Gay Erotic Stories

I'm not going to tell you how I did it. What’s important to anyone reading this is that it worked and I got what I wanted. If I were to reveal my methods… the legal consequences don’t even bare thinking about.

I'm a middle-aged man with a taste in young men. All kinds of young men. Very often they’re straight, and I never see that as an obstacle. It’s not that I'm into making them want it. I don’t want them to want it. I want to make them do it against their will.

You can call it what you will; I don’t care. I know what I like and I make sure I get it.

I’d been watching my neighbour for a while. He lives in the same building as me, one floor down. He passed me once in the stairway; that was the first time I noticed him. The second time was in the summer. I was at my living-room window, looking out onto the street. He came across the street with a sports bag over his shoulder. I didn't recognise him straight away. All I could see was that he was wearing a green pair of shorts, the kind that they often wear on volleyball teams. What I like about shorts like that is that they do justice to their name: they’re short. This boy certainly had beautiful legs and he knew it. And because he knew it, he was prepared to treat anyone who was interested to a glimpse of them. He came across the road towards the entrance of our building, and it was only then that I recognised that it was my neighbour. I didn't allow any time to pass. I grabbed my keys and ran out of the door. I stood in the stairway until I heard him come into the building. I still waited, listening to him checking the post on the ground floor. When he started to walk up the stairs, I made my way down. All I wanted to do was cross him on the stairs. I did. His legs looked just as fantastic close up as they did from afar. He was a typical straight boy. And he was well-built in a natural way that had more to do with being strong and active than with targeted body-beauty culture. I greeted him the way you greet neighbours in the stairway and he greeted me back. I can’t say whether he noticed me staring at him, his body, his legs… not that I would care.

Outside on the street I waited for a minute and then made my way back up to my flat. It was then that I noticed that I could look out of my kitchen and bedroom windows and see down into his kitchen and bathroom due to our flats being at a right-angle to each other. He was standing in the kitchen, still in those shorts, preparing something. At some point he stopped and took off his T-shirt. I felt myself getting hard. He had a fantastic body, and he continued what he was doing in the kitchen, dressed in those green shorts. He had no idea he was being watched, and that gave him a certain air of innocence.

But I doubt whether there really was anything all that innocent about him. Soon after the stairway incident he had a party in his flat. There must have been about fifty people there, and the noise was that bad that it was not only bothering everyone in our building but also in neighbouring ones. The police had to come several times. I opened the door to my flat and listened to the exchange between him and the police officers who had already decided to press charges. He only made matters worse by showing a complete lack of respect toward the officers, interrupting them in a loud voice and saying all too clearly what he thought of the whole thing.

That boy needed a spanking. And more.

Following that there were a few more occasions on which I was able to watch him cooking by peeping through my curtains. Sometimes there was some girl with him; I never really had the interest to pay much attention to her, so I couldn't say whether it was always the same one or a whole number of them. But it was clear that they had something physical going on. Every now and then I’d see him in his bathroom; I’d watch eagerly as he undressed and stepped into the shower. Due to the angles of our respective windows, I could only see the upper part of his body, more or less down to his navel. And once he was in the shower, the window steamed up within less than a minute. Another time I saw him cleaning the kitchen dressed in boxer shorts. And the last straw came for me about a week ago when I happened to be at my bedroom window and saw him saunter into the kitchen at around midday, clearly having just got up. He had pulled on what I imagined to be the previous day’s underpants, which were tight fitting and somewhat ‘slight’. He had beautiful, powerful legs, and the same could be said for his upper body. There once again was that innocence of a young man who had no idea that his beauty could obsess someone, and yet he had that raw, masculine air to him along with that unruliness of getting up late, a lacking sense of discipline…

Later that very same day it had all got to be too much for me, so I took care of the problem. Like I said, I won’t tell you how. It can’t have been more than three hours later. It was afternoon and he was in my flat with his shorts pulled halfway down his thighs. He was over my knee and getting spanked. He had the underwear I’d been wearing the previous day stuffed in his mouth and his hands were tied behind his back. These two last measures were necessary due to his lack of cooperation and also because, after I’d spent a while getting turned on by his protests, I grew a bit tired of them so I found a humiliating way of shutting him up. His arse, which was just as beautiful as I’d expected, was already red. A short time later I’d spanked him in a whole number of positions including the wheelbarrow, putting him over the edge of the table, on the floor and so on. I was already bringing tears to his eyes, but I have to admit that I enjoyed that. Sorry, but I did.

But I wanted more from him. Two hours later I’d made him strip naked for me. After a while I was able to untie him because he was cooperating and knew that verbal protests would have consequences that his red and tender arse could probably no longer take. He was kneeling before me naked and licking my feet, balls, arse and sucking me off, all the while holding eye contact to show his submission, just as I’d taught him to do.

He’d clearly accepted his fate at some point, although that didn't make him resent or hate it any less. Neither did it make him resent or hate me any less, either. But I didn't care. He was mine now. I knew that and so did he. I explained this to him once more and in no uncertain terms as I sat on my sofa and he knelt before me, naked on the floor, sucking on my big toe obediently, holding my gaze and nodding every now and then as I spoke. He was aware of how aroused I was (there was unmistakable evidence of that), just as I could see that there wasn't a single sign of arousal in him. That was how I wanted it.

When he went back over my lap, you could see the panic in his face. His arse simply couldn't take another spanking. It was crimson, and you could literally feel the heat coming off it. I assured him not to worry, and when he was over my lap I took a bottle of lube in one hand and spanked him just lightly enough to relax his hole so that I could work first one and then several lubed fingers into him, my straight, butch, gruff and manly neighbour who was at least twenty years my junior.

One hour later still I had him on my bed, lying on his stomach. I was deep inside him, fucking him mercilessly. He was hating it, although on some level he must have been aware of the fact that it wasn't really hurting him, at least not THAT much. And he must have been just as aware of the fact that this was due to my careful finger-preparation method, which resulted in me being able to fuck him without actually damaging him. This was not only in his interest but also in mine, since I now viewed him as my unconditional property. I’d fucked him in all possible positions and made him look in the mirrored doors of the wardrobe and watch himself getting fucked by me. The rest of the time I made him hold eye contact. Whenever I had him in the missionary position I made him kiss. This overstepped another line for him, and he protested. But he only protested once, and the spanking that this brought him made sure that he not only regretted it but apologised and asked me to continue fucking him. I couldn't help grinning when he said that, and as I grinned at him he glared at me. He continued to glare at me as I slowly worked my cock back into him until I was buried deep inside him, and he went on glaring as I started fucking him again.

We now have an agreement that this will happen several times a week, and usually whenever I want it to happen. Sometimes in my flat, sometimes in his.

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If you like this story, let me know. If you didn't like it, let me know what you didn't like about it, what you missed or what you would change (I'm genuinely curious and love to hear people share). If you have any inspiration you want to share about how it could or should continue, let me know. Email: nrutas@gmx.de