Gay Erotic Stories

You could swear you passed that fork in the road twenty minutes ago...left turn, right turn? As a dense fog creeps in, your heart starts pounding in your chest like a fucking jackhammer. You're lost, really lost in a creepy backwoods maze of trees, unpaved roads and abandoned houses. There's not a soul around as you pull your sputtering car to a sudden halt in front of a crumbling farmhouse. You've got to get some sense of direction and get the hell out of here, you realize. There could be anything, anyone lurking out in the darkness...you rest your head on the steering wheel and close your eyes. Just as your head starts to clear, there's a crunch of gravel in the driveway behind you and a ribbon of light slices across the interior of your car. It's another car, pulling up behind you...a swirl of blue and red lights and the whoop of a siren....shit, it's a fucking cop car. A figure emerges from the cop car and makes its' way to your window. You roll down the window and look up into the glaring beam of a flashlight. "Hey," you stammer, "am I glad to see you," you begin. "Yeah?" the cop says, all swagger and attitude. "Yeah, I can't get back to the main road, and...do you know the way?" you ask, and you're met with a stony silence. After a pause, the cop tells you to get out of the car. You stand in the cold night, and try to get a good look at the officer. Shaved head, goatee, mean eyes, squared jaw...his lips are in a nasty sneer. One of those asshole cops who gets off on intimidating innocent civilians, most likely. The truth is, you're both right and wrong on this...yeah, this cop is one sick fuck, but you're far from innocent. Maybe it's the way you look at him, maybe it's the fear in your question; he knows you want it nasty, filthy and pig-style...right now. He grabs the collar of your shirt and pulls you to his face. "Yeah, I fucking know the way, pig...only, you've gotta want to get back bad enough," he snarls and pushes you back against the frame of your car. What to say? You notice a big, fat hard-on snaking down the thigh of his tight pants, and the glint of a pair of cuffs hanging from his belt. "Well?" he spits. Numerous jugs (can't seem what's in 'em) are crammed in the backseat of the cop car, a carton of eggs is on the front seat and a big bag of white chicken feathers is on the front seat floor. A jumble of Polaroid's is carelessly thrown on the backseat....dudes covered in grunge and grease, some shackled to the bumper of the cop car, some with nightsticks stuffed in their mouths and assholes. Your heart almost leaps out of your chest. A 100% fuckin' pervert with a badge...you realize with a dull jolt that you're completely at his mercy...if you want it bad enough. Minutes later, you find yourself in the back scrubs of the farmhouse, on your belly in the soft cool mud that lies between the house and the barn. He's pulled his car around and left the beams on for illumination. Caught in the headlights like a deer. Your wrists have been cuffed behind your back, and most of your clothes have been ripped from your body. The cop left you in your jockeys and pushed you, face first into the gooey mud, where you wallow now. He sits up on the porch, watching his little pig crawl in the filth for a while, slowly finishing a cigarette. He's rubbing his bulging dick through his pants and muttering to himself, lovin' seeing you in all this slime. "Crawl over here, fucker," he says, and you do it; albeit messily and slowly. He steps down from the porch and stands over you. He flicks his cigarette into the mud next to your head where it sizzles. He kneels down and pulls your face to his groin by your hair. "Yeah, little pig, lick my fuckin' balls," he moans, and you do, knowing that if you follow each and every instruction, it can only get filthier. You get his groin good and soaked with mud and spit, the outline of his thick, fat dick shoved up against the tight basket of the pants. "I got some shit I think you're gonna really like," he says and turns back to the porch. He sets down a huge plastic drum next to you and pries the top off with a grunt. The tub's filled to the rim with thick, disgusting black grease, chunky and viscous. "Gonna grease my pig up real nice," he says and hauls you up to your knees, your wrists still bound behind your back. There's not a thing you can do but take it all. He scoops out a dripping handful of the sludge and starts to smear it across your face. More across your shoulders, chest, belly...he stuffs handfuls down into your jockeys, packing 'em full of the slop. It feels fucking incredible. Finally, he picks up the whole drum and just dumps it out over your head, a thick sludge wave of glistening grime coating your whole body from head to toe. Your dick is hard as hell in your slimed underwear, tenting out in front of you. He grins wickedly at you before him. "Real good," he says, "but not dirty enough." He wanders back to the car, leaving you in the glare of the headlights, dripping and shivering...comes back with another big jug and a grocery bag. From the bag comes a bunch of bananas and a couple of bags of marshmallows. You get bent over at the waist, your ass sticking up in the air. Bananas are peeled and stuffed up your asshole, as well as each and every marshmallow...you're squealing now, and the more you squeal, the more it goads the sadistic fucker on. Your ass is packed now, full of sticky, mushy mess. Just when it seems like you can't take anymore, he stuffs another marshmallow or banana in with his fingers, laughing. He pulls your greasy jockeys back up and tells you to keep it all in. The bag of feathers comes next, ripped open and dumped out all over you. You wish you could get a look at how filthy you look right now...the look of pure, disgusting satisfaction on his face tells you all you need to know. Another drum is brought forth, oatmeal with chocolate cream pie filling mixed through it. You're force-fed this, handfuls of the slop shoved into your mouth, faster and faster, 'til you can't take anymore. You're gagging on it, but still, he feeds you more and more. "You like it, huh?" he says, flicking the excess grunge off of his hands onto your chest. A thick river of pig slop is oozing from your mouth and down onto your belly and your briefs. The dozen eggs are smashed all over your humiliated face and over your head, slimy yolks streaking down the shiny black grease coating you. Finally, you can't hold it in any longer. The contents of your guts gush out into your greasy shorts, a thick pudding of melted marshmallows and slimed bananas flooding a beautiful mess that makes the once-white jockeys swell with filth. The cop lies under your bulging jockeys, and tells you to let it all out. The shorts bust open, and the cop's head is drenched with an avalanche of grungy goop. He crawls out from under you and gets on his knees in the pile of sludge before you, his uniform just splattered with the previous contents of your ass. He holds the back of your head and stuffs his tongue down your throat, feeding it all back to you now. "Oh yeah, pig, that's real good," he grunts and pulls you over the edge of a vast vegetable garden a few feet away. He pulls monstrous zucchinis from the overgrown plot and stuffs a couple into your sloppy asshole, fucking you hard with 'em. He rises to his feet over you, rips his pants open and slams his huge dick down your throat, filling your mouth with meat. As he gives your face the hardest fuck it's ever gotten, he pushes you back onto your haunches, driving the zucchinis deeper into you. After a brutal mouth fuck, he pulls his cock out and heaves a thick, sloppy load of cum down your gasping face. Your prick explodes in your grunge-packed jockeys, white-hot cum spewing from you and filling the shorts. As a final gesture of filth, the cop snaps a quick Polaroid of you, humiliated and strewn with grunge on your knees. He takes off the cuffs, pulls a barely-readable roadmap from his shirt pocket and drops it onto your head. As he gets back into his car, he calls out to you. "Drive safely, fucker," he yells and pulls back onto the road and drives off. You crawl back to your car as the sun begins to break through the morning. You leave the map in the mud...if this is what getting lost is like, you know you won't be wanting a fucking map ever again.