Gay Erotic Stories

Title: Grateful Author: motn007 I am a Lead Professor at a very well known school. My duties are numerous and ongoing. I provide counseling to the students and to the professors. I design the curriculum and provide tours. Even at dinnertime I must often stand and speak. It is only after dinner that I finally have a chance to be alone. Alone in my quarters, I sit behind my great desk idly staring at the pen that rests at my fingertips. I get up and pace to the window and look out across the grounds. As I think of all of the hidden truths and exposed lies and regret and guilt, there is only one thing in life of which I am sure: I am lonely. I don't need someone to talk to, though. Nor do I need a party or card game with friends. Tonight, I need something more… A knock interrupts my musings. When I turn to invite the visitor, he has already entered my room. It is Michael Stevens, one of the English professors at my school. Michael walks towards me. I know that look. He looks tired and disheartened. He looks as if he has just surrendered to something. His eyes are solemn and dark. When he stops just feet from me I know already he is hesitating. So I take two steps towards him and embrace him. He hugs me back and simply says, "Richard…" I pull back and look into his eyes. My fingers trace his lips before combing through his long, dark hair. Without hesitation, I kiss him. As his lips open, I deepen the kiss. My tongue tentatively eases in only to brush against his. Any hesitation on his part is easily replaced with a moan. I'm older than he, much older. I've seen so much more and I've done so much more. And yet, when I’m with him like this, he always manages to teach me something new. I marvel at his intensity and beg for his endurance. This time seems different, somehow. This time he clings to me as he desperately covers my face and neck with kisses. He claws at my clothes trying to free me from them. As his trembling fingers fail, be begins to get frustrated. Only after I still his hands does he allow me to do the undressing…for us both. I step back to look at his long, lean body. I carelessly kick the clothes we have discarded out of our way before trailing a single finger down the middle of his chest just the way that he likes it. When my fingers near his manhood, I can hear his breath catch in his throat. When I stroke him, he gasps, as if unprepared for my touch there. I am delighted that he allows this. Sometimes he can be so distant. When he finally touches me in return, I lean into his touch, needing it. When he playfully bites me, I nearly weep with pleasure. I've heard rumors that he likes to do that. I never thought he would sometime do it to me. As I taste him, explore him, he bucks and thrusts under my clever touch. He told me once that being with me always feels like the first time. I believe him. I can also tell that I intimidate him. Despite my age, I'm still muscular and well endowed. I could easily overpower him and occasionally I do; but not this time. This time I can feel him tremble as his body unconsciously bends into my touch. I've waited for this for so very long. I know he has been with others. Others have touched me, as well. But never like this. He captures me with his aggression only to surrender to me. He demands my passion only to fulfill my own hidden desires. When I am unsure of my maneuvers, he lets me know that I am doing things right - his moans reward me. His cries make me need him more. I am completely bewitched by him. This time he pushes me down on the bed. His hands brush over my erect cock with such a light touch I nearly scream at the sensation. He runs a warm, wet tongue over my right nipple and I instinctively grab him by the hair guiding him to the other. As he sucks on it, I reach down to stroke myself. He will have nothing of that. "That's my job," he growls. Removing my hand, he replaces it with his own; his touches are far better than my own, anyway. They are intimate and teasing, frenzied and intense. When he slips a single finger inside of me I gasp. During our encounters, he seldom does this. But this time, he touches me there, gently preparing me while I gratefully lose all control. I moan as he touches me there. I scream as he adds a second finger. By the time he adds a third I am totally undone; writhing in pleasure. My fists hold his hair while he kisses me passionately. Between kisses, I can hear myself begging, "Please…please," and not believing he could turn me into such a primitive force. He suddenly stops kissing me and pulls his fingers out. As he hovers over me, he looks intently into my eyes. I can feel him pressing against my opening. Neither of us moves. It is as if we have stopped breathing…as if our hearts have stopped beating. The room is dead with silence for many seconds…then he pushes in. Steadily and forcefully he enters me. I hiss his name as the sensation overcomes me. Some say it’s a mix of pleasure and pain. For me, there is no pain as his body melds with mine, only pleasure. My eyes are squeezed shut as I swear he has entered my soul as well. As deep as he is now, he seems to move deeper yet with each steady thrust. I'm lifting myself to meet him how, begging not to succumb too soon to this erotic passion play. But when he reaches to grasp me with his long slender fingers I know it will not last much longer, because when he touches me there, it's as if he is electric. His entices me to thrust into his hands as he is driving into me. We are like animals by now. I am grabbing a fist full of tangled sheets; knuckles white, as he slams into me hissing occasional vulgar words too raspy to understand. Between ragged breaths, between gasps for air, we are breathing each other's name, begging for completion, praying for eternity. "Michael," I beg him, "come inside me now." As if this was all he needed to hear, he soon complies. I am grateful for this because before I meet my end, I am able to feel him pulsing inside of me. I am pleased when I notice his gasping is intermingled with an occasional whimper. As I come, he continues to move inside of me. I would at least scream his name if I could, but the pleasure overwhelms me. All I can do, once I have calmed, is shakily push his sweaty hair from his face and pull him down to me for a gentle kiss. Grateful…