Gay Erotic Stories

When I worked for the railroad, my job was to off-load vehicles from the auto racks (railcars filled with new automobiles) brought into our fenced yard (the ramp). That was my day job. On weekend nights, I would patrol the ramp to watch all the automobiles parked there, as they waited for distribution by trucks to all parts of the immediate area. Details of all this can be found in part one my story “Parking Lot.”

I was there 11pm to 7am Friday through Sunday and usually had little to do. The exception was when the railroad guys would bring the “spot”, which was a string of auto racks filled with brand new automobiles. Most nights, this would be done before I arrived, but sometimes they were late and I would help them set the racks up at the proper spacing, so the day guys could connect them with plates to drive the cars off and down the ramp.

A yard engine was used to bring the racks in to the ramp and set them up, and then the crew chief would join me on the ground to communicate by radio to the engineer in the cab of the locomotive, telling him to shove or pull the racks, based on what I said. If the railroad was late, the crew chief would always be this man named George. He was a thick, burly man with meaty and hairy forearms. Laid back and easy-going, he always took time to talk to me about the happenings in the main yard and the company itself. For whatever reason, he always seemed to be down in the dumps and I never could figure out why. Whether he was unhappy with the job or something else I never knew, but I would always try to lighten his spirits best I could.

“What’s going on tonight, George?”

“Same ol’, same ol’, Kenny. Looks like the Frisco will soon be history.”

“So the merger was approved?”

“Yeah, right. Merger.”

Those were the days when bigger railroads were starting to take over the smaller ones. Although they were called mergers, they really were buyouts. The end result is what you see today – only four major railroads remain in the United States, not counting the few regionals that have sprung up.

We were fortunate to work for one of the big ones, but every time a merger took place, all the guys would get bumped down the seniority ladder from new guys coming in from the defunct railroad. Union rules dictated this.

“So how far is that gonna set you back this time, George?”

“Don’t know for sure, but probably about 20 men.”

“Well, at least you know your pension is intact.”

He smiled a bit. “Yeah, that’s true, but it sure gets frustrating. Pisses my wife off every time this happens. She was expecting me to get a raise in two months, but I doubt if she’ll get it now.”

“Is she givin’ you hell about it?”

“24 hours a day. Work my ass off and she’s never satisfied. Never enough.”

Poor guy. Domestic strife really turns me on, so I queried a little further.

“Don’t you get any thank you’s or displays of affection?” I tapped him on the bicep with a fist, flashing a mischievous grin.

“Few and far between these days, Kenny.”

We were setting the last auto rack in place and I told him what we needed. “Give me about five here, George.”

He clicked his radio button, “Pull it five inches, Paddy.”

The locomotive engineer delicately pulled back, until George told him, “Good.” That was it; the final rack was properly spaced.

“Thanks, George. Guess I’ll see you boys some other...”

Just then a voice came over his radio. It was the dispatcher from the tower in the main yard. “Engine 327.”

“Come in.”

“You fellas are gonna have to sit there for awhile. Two coal trains comin’ in are gonna block you.”

“10-4.”

It really broke my heart that they couldn’t leave the ramp. “So, now what do you guys do?”

“Guess I’ll sit in the cab with Paddy and stare into space. He ain’t much of a talker.”

“Ah, hell. Stay here, George. I’ll talk to you.”

He got on the radio. “I’m stayin’ on the ground for awhile, Paddy. It’s nice out here.” George’s tragic situation had my blood pumping hard. Here was another married fella who seemed a bit neglected at home – an apple ripe for plucking.

I had him softened up mentally, now I had to fix the logistical problem. “Hey, lookee here. Did you see what’s in this rack?”

George put his forehead to the side panel and peeked in. “Looks like Caddy’s.”

“Yep. Brand spankin’ new Cadillacs. Wanna check ‘em out?”

“Sure.”

I got the bolt cutters from my nearby company Jeep and broke the seal on the doors, which was part of my job anyway. Now I’m sure you’ve seen auto racks in trains when you’ve been waiting at a crossing. They’re completely enclosed by steel plates so tight that sometimes you can’t even tell whether there are automobiles inside or not. Once I had the door open, I coaxed George to follow me.

“C’mon. Let’s inspect the ones on the top level. There’s more room up there.” This was true. Head space was limited on the bottom two floors, but on top you could almost stand upright. George followed me up the ladder, mimicking me when I reached the rung even with the third floor and swung my body inside the rack. “Look at those beauties, George. Fleetwoods.”

Even though Cadillac had trimmed the body sizes a bit in response to the onslaught of economical foreign cars, the Fleetwood was still a monster, four door luxury car. I walked down to the middle of the rack and picked out a pretty one. (They were all gorgeous – even in the dim light from the ramp streaking through the narrow cracks of the railcar).

Opening the driver’s door, I prodded him to partake. “Try this one out. See what it feels like to sit in the driver’s seat of a mansion on wheels.”

George jumped in with the enthusiasm of a teenager, acting like he was up to some no good prank. As he settled into his seat, I slipped around the front bumper and took my place on the passenger’s side.

The smell of brand new leather permeated my nostrils, stirring my blood up even more. “Take a deep breath, George. It’s like heaven in here.”

He leaned back in the cushy seat and filled his lungs. That bulky chest puffed up so thick, I could see the tips of his nipples pushing out on the shirt fabric.

“Man, that is one sweet smell.”

“Kinda turns me on, George. Maybe if you bought your wife one of these, she’d be a little nicer to you.”

He sarcastically laughed, “Yeah. Maybe I’d just throw her in the back seat and fuck her brains out.”

I wasted no time. “Too bad your wife’s like that. It ain’t right that a fella can’t get his dick taken care of when he needs it.”

“I just gotta jack it ‘til she’s ready.”

“The smell of this car makes me wanna jack mine right now.”

“Well, shit. I got nothing else to do. I’ll just join you.”

Gee, that was easy. Within seconds, our jeans were unsnapped and unzipped with two puds wild and free. He didn’t seem overly curious as to why mine was already hard as could be, but kept his eye on me as he worked on his. He struggled to get started and I kind of felt sorry for him. “Need some help?” There it was – I said it. He could either thump me on the head with whatever weapons were handy, bolt from the car in disgust or be sensible and let me take over for him. He chose number three.

“Sure. Have at it.”

I reached over with my right hand and grasped his meat. As I began to pump his cock in my fist, I strategically rubbed underneath the spongy mushroom head with my fingers. Then, I gave him instructions.

“This car is all electric. Start up the motor.”

He turned the key and that 350 came to life.

“Now reach down to your left and lift the front button.”

He did as told and the seat back began to lower, sending his upper torso towards the rear of the Fleetwood and giving me room to operate. I lowered my head and took him. Burying his fat meat into my warm, stimulating mouth, I worked my tongue onto the entire surface to get him revved up. Soon, the swelling began. Within seconds that balloon of his was fully inflated and, like his torso, the cock was bulky and solid. The length wasn’t anything to brag about, but the thickness more than made up for it. His mighty sausage split my jaw open wide, as I made a gallant attempt to keep my teeth off of him. Being born to worship the male penis – any length, width, shape or whatever, I professionally managed to get my mouth positioned properly to lick, squeeze and slavishly praise this man’s tool.

George silently told me I was doing my job well, because he reached up to unbutton his shirt – okay, I’ll confess that I gave him the idea by unbuttoning the lower ones myself. Once he had all fasteners undone, he peeled both sides back and exposed his glorious chest and belly to me. Then he folded up his arms and placed them between the back of his head and the Fleetwood’s headrest.

Covered with medium thick, brown fur, the pectoral muscles bulged with masculine strength and, parked in the middle of each, his glorious nipples were perfectly round and dark brown, with tips rising majestically into the air. A thick, singular line of hair was the centerpiece of his stomach. This growth began to lighten as it approached the navel, then below it the manly fur spread in all directions, covering his belly and melding into the heavy brown sprouts of pubic hair.

His belly was a little rounded, probably from drinking beer to forget about his unfortunate home life. That’s not a put down. I thought it was adorable, so I pretended that I needed him for leverage and placed my left hand directly over the navel. Although it was rounded, the firm muscle underneath could clearly be felt, so I slowly began to move my hand back and forth, tenderly massaging that beautiful beach ball belly of his. While my right hand slowly worked on me, my mouth savagely worked on him. I took his fat helmet to the back of my throat and held it there, ruthlessly crushing the blood out of it and using the back of my tongue to scrape the rim.

The poor man moaned with ecstatic pleasure, then broke the silence some more. “Oh, man. That feels great. Yeah, suck on that big cock. Suck it good, fag boy.”

Oops. That was something I didn’t want to hear. Now, I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I have a real problem with guys calling me names when I’m trying to make them feel good. I realize that sometimes it is merely a means for them to motivate themselves and I shouldn’t take it personally, but to me, if your cock is in my mouth, I’m the one in control and you should just shut the fuck up and enjoy it. If you wanna talk, then you should be the dominant partner of the action.

So, not wanting to hear this shit in this situation, I schemed for a scenario where he could be just that – the dominator. I drew back my lips and lovingly licked the head of his unit, then released it.

“You aren’t close, are you?”

He was a little miffed. “Hell, no. You just started.”

“You like to fuck, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Leave it to me. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

All of a sudden, he was like a little kid once more. He enthusiastically followed my lead, as we exited the car and stripped down to our socks. After raising the driver’s seat back to an upright position, powering down the four windows and turning off the engine, I soon was sitting slouched down in the middle of the cushy and cavernous back seat, while George stood on the floor in front of me, bent at a 90 degree angle and steadying himself with both hands clamped into the leather seat back by the rear window.

Pointing to my mouth, I leaned forward and turned the festivities over to him. “Here you go, George. Fuck this.”

I took his excited penis inside me, moved the lips midway onto the pulsating shaft and waited. George brought his hips forward and rammed that meat into my throat. I opened up wide and let him in, holding my head steady and allowing him to be the aggressor. Soon, his instincts took over and he began to fuck my mouth with gusto. Digging his fingers into the curve of the leather seat back, George ruthlessly drove the powerful pecker into the depths of my warm saliva pit, dominating me like the man he was meant to be. Now he could talk all he friggin’ wanted to.

“God damn, you’re hot. Eat this, cock sucker. Ooh... mmmph. Feels so fuckin’ good.” George was a pro, just like I figured he’d be. I let him get a head start, ruthlessly poking me and swiveling his hips, ramming that thick cock into me from every angle. Once he got his rhythm going, I began to participate.

Each time his dick reached the back of my throat; I’d clamp down with all my strength and dare him to pull away. He’d retract his pole and twitch from the incredible stimulation of my scraping tongue, then drive it back in for more torture.

The verbal expressions never stopped, interrupted only by manly grunts, groans and indescribable sounds of pain and pleasure. I forced him to work hard for his goal, as I clamped onto him with each ram rod thrust, wrapping my tongue around the underside of the shaft and chomping down with my jaw. Soon, heavenly beads of sweat were glistening in the shards of light poking through the auto rack. He was like an animal, because that’s what I wanted him to be. I reached up above and behind me, then opened the palms of my hands. As he thrust his torso to and fro, the moistened chest raced along the palms of my hands, saturating them with his manly sweat. Then, I grabbed each nipple between fingers and thumbs and held on for the ride, allowing my arms to move in unison with his chest. I lightly pinched and twisted those glorious nipples, sending shockwaves of testosterone throughout his bloodstream.

My expertise caused this fella to perform and feel like he was the manliest man in the world – and to me, at that time and place he was.

No more words were heard, only animal sounds with each inward thrust. You know, like “Mmph, ugh,” etc., the list goes on and they don’t work in print. Just use your imagination.

What is important is that George fucked my mouth like a Neanderthal, totally dominating and overwhelming me with his masculinity. I felt like he had dragged me along the ground by my hair, thrown me into the back seat of the Fleetwood and now was fucking my brains out, just like he said he’d like to do to his wife. I was more than happy to play her role and my own dick was standing straight up into the air, begging for attention. Unfortunately, both my hands were busy working on the burly man’s manly nipples.

As his masculine thrusts and grunts increased pace and intensity, I sensed he was getting close. Releasing his nipples, I slid off the seat and knelt on the floor between his massive, tensing thighs. This allowed him to come at me even harder and deeper, while his sweat-drenched belly moistened my forehead. He invaded from the left, then the right, then above, then below. Suddenly, he tensed every muscle and gave me fair warning.

“Jesus H. Christ.”

He drove that fat cock deep into my throat, but this time did not resist my clamped on vise. I held him tight and soon tasty sperm began to enter my throat. Once I knew I had him, I took over. I mercilessly pressed my lips into his pubes, then withdrew, scraping the shit out of the underside of his cock along the way. This sent shockwaves throughout his body. As he twitched and spasmed, his mighty meat contracted to fire brutal salvos of cum into my inviting mouth.

Buckshot of manly sperm peppered me, so volatile I thought it would blast a hole through the back of my neck. I frantically worked on him with oral strokes, crushing and scraping that sensitive cock for all it was worth. The man above remained silent, every muscle flexed, as he convulsed from the praise lavished on his pumping, spurting penis.

I refused to let up on him. His thick rod continued to fire away, only now it was shooting a steady, even flow of cum into my salivating hole. I swallowed with gusto and continued to stroke, sending his heavenly seed to the depths of my gut.

George pitifully tried to resume his thrusting and withdrawing, but this would not be allowed. I clamped my hands onto his butt and forced him in to me, while savagely licking, stroking and coaxing out the final phase of manly spurts.

I would have to be the one to complete this, because I didn’t want him to pull out until I had every bead of his cum safely in my stomach. Besides that, I figured we had fucked up this brand new car enough already and I didn’t want my slobbers and his jizm all over the damn carpet and leather.

So, he let me finish him off, which I did in a most efficient manner. His healthy tool was squeezed and licked dry, then mercifully released.

Poor George was sweating profusely. Drops of it were falling off of his chest and forehead to the leather seats below, which I knew could be a problem. “C’mon, George. Let’s get out of here.”

We piled out of the back seat and quickly dressed. He seemed pretty well satisfied with what had just happened to him. “God damn, that was good.”

“Just think, George, now you can say you’ve fucked someone in the back of a Cadillac.”

“Yeah. You drained me for sure.”

He looked at the car with a little concern. “You think anyone’ll find out?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll inspect it and fix ‘er up. I got nothing else to do all night.”

“I better get back to the cab. Paddy’s probably jackin’ his meat by now.”

We both headed down the ladder and I bid him farewell, “See ya next time, George,” then I did a little jackin’ of my own.

While engine 327 sat on the ramp at the far end of my auto racks, I spent the next hour or so getting the Fleetwood back to new, using some leather treatment I kept in my car, which just happened to be an older Cadillac – a two door coupe with the 425 engine from the late 1970's.

I never did anything overly exciting in the back of my Caddy, but I sure have a nostalgic fondness for big ol’ Fleetwoods.

The End