Gay Erotic Stories

I was one of those kids in school who was always making fag jokes and calling other boys gay. I was the bully who made other lives hell. My favorite target growing up was a kid named Sydney. Sydney was a Latino with tanned colored skin and a slim build, one of those kids who was always quiet and shy and tended to have more gentle mannerisms, by nature, which made him look girlish. It didn’t matter to me if he was gay or not. That was the label I gave him. Everyone in grade school considered Sydney to be gay because of me and that’s the way it was until junior high. When junior high hit, Sydney went to a different school and my favorite ego booster was gone. But all throughout my teen years and into young adulthood, I continued to harass other boys about their sexuality, all the while developing my own, private lusts. In locker rooms and in showers, in movies and magazines, I became fixated on the male form. Perhaps some of my desire grew out of the disappointment of my own development. Once the tallest in grammar school, I stopped growing at 5’6”, though I still maintained my swimmer’s build. And the endowment between my legs barely made it to the 5-inch mark at full erection. I became envious of all the other, bigger boys. And that envy soon turned to lust and I began masturbating to homosexual pictures and videos that I would download off the Internet while my parents were sleeping. I couldn’t shower with the other guys for fear of erection, though I fantasized all the time about stroking each and every one of my well-endowed friends to stiffness. The bigger the penis was, the bigger my desire was to have it as a plaything. I maintained my macho façade through my second year of college, laughing at the gay jokes and bragging about girls and an endowment I’d never let anyone see. However, that summer I got involved in a conversation in a local chat room on the computer and my hidden, sexual desires began to find their way to the surface. My conversation began innocently enough, telling this other guy with the generic screen name of “Jim” all about where I grew up and went to school. He kept asking me questions and I kept answering them. I even told him about the years I spent torturing Sydney and all the other boys along the way. That led into deeper conversations about sex, an issue I was both eager and frightened to be discussing with another human being. But “Jim” kept asking the questions and I kept getting drawn into more personal areas. I felt safe enough talking about my hidden desires with “Jim” because he was just a blip on my computer screen that I could always turn off and never see or hear from again. Like “Jim,” I also used an alias. But one night, “Jim” shared something with me that dared me to alter my safety zone. He told me that he had a 9-inch cock. Then he asked me if I’d like to see it. Up until that point, I had been under the impression that “Jim” was just another heterosexual willing to listen to my problems. Shortly after his offer, he said he had to go, but told me to log on the next night to continue the conversation. It was the longest, most anxious 24-hour period I’d ever spent alone. And during that time, I realized that I really didn’t know anything about this “Jim.” He had been directing our whole conversation for nearly two weeks. He knew just about every private thought and secret fantasy I had in the world and all I knew about him was that he had a 9-inch cock that I kept picturing in my hands. I was logged on early the next night and “Jim” kept me waiting a good half-hour after the appointed time before appearing in my chat room. He began the conversation right away talking more about his cock and how big and thick it was and how he loved getting good, slow, deliberate blowjobs from horny first-timers. His demeanor was different, too. He was more instructive, more demanding. Instead of asking me something, he told me what to do. And I did it, too. “Jim” told me to take off all my clothes and measure myself and give him the results. I sat in my dorm room naked with the door locked and measured my throbbing stick for him. At first, I lied and told him it was 6 inches. But then he told me to picture myself standing before him naked, with nothing to hide, where he could measure it for himself. He asked me what results HE would get. So when I finally saw myself typing out the exact measurement for him (4 7/8”) and hitting enter, an erotic spasm went through my body, as if I had just bared myself completely. He sent back a quick, “Ha. That’s better!” and that’s when I knew I wanted to suck this guy for real. I sat there at the keyboard sporting my erection while “Jim” continued to give me instructions. He told me to beg him to see his 9-inch cock, so I typed over and over, begging him. Then he said that if I wanted to really see his cock, I had to stop calling him “Jim” and start calling him “Master.” Then he asked me if I had pre-cum leaking out of my dick and I admitted that I did, typing, “Yes, Master, I do.” Finally, “Jim,” now “Master,” explained how I could get to see his cock. He gave me a list of directions on how to get to his place. He gave me a list of rules that I was to follow concerning my appearance and my behavior. And he assured my heart, which was beating as fast as my erection was pulsing, that he would take good care of me and that I would have a good time. When the day came, I paced the floor nervously and almost chickened out. But when I checked my email that afternoon, there was a message from Master telling me how his balls were swollen from waiting and that his fat cock was resting heavily on them, also waiting. By early evening, I was adventurous and horny again and I drove out to the location. Master’s house was back in the hills about ten miles away from campus. There were several other houses in the neighborhood, but they were spaced well enough apart so that each looked rather secluded. I parked two houses away so that it wouldn’t appear that I was going to Master’s house, just as a precaution. When I arrived at the porch, the door was unlocked as promised and I stepped inside. The house had solid wooden floors and was dimly lit by various candles. All the shades were drawn and so I shut the door behind me and locked it. As expected, there was no one to be seen. Per my instructions, I nervously disrobed, stripping down to my white briefs and socks. I put all of my shed clothing in the wood box near the door and went into the sparse living room and knelt down on the round carpet in front of the black sofa. I noticed a gentle music playing in the background but that couldn’t sooth me enough to feel in any way erotic. My penis in my shorts was shriveled despite the warmth in the room and I kept glancing over to the door as I waited in silence. After what seemed like forever, a voice from somewhere behind me told me to lean forward and look at the pictures on the coffee table. Startled at first, I composed myself long enough to see these pictures. There were three color shots of a long, thick cock and two massive testicles from different angles. “That is my cock,” the voice said. “Do you still want to play with it?” Those pictures and the gentle sound of his voice began to stir my erection and my libido and I kept to my knees and answered in the proper form, “Yes, Master.” “Then stand up and look above you,” Master said. I stood up slowly, wanting to turn around, but knowing the rules. I gazed up and saw a pair of handcuffs dangling from a chain on the ceiling. I gasped. “Yes, Master, I do.” “Reach up and put them on.” It didn’t occur to me until afterwards, but once I had locked each of my wrists into place, I was standing nearly on the tips of my toes and no longer had the option of escaping my fate. “Good,” Master said. I felt a hand on my back. It slid down under the waistband of my briefs and caressed my firm cheeks. I turned my head and saw a man who stood about 6’3”. The room was still fairly dark, only lit by candles, so I couldn’t immediately make out all of his features, but he was naked except for a pair of white mesh briefs. Master had good, muscular tone and a fine, rich tan, with bulging biceps and calves, well-rounded pectorals topped by dark, firm nipples and a flat abdomen that led to a pronounced curve where his flaccid package swayed freely under the white fabric. Physically, he was everything I wanted to be but wasn’t. “What are you going to do?” I gasped, squirming on my toes as my ass was groped. My erection pressed against the fabric of my shorts and I shuddered with both anticipation and fear. “I’m going to make you my little faggot boy,” Master purred. He snaked a finger into the crack of my ass and slid it up and down playfully as my back arched and I continued to gasp. “No hair there,” he said. “Good. Nice and smooth.” “I…I…followed your instructions, Master.” His hand slid out of my briefs and I felt his index finger hook along the waistband. With a firm tug, he pulled my shorts down to my ankles, causing my erection to spring out and bob madly. My smooth cheeks were squeezing tightly with each pulse and I thought I might actually cum right then and there. Master ran the flat of his large hand over my abdomen and down to where my patch of pubic hair should have been. “Nice and smooth,” he commented again. He stood in front of me and cupped my balls in his hand and kneaded them in his grip. “I like my little faggot boys to be nice and smooth.” I could only stare down at his hands and gasp from the helpless sensation that overtook me as he fondled my hairless genitals, toying with my bobbing erection. And more and more, I began to stare at the bulge in Master’s pouch, just inches away. It made me look so much smaller by comparison. “You want to be my little faggot boy and suck your Master’s big cock, don’t you little faggot boy?” While he held my hairless sac in his grip, I yearned to be holding his fleshy monster in mine. “Yes, Master.” “Say it!” he demanded and squeezed my balls together in his hand. “Yes, Master! I want to be your little faggot boy and suck your cock!” He made me say this several times, each time giving my balls a squeeze. Occasionally, he would comment on how small my own cock was and chuckle. Then I slowly raised my eyes from his bulging crotch while he held my balls in his grip and my penis was pulsing at his command. I first stared straight ahead to the top of his well-defined chest and could practically taste the warmth of his firm, brown flesh on my lips. Then I gazed up to his face and saw the confident grin of a Latino who looked more like a Sydney than a “Jim.” To Be Continued… Comments and Correspondence to: littleboiblu4u@yahoo.com