until it was pressed in his bush through the opening of his boxers. He let go of my hair and unbuckled his belt. I pulled back while he dropped his trousers and his boxers. He had narrow hips and muscular legs. His cock was rising rapidly.

"Let's see what you can do," he sneered. "The interview starts in earnest now; on your knees Jake."

I slid off the chair to the floor. I tried to get my mouth onto his pole, but he kept shifting his weight so it bobbed back and forth. I kept missing and his cock slapped against my cheek, my nose, my eye. Steve laughed. In frustration, I reached up and grabbed it. That was what he wanted. Once I had it in my mouth again, he grabbed my hands, pulled them around back and planted them firmly on his ass. His hands over mine, he squeezed and moved the fingers deep into the crack. I caught on and tried to pretend it was Angela's ass as I molded and massaged it. No could do. Steve's ass was solid muscle. He flexed as I massaged his ass. It felt like I had two boulders in my hands. It was way different from Angela yet, unexpectedly, a turn on. I could feel myself getting hard. So fucking what! Straight guys in prison got hard with one another. It didn't mean anything. It was just the situation.

"Watch the teeth, Jake," Steve warned as he pulled out. "Pull your lips over them. Teeth are a real turnoff."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I've never …"

"It shows. It doesn’t feel like you've ever had a blowjob, much less given one. Doesn't your wife go down on you?"

"Yeah, sure she does." But not often, I thought. And not that well, come to think about it.

"Does she swallow you? Deep throat?"

"No. She doesn't," I admitted. She had tried it once when she was drunk and barfed all over my crotch. She never attempted it again.

"Well, when we're done, you can show her how. C'mon. Open up."

He fed his tool back into my mouth. It was fully hard now, about eight inches long and very thick. I was scared shitless about its size. When it hit the back of my throat, I choked. My throat closed. He grabbed my hair and pushed as hard as he could.

"Open up, asshole, if you want this job," Steve ordered.

I tried, but each time that fat head entered my throat, I instinctively closed up. He pulled out in disgust.

"Get out of your clothes," he said as he himself stepped out of his pants and unbuttoned his shirt. He went around the desk, opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a small plastic bottle. As he did so, I noted his broad shoulders and muscular back. I finally saw the rock hard glutes I had had in my hands. When he turned, his chest and torso were revealed--large, but not overdeveloped pecs, and washboard abs with a serious six-pack. A gymnast’s body coupled with an impressive eight inch uncut cock, now rock hard. How did that fat, long-haired, Dungeons-and-Dragons, goth-wannabe from high school turn into this guy? He seemed to read my mind. "Like it? It took five long years of hard work, plus a little surgery to tighten up the skin." He slowly turned a full 360 with his arms wide to show off his stuff. "Hey, you were told to get out of those clothes!"

I slipped out of my suit coat, loosened my tie, and pulled off my shirt. Steve watched with interest.

"It's nice," he said, "but not like I remember. Is it my memory or have you gone a little soft.?"

"I'm a little out of shape, but not that much," I protested. "I haven't been to a gym for over a year. I had to let my membership drop--cost."

"No, you're not too much out of shape," he agreed. "But it's disappointing nonetheless. If you get the job you'll have access to the executive gym, with a trainer. Use it."

I had pulled my pants off by this time. I was embarrassed because my wife still bought me whitey tighties. They were tented out pretty bad. Steve walked over, grabbed the waistband and yanked hard. There was loud rip and I was exposed, boner and all. "Now that's what I imagined it to be," he remarked. "I only saw it soft in the locker room after gym; very, very nice." He brought his cock up next to mine and grasped them both with his two hands. Each head was buried in the other's bush. He pulled me close. He was about a half inch taller and had very long legs. My cock slid between them moving his ball sack aside in the process. His cock rode straight up between our lower bellies. Steve clamped his legs on my member, planted his lips on mine and stuck his tongue in forcefully. This made me nervous for some reason. Sucking cock, I could handle. Grabbing ass, too. But kissing a guy was very, very ‘faggoty’. His hands were on my ass, kneading the glutes hard. His fingers probed the cleft searching for my hole. He withdrew his tongue and waited. I know what he wanted, but I was afraid. He pressed harder, mouth wider.

Tentatively, I flicked my tongue into his waiting mouth. He immediately responded by flicking it with his own. Before I knew it, we were in a battle royal. My hands were suddenly all over his back and ass. My breathing became labored and I though I would cum between his legs if this went on much longer. He sensed this and pulled away. He pushed me face down over the arm of the plush leather chair I had been sitting in. On the seat was the bottle he pulled from the drawer. Something called, Wet.

He knelt behind me. "Your ass is still very fine, Jake; very fine indeed." I felt his fingers pulling the cheeks apart. He blew gently on my hole. My cock, trapped between my abdomen and the leather arm of the chair, spasmed. There was no doubt where this was going.

"Hey man," I protested. "Sucking you off is one thing, but this is something else entirely. I can’t do it. I won't." "Then you've done all the rest for nothing," he said. "In case you didn't notice, you failed the first part of the interview--especially the 'oral' exam. You didn't 'suck me off', dude, because I didn't get off. But here's the good news. This part of the interview counts double."

Before I could answer, his tongue flicked at my hole. Holy shit! I had never felt anything like it. Soon, his nose was buried in my crack, his tongue probing deeper and deeper. I squirmed against the leather of the chair. He grabbed the bottle. After a few seconds, I felt him applying the ointment up and down my crack. He reached underneath, past my scrotum, to slather the stuff on my cock as well. When he was done, I felt a finger probing my hole. I started to protest again, but all that came out was, "Uhnnh!"

"Relax," he offered. "When I push in, you try to push it back out with your bowel muscles." He pushed again. I instinctively tightened and it hurt. I decided that he probably knew what he was doing. I tried to push back. I felt my sphincter muscles relaxing and his finger slid in to the second knuckle. No pain. In fact it felt good. It felt even better when he began moving it gently in and out. It was great. I had a girl once who tried to stick her finger up my butt while I fucked her, but she couldn't get it past my nervously clenched hole. Steve clearly knew what he was doing. He had me on the verge of cumming, just with the one finger. After he let me cool down, he came back with two fingers. They stretched me quite a bit. After a little cramping, I began moaning as he stroked the two fingers against my prostate in a complex pattern. He again pulled out when I was on the verge, returning after a break with three fingers. He kept spreading them. This hurt. My hole just wasn't big enough. I complained.

"You'll be glad later that I took the time to break you in," he explained. "You're very tight. Sometime in the future, if there is one, I might go to four fingers. I’d fist you, but that would make you too loose for a good fucking. I wouldn't want to do that--at least not yet."

He pulled his fingers out. I heard him fumbling with the lubricant. Then, he spread my cheeks again with his hands. "Get ready," he announced. "The next thing you feel will be my cock knocking at your back door." I felt a large ball at my anus and I pictured the size of that purple head in my mind. I started to panic again. He pushed and I resisted. He tried again without success.

\"C'mon, Jake," he said. "This is it. The final exam has started. Don't blow it now."

"It's too big, Steve," I explained. "Let me try to suck you again."

"No dice," he answered. "Open up--or I'll tear you apart. Make it as easy on yourself as you can."

He grabbed my shoulders for leverage and pushed again. I became certain that he would tear me in two if I didn’t cooperate. I opened up and he pushed. My asshole had never been so stretched. I saw stars as his enormous head plopped through. Once in, he paused. The smaller diameter of his shaft was not as painful as when the head penetrated, but my poor anus was still complaining bitterly. Steve knew the situation and paused for about three minutes, just lying in the sweat on my back. He reached around and slid his hand underneath my hips. He encircled my cock and rubbed his thumb on the underside of the head. I had thought that any idea of a satisfactory sexual ending was over for me when Steve ripped into me. Surprisingly, though, I found myself still hard. Steve's finger manipulations caused me to writhe a bit. The consequence was that I was pushing myself back onto his cock. I was about three inches onto it when the first real cramp hit me. I shuddered and broke into a massive cold sweat. Steve guessed immediately what it was.

"Don't worry," he explained. "Just relax and the cramps will go away. There's no avoiding them. They're part of the price you pay for this. After you've done this a few times, you'll find that they won't be as bad."

He grabbed my shirt from the floor and wiped the sweat from my face. Leaning away from me, he proceeded to wipe my back as well. In so doing, his cock shifted slightly and the cramps subsided. This time, he took control. Little by little, he worked his shaft in deeper. The cramps returned from time to time but were never as bad as the first set. Eventually, his hips landed against my ass cheeks. I felt full. There was still considerable pain at my stretched asshole, but the sensation of his cock against my prostate was really interesting. I was full. Way full.

"I'm in," Steve announced unnecessarily. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Well, I survived it anyway," I panted. "I'm okay. Feel pretty good, actually." A thought occurred to me. "Did you put on a condom? I didn't see one."

"Hell no! There aren’t many guys I can be sure about. But, Jakey boy, I am absolutely sure about you. I'm luvin' it. How about you?"

"What about you, man?" I cried. "How can I be sure about you? Pull out and put one on."

"You can be sure about me because I'm the boss, and I say so. I get tested every two weeks on the company dime. But it doesn't matter. I own you. This is part of that deal. And no, I'm not going to pull out and go through all the shenanigans to get to this point again. Hang on tight, 'cause now the ride really starts!"

With that, Steve drew his hips back, pulling his shaft out until just the head remained inside. The sudden withdrawal caused a modest cramp. He paused dramatically. Then he thrust forward until his hips slapped my ass loudly. The pain was incredible and I cried out.

"Scream all you want, Jake." He whispered into my left ear. "This room is thoroughly soundproofed. You could fire a burst from an AK47 in here and my secretaries wouldn't hear a thing. Here we go."

“Out. In. Slap… Out. In. Slap…” It went on and on. At first I did scream. Then I cried. After that, I whimpered. Finally, I just endured it. When I settled down, Steve asked if it hurt.

"Hell yes, it hurts!" "Bad?"

"Yeah, it hurts bad."

"Good. I was hoping it would!"

But in fact, once I was in the zone, it really didn't hurt bad. It hurt a hell of a lot, sure. But not "bad". I discovered didn't want it to stop. Not yet, anyway. I had never lost my hardon, and as Steve raised the rate of the pounding, he brought me over the edge. I came in torrent after torrent. The feel of my junk being pushed past the intruder was incredible. When I was finished, I was drained but I stayed erect. I started tensing my ass cheeks to bring Steve off and end it. Soon, however, I found myself an active participant. I did a pushup until my back was arched and my arms locked at the elbow.

"Damn, Jake," I heard him say. "I think you're starting to like it. This is turning into one fine fuck."

Steve reached around and brought his forearm across my windpipe. That was scary since I really couldn't gauge his attitude. At first, he only restricted my breathing. Then, intermittently, he began to choke my air off completely. Meanwhile I worked his cock with my ass as much as I could. I didn’t think it possible, but he began to pound me harder and faster, pushing himself to a climax. I don't know whether it was deliberate or a consequence of his frenzy, but he cut my air off completely without letup. I became dizzy with anoxia. I felt him begin to pulse repeatedly in my bowels. He let out a loud moan. On hearing him, I shot again. The volume was less than the first time, but it was even more prolonged and intense. When he was done, he released the chokehold. I gasped and fell face first onto the chair. Steve collapsed against my back and whispered, apparently to himself, "Too damn close, Steve. Too damn close."

More loudly, he said, "Ninety thousand, plus bonuses as performance warrants."

With his cock still rigid in my ass, I said, "I accept."

We lay there for about five minutes. After his cock began to soften, he pulled out. As I stood, he warned, "Keep that asshole clenched, Jake. I don't want dirty cum stains on my carpet." I was already leaking, so I did what he said. My ass hurt like hell. Steve plopped in to the chair and examined the massive pool of white gism on the arm. My two loads. He scooped up as much as he could and considered it gravely.

"Have you ever tasted your own cum, Jake?" he asked. "Sure you have. Every guy has. I bet you haven’t tasted another man's cum though. You know, it all tastes basically the same, but every guy's is different, too. Like wine."

Steve put all four fingers in his mouth and scraped the goo off. He rolled it around his tongue just like a fine vintage wine, then swallowed. "Interesting," he announced. "I've tasted better, mind you, but very nice nonetheless." He spread his legs. "Come over here and clean me up."

I turned and began grabbing Kleenex from his desk, when he slapped me hard and loud across my ass. I turned, my butt stinging. "Don't be a shit, Jake," he warned. "You know what you have to do." He pointed to the gooey mess on his cock. "Time for you to taste another man's cum--and part of yourself, too."

I guess I waited too long, because he continued, "Ninety thousand plus bonuses. Don't blow the endgame, Jake." I realized then that it wasn't over, that it might never be over. Desperate, I knelt between his legs, held my breath and extended my tongue. Once again, I was surprised to find that it wasn't as bad as I had imagined. Steve leaned back with his hands behind his head and a big smile on his face. I had cleaned most of it off before I had to breathe. It smelled . . . fine. (Well, it was his cum but my own shit, and you know what they say.) When I was done with his cock, he slumped down in the chair and placed his legs over my shoulders.

There was no mistaking his intentions this time either. I placed my nose in his crack and took a strong whiff. It smelled like something coming from the next stall. It suppressed a gag and dug my tongue into it. "Yeah, baby," he moaned. "Lick that mancunt!" He was hard again. So was I. From the rhythm of his thighs, I could tell he was jacking himself. I did the same. When I was nearly there, I backed away from his ass, pulled his hand aside, and took him into my mouth. I remembered to cover my teeth and went down as far as I could--about four inches. I squeezed his head between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. He erupted almost immediately. As he came, so did I, moving my shirt underneath, so as not to stain the carpet. I swallowed dramatically. He nodded his head in approval.

When I pulled away, he smiled and tousled my hair; "I like an employee who learns from his mistakes, even if I did most of the heavy lifting that time myself."

We dressed quickly. My shirt was a goddamn mess of lube, sweat and cum. With my suit coat on and buttoned, though, it was passable. Steve grabbed my torn underwear and my tie. “Souvenirs,” he said. He walked over to one of the built-in mahogany cabinets along the sidewall and opened an upper cabinet. Inside was rack after rack of ties. Hundreds, it seemed. He put mine on one of the hooks and threw the underwear in the back.

"Haven’t bought a tie in seven years," he explained, as he playfully toyed with the one around his neck. "This guy, if I remember correctly, was very aquatically inclined. Not really my thing. But to each his own."

Steve pressed a buzzer and in walked his administrative assistant with a steno pad in hand. It scared me to think that the door had been unlocked the entire time. I hoped he had clear orders about interrupting him unannounced. She stood at the ready.

"This is my personal assistant, Ms.Dancer," he said to me. "Kate, Mr. Walker will be joining us on Monday. He'll assume leadership of Dennison's group. Ninety thousand plus bonuses, as appropriate." She raised an eyebrow at that. "Tell Legal to have the contract on my desk no later than 3 PM today. Prepare a letter of termination for Dennison. Have security waiting for him when he arrives in his office on Monday. They can pack his personal effects over the weekend. Take him straight to the exit interview and have him escorted off the premises."

Turning in my direction, he continued, "Dennison's latest project is a month behind schedule. It's become a chronic, unacceptable state of affairs. You have three weeks to get that group straightened out. Break it up if you have to. There is an open position in the group. Fill it quickly but carefully. I'll let you borrow someone from another team if you decide you can use him effectively. Look around for a likely candidate. The group is currently housed in G Building, but we're going to change that."

“Just get this over with,” I thought. Despite my best efforts Steve's cum was leaking out of my asshole and directly onto the seat of my pants.

Back to her. "When Payroll moves out of this building, move the Dennison group--I mean, the Walker group--into that space."

"We promised that to Allison. He's going to squawk. The G space is about 20% smaller,” Ms. Dancer reminded exercising due care.

"Send him a shoehorn with a bow on it and a card from me. He'll have to manage."

"Yes, Sir. What are the terms for the contract? End date? Bonus triggers? Parachute? Signing bonus?"

Steve continued as if I wasn't there, "Mr. Walker is not in a position to dicker, so let's keep it simple. Make it a personal services contract. No signing bonus or explicit termination date. Either side can withdraw with six weeks notice. Pay in lieu of notice on our side. Return of salary on his. Bonuses are entirely at my discretion, no appeal. Hardly worth putting into the contract, but I promised him verbally. Include a statement that the position may involve extensive travel and extra hours, so there will be no issues about that later on. The usual draconian penalties for disclosure of sensitive information\ apply of course; two year prohibition against employment by competitors."

She marched out, and he shoved a medical paper at me, "It's three days old. Shows I'm negative. That should put your mind at rest. Be back here at 4 PM to sign the contract." He turned away and I was out of there.

As I left, Ms. Dancer called to me. "You forgot your tie, Mr. Walker."

I blushed and said, "Mr. Marks admired it and asked where I had bought it. I gave it to him as a gift." She was a little too smug, so I decided to turn the tables. I needed to let her know just how tight I was with the boss. "By the way, you seemed surprised at the salary and terms of the contract."

She smiled and said, "I was. The open position was budgeted at twice that salary plus a $50,000 signing bonus. Dennison makes even more."

Chagrined, I turned and walked out the door. As I walked--or more accurately, waddled, to the men's room I could hear the secretaries laughing.

I came back later that afternoon, as asked. Steve and I signed the contract. Dancer witnessed and notarized it. After she left, he fucked me again, just to let me know exactly what a "personal services" contract entailed. I decided I could live with it. After all, what choice did I have?

More? Let me know. mgw532@yahoo.com