Gay Erotic Stories

My name is Randy McClellen and this is my story—and Steve’s, but more about him later. I’m only 5’7” weighing in at nearly 150 pounds—and that’s all muscle. My hair is sunny blond and wavy (if I let it grow); my eyes are a clear, sky blue. I have the open, innocent (which I’m definitely not) face of a corn-fed choirboy (which I was) from the Midwest (which I am). I like to think of myself as a real All-American Boy; my head’s in the right place and I have a strong sense of values and ethics. (What a Paragon of Virtue, I am.) In high school I was popular with everyone, a three letter athlete, an honor student and an Eagle Scout—but none if that would have mattered to my family and the folks in my small town if they’d ever found out I was gay. I should also tell you that I am a sexual freak, but you’ll learn more about that later. I was offered an excellent scholarship to a prestig-ious southern university; I grabbed it and fled, never looking back. The scholarship covered tuition and textbooks, but little else. That meant finding a job. Since I wasn’t particularly interested in working a daily grind, I decided to use my ingenuity to make money—and maybe have a little fun. Being something of an entrepreneur, I started my own business—“HotBodz Handymen”! It was a simple idea that went over surprisingly well; young, hunky college boys doing ba-sic home repairs—wearing as much, or little, as the customer wanted. I recruited some of my jock buddies and talked them into stripping off for my digital camera. A little discreet advertising and a lot of personal promotion and the calls started coming in. The clientele was mostly bored housewives and older gay men; they generally tipped well and I never checked to see if my boys chose to do more than the job I sent them to. I didn’t just run the company; I also worked jobs—particularly for objectionable clients. That’s how I met Sgt. Steve Murauski. I received a call from an Amber Murauski, complaining about a job one of my boys did for her. Being a conscientious businessman, I promptly offered a re-fund—but she wanted the whole thing redone—for free of course. Sighing in-wardly, I agreed. I got my tools and headed for the suburbs. Mrs. Murauski proved to be everything I disliked in a woman; too much blonde rinse, too much tanning, too severe dieting, too many cigarettes and way too much attitude. She was a high-powered Real Estate Agent who was used to getting her own way. The lady didn’t just want the shelves re-hung; she wanted me to do it in my boots, jock and tool belt. She gave me a strong feeling she wanted more than my car-pentry skills—but I wasn’t about to let that happen! I gave her my best fake smile and got to work, vowing to finish as quickly as possible so I’d never have to deal with this bitch again . . . Mrs. Murauski watched me like a dog waiting to take a bite of prime beef. Not that I blamed her, mind you; she was paying for service I willingly provided. She complimented me on my body, my looks—even the fullness of my jock pouch. She made it clear I’d be mounting her once I finished mounting the wall brackets. Good money or no, there are some things I won’t do. (If I ever sleep with a woman, it won’t be some dried up twig that’s older than may mom!) The job was almost finished when the den door opened and in walked the most amazing hunk of a man I’d ever seen! Sergeant Steve Murauski was one of my adopted city’s finest—and I do mean fin-est! He was almost 6’3” and two axe-handles wide. He had to weigh close to 240 pounds—mostly muscle but a slight spare tire that I found incredibly sexy. His short hair was brown, graying at the temples. His eyes were soft and brown, sparkling with amusement. His features were broad and open; he smiled with genuine amusement. I took one look at this awesome man-mountain decked out in his motorcycle cop uniform and I was in love. “So this is your handyman,” he rumbled. My heart froze; my business is not without it’s dangers—chief among them, the jealous husband/lover. I waited breathlessly, prepared for the worst. His face was completely unreadable as he examined my work. “Nice job,” he commented. Th—thank you,” I stammered. “You’re—not upset—catching me like this?” He laughed heartily. “Hell, boy. You look like you can defend yourself if the mis-sus attacks you! Do you clean pools?” The abrupt change of subject caught me by surprise. “Clean pools?” I repeated stupidly. “Uh—yeah, I can clean swimming pools. I’m the maintenance man in my apartment complex and I clean the pool there. I—suppose I could borrow the equipment if you wanted me to do yours . . .” “What a lovely idea, darling,” the wife chimed in. “You do realize dear Randy is a bit—expensive?” “Just as long as he gets the job done right.” What’s going on here? I wondered to myself. Is he pimping me out to his wife—or saving me for himself? Neverthe-less, I made a deal to clean the Murauski pool once a week. Thus began three months of the best job I ever had. I’d show up at the residence and be greeted by the wife—usually in some ridicu-lous bikini or other. She’d invariably want me to rub oil on her back, or loose her top in some contrived accident—but my burly Sergeant would invariably show up in the nick of time to save me from her evil wiles. I loved it; she’d steam but big Steve always had a plausible excuse for stopping by the house. I got to see my fantasy cop in his uniform, workout gear and a whole range of street clothes. He rarely spoke to me, but I was storing up fantasy material for later. Nothing lasts forever, not even my dream job. One day I showed up for work and the usual games began. This time Sergeant Murauski didn’t show up to save me. Mrs. Murauski began by ordering me to strip naked and kept upping the ante while I tried to ignore her. When she sank her painted claws into my muscular butt, I finally had enough and told her so. “Now really,” she purred in a particu-larly obnoxious tone, “we both know what you are—so why don’t we get down to business and start negotiating a price!” I looked at her coldly. “I may be a nude handyman,” I told her, “but I don’t pros-titute myself! Not for you, not for anybody!” “Well, darling, “ she commented archly. “If you can’t provide proper customer—service—I’m afraid we shall have to look elsewhere for our pool cleaning!” I grabbed my stuff and started dressing. “I’d be happy to recommend someone who might be more to your liking,” I told her. I left without a backward glance, thinking that was the end of a really great job. At least I have my fantasies, I thought to myself. And that was all I had until one sultry spring afternoon I heard a knock on my front door . . . PART TWO I swung open the door, preparing for a magazine subscription pitch or a door-to-door religion solicitation. My jaw dropped in surprise as I saw Sgt. Steve Mu-rauski standing on my stoop wearing sweat-soaked gym clothes. “Can you spare a glass of water for a dying man?” he asked. “Uh, come in—please,” I stammered. I swung the door wide and Sgt, Steve walked in past me and made his way into my kitchen, parking his muscular butt on one of my bar stools. The rich smell of fresh man-sweat hit me so hard I was weak in the knees. Nevertheless, I recovered somehow, and rushed off to bring him a glass of water. “How did you find me?” I squeaked. “Saw your truck parked outside,” he told me. “The new pool man is cleaning to-day and I couldn’t stand to stay around and watch my wife flaunt herself at him. You know, bucko, he just doesn’t do as good a job as you did.” He drained the glass in one big gulp. “More?” he asked. Yes Sir! I wanted to scream, more, More, MORE! Somehow I kept my voice un-der control as I brought his second glass. “I’m sure he’s adequate for your wife’s needs,” I said a bit archly. His next question—out of the blue—hit me like a ton of bricks. “So tell me, hand-some, why didn’t you just take the money?” he asked. “A good looking buck like you must get lots of offers . . .” I drew myself up to my full height and gave him my best cold stare. “Frankly, Sgt, Murauski, I’m better than that! In case you didn’t know, prostitution is illegal in this state! Sure, some of my guys put out—but I don’t condone it--and if they get too blatant about it, I fire their asses! My services may be tacky, but it’s perfectly legal and I’m proud of my business! Besides,” I said, beginning to wind down, “your wife isn’t the one I’m interested in . . .” Steve laughed heartily. “You’re not saying you’re actually interested in me?!” “I’m a bit of a sexual freak, Sergeant,” I admitted. “I like older guys, I like bears and I’m crazy for cops! That makes you the perfect man!” “You’re sure eatin’ me up with your eyes,” he rumbled. “I want to use a lot more than my eyes on you,” I told him. “I want to lick your wet, smelly chest, I want to get my nose in your armpits and wrap my legs around you when you fuck me!” I wanted to die after blurting all this out but I just kept babbling. “And that’s not all I want! I want your hands on me—and your mouth too! God, dude! I even want to fuck you!” “Let’s take this one step at a time, shall we?” Steve suggested. You can start by taking your clothes off and showin’ me what you got . . .” This was one request I had no problem following; I was wearing only a tank top and gym shorts—without even a jock strap. I didn’t put on a show—I just let my clothes fly! Less than thirty seconds later I was totally nude. We both watched as my (not so) “lit-tle soldier” stood at attention. My cock was so hard I wasn’t sure I could pry it away from my stomach. “Nice,” he growled, “come here, baby!” Steve was sprawled on my bar stool, legs apart so I could get a good view. I stepped forward, almost hypnotized. The big cop’s massive arms encircled me and pulled me close to his chest. The hug was strong but not overpowering—comfortable--the way I’d always fantasized it would be. When he tipped up my face and brought his mouth down on mine, I didn’t resist. Our first kiss seemed to go on for days. Steve left me no doubt who was in control but that didn’t matter to me. He was slow, thorough and very tender, never overwhelming me. His mouth was soft and sweet, his tongue probed deep but never to the point of tasting my lunch. Steve even encouraged me to return the favor, teasing my tongue into following his into his mouth. I was happy to oblige and we played the game of advance and retreat for a deliciously long time. When he finally broke the kiss I thought I would pass out from lack of oxygen. “I’ll give you all day t’ stop doin’ that,” he told me. “Oh god,” was all I could manage in response. “Do you always kiss like that?” “I’ve never felt anything like that, b’fore.” He told me. “I gotta have me some more o’ that!” We kissed again, harder, deeper and more passionately than the first time. This time I fell against him, unable to stand when he finally let me breathe again. The big cop hugged me hard crushing me against his manly chest. “Will you undress me?” he asked, nuzzling my hair. I was quick to comply. I began by pulling his sweat-soaked t-shirt off over his head, letting the funky smell from his damp, hairy chest fill my nose with exotic perfume. I then sunk to my knees before the bull-stud, placed one of his big feet in my lap, and slowly and carefully removed the athletic shoe and sock. Big Steve stroked me with his bare toes while I dealt with the other foot. Steve didn’t need to be told what to do next. The big man stood up for me to re-move his last articles of clothing. Still kneeling, I helped him out of his gray gym shorts, leaving him in nothing but a well-stuffed cotton jock. I think he expected me to take that off too, but I had other plans. Steve groaned as I licked the bulg-ing pouch containing his massive cock and heavy balls. I kept at it until the mate-rial was soaking wet and nearly transparent. I then concentrated my attention on his cockhead, enjoying the taste of his free-flowing precum. “If you don’t yank that jock off right now, I’m cummin’ in it!” big Steve growled. While licking his balljuice out of the jockstrap had a certain appeal to it, I really wanted to taste his spunk first hand. I pulled down his jock, effectively hobbling him while I went after his massive prong. Steve’s cock was just like the rest of him, big and broad. Although he was fully hard, the sheer mass of the thing canted it away from his body. It towered nine and a half inches above the damp tangle of pubic hair. The mushroom head was a dark rose, with precum oozing from the fair-sized piss-slit. The shaft was more tan than red, but heavily veined. I knew the thing would feel good in my ass, but I wanted to taste his load first. “May I?” I asked. The big man didn’t need to ask, ‘may I what?’ He simply took one step forward and let his massive dong rub over my face. I took a moment to enjoy his heady, sex-smell before I got to work licking and sucking the big tool. My big bull cop groaned lustily as I licked up the shaft, finally taking the crown fully into my mouth. I had to stretch a bit, but I managed to get the whole thing in without scraping him with my teeth. Just to prove I could, I then opened my throat and swallowed the entire thing, working the entire organ down until his pubic hair ticked my nose. “My god, boy,” Steve groaned. “How’d you do that? Nobody’s ever been able t’ get the whole thing down before!” I cam up slowly off his cock. “I told you I was a bit of a sexual freak,” I replied. “You’ll find I can do lots of interesting things!” Without further comment I got back to my work; I wanted his cum! I swallowed the entire thing again, barely pausing for breath. Steve was quick to pick up on my intentions; the big man put his huge paw to the back of my head and thrust in and out of my throat, starting slowly but moving faster as I got used to swallowing the massive sword. Very soon he was giving my throat a pounding like I’d never had before—and I loved it! I knew he couldn’t last long at this tempo, but I didn’t care. I was giving the blowjob of my life—one we’d both remember for a long, looong time. “I’m cummin’.” howled Steve. “Aw Gawd, baby, I’m—cumming!” I took a deep breath and went all the way down again, swallowing the first several spurts of ball-juice. And man could he cum; blast after blast of thick fluid coursed down my throat. (The only time I’d ever swallowed so much love-juice was when I sucked my own dick.) As the volley tapered off, I pulled off a bit, until only the mushroom head was in my mouth. The last few spurts filled my mouth with a warm salty, but rich taste. Even at the end there was so much fluid I couldn’t swallow fast enough to keep it all. The overflow slipped out both sides of my mouth and down my chin. “Your turn,” growled Steve. “I want to see you shoot your load!” Still kneeling in front of the big cop, I began stroking my meat. He watched with hot eyes as my hand flew up and down my shaft. The whole scene completely turned me on and I couldn’t hold off cumming for long. My first load of ball juice covered my fist and ran down my cock. There was even white dew on my chest and belly and a few drops clung to my partner’s leg hairs. Steve didn’t seem to mind. The big man pulled me to my feet and crushed me to his heaving chest. His mouth came down on mine and we kissed yet again, slower and even more thoroughly than before. I sent him a taste of his own cum and he swallowed eagerly. Eventually he broke the kiss and began licking the traces of his balljuice off my face. “That was fuckin’ awesome, baby,” he mur-mured in my ear. “What now?” “Well . . .” I said teasingly. “Since you’re still hard--we could take this to the bed-room and you could fuck me. Or you could jack me off—or just watch while I do it again! Maybe I could suck you off again—but if none of that sounds good I guess you’ll have to put your clothes back on and go home . . .” Steve laughed. “Not fuckin’ likely!” he told me. “Baby, this is the wildest, most mind blowin’ sex I’ve ever had!” He paused for a moment. “I’ve—never done this before. You’ll be gentle, won’t you?” Then it was my turn to laugh. “If you show as much natural talent at fucking as you do with everything else, neither of us has a thing to worry about! Shall we go to bed?” Hand-in-hand, like a couple of newlyweds, we made our way to the bed-room. While I prepared the bed, Steve opened the curtains, filling the room with late afternoon sunshine. “I want to see you when we make love,” he told me as he slid into bed. Make love, I thought, I wonder what he means by that? Is he just being nice—saying some-thing he knows I want to hear or does he actually feel something? I couldn’t let myself get caught up in my own crush; Sgt. Murauski was married—and even if his wife was a bitch on wheels—I doubted he was willing to sacrifice a profitable marriage and career for a fuck—no matter how good it was. Even if he nothing but straight trade, I was willing to settle for that. I didn’t care in any case. I was out of my mind with lust for the big cop. I could feel my asshole clench with an-ticipation and smell my unique scent as my shit-chute began lubricating in prepa-ration for the ride. Now about the sexual freak part—my ass has a certain odd mutation. When I’m excited I “lube up” and produce a slick, sweet-smelling liquid. My anal muscles are also unique: I can take anything from a horse cock, to a fist and not be hurting the next day—or even stretched out of shape. Most people don’t notice my un-usual gifts—although everyone who rides my ass comments on how great it feels. Big Steve did. “What’s that smell?” the big man asked, nostrils flaring. “I’ll be damned, it smells almost like—cherry pie!” “That’s me,” I confessed as I slid into bed beside him. “My ass self-lubricates when I’m excited. I—“ Steve cut me off with a finger to my mouth, “Let me guess--you’re a bit of a sex-ual freak?” We both laughed; after all—I had said it enough myself. “Well, maybe I’m a bit of a sexual freak m’self—‘cause I’d sure like to taste me some o’ that cherry pie!” A hairy-chested, bull-top cop offering to eat my ass? That was one offer I wasn’t about to pass on! I rolled my hips upward, until my asshole was pointing sky-ward. “Have a field day,” I told him. “Just stick your tongue up my ass and go to town!” Much to my surprise and pleasure, Steve didn’t hesitate a bit; he just moved between my legs and dove in, flicking his long tongue deep into my hole and slurping up the abundant juices. The big man moaned his pleasure as he busily plundered my ass while he caressed my all over with his big, capable hands. The tiny part of my mind that was still rational noticed he was still dia-mond-hard, even without touching his own meat! Steve slurped my ass like he was at a pie-eating contest, grunting and moaning with pleasure as he lapped up my free-flowing nectar. His face gleamed wetly from his effort and the accumulated juice. “Eat me, you horse cocked stud,” I screamed jubilantly. “Eat my ass out!” My lover didn’t want to disappoint; he put his hands on my shoulders and held me down while I writhed in lusty aban-don. The rim-job must have gone on for fifteen minutes or more; by then I was so fuck-crazed I couldn’t think straight. I wanted one thing—and one thing only. I wanted Steve’s massive club inside me as deep as it would go! “Fuck me,” I pleaded. “God, fuck me. Fuck me now!” The big cop was in no mood to be mer-ciful; he just kept on eating my ass like there was no tomorrow! “Fuck me!” I begged. “Please—god, please—fuck me!” “That’s all I wanted to hear,” the man said, coming off my ass. “You just had to say the magic word!” Steve turned my ass even further upward, raised himself over me, and fitted his massive prong against my puckered asshole. Grabbing my ankles, he pushed forward, popping the mushroom head past my clenching ring. He kept up a slow, steady pressure until he was fully lodged inside me. I could feel his pubic hairs tickling my asscheeks as he began moving. “Mmmm…,” I groaned lustily. “For a man who claims—umnh—to be a same-sex virgin you’re sure ringing—ooh—my chimes! Did you ever—mmm—fuck your wife like this?” My ass muscles squeezed his cock with each outward pull. Steve thrust a little faster. “Maybe you just bring out the best in me. Lord, baby, you’re so tight! I—can’t believe how good this feels!” He pumped even harder, making me moan with ecstasy. My toes curled in fuck-crazed lust as he threw his hips into overdrive. Very soon I was unable to do anything but moan as big Steve gave me the hardest, fastest and deepest fuck I’d ever had in my life! Both our bodies sheened with sweat as we worked against one another, driving each other higher and higher with each lunge! Neither of us could last long at the pace we set—but big Steve was determined to give me everything he could before he finally unloaded his balls. The big man threw back his head, the corded muscle standing out on his bull neck. “Oh—god—baby! I’m—ah—gonna cum! I’m—fuckin’ gonna CUM!” “Do it!” I howled, finding my voice. “Do it, baby! Dump you load in my guts!” Steve didn’t need to be told twice. With a bellow worthy of a bull in rut, he began dumping blast after blast of his lovejuice into my waiting asshole. The force of the pulsating jet filling me up set off my own explosion. Helpless to prevent the eruption—and not wanting to in any case—I arched my body, jamming his spout-ing poker into my prostate and let my own load fly. Steve collapsed on top of me, chest heaving and panting like he’d run a marathon. I was pretty wiped out myself, but not too wiped out to squeeze and work the still-hard cock filling me up so deliciously. Both of us were bathed in sweat and cum. My own erection rubbed against his sticky belly fur. The big man kissed me deeply but slowly, and began moving inside me again. “You’re still hard,” he said, nibbling my ear. “I like that, somebody who can keep up with me—finally!” “Maybe you’re a bit of a sexual freak too,” I suggested, running my hands up and down his broad, damp back. “Fuck me, big Steve, I want more!” “So do I, baby” he told me. “So do I.” And he DID give me more—fucking me again and again, always willing to try a new position, always willing to listen to my suggestions and requests. It was far and away the best night of my life. All good things must come to an end, also—even this magical night. We lay in each other’s arms recovering from our seventh—or was it eighth—cum, when Steve’s cell phone went off. “Damn,” he swore as he pulled out of me. “I’ll bet that’s the wife!” And it was; Steve concocted a cock and bull story about being called for some emergency duty. I gather she bought it—or at least pretended to. The big cop hung up, promising he’d be right home. “Gotta go, lover,” he said as he headed for my bathroom and a quick shower, “but I WILL be back!”