Gay Erotic Stories

The young punk yelled at me. "Faggot!" Moments earlier, I had walked right by him, admiring the smooth skin peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt. What else was I to look at? The street was empty. He called again, angrier this time. "Yo, faggot!" I should have kept walking, but I stopped and turned to him. What expression to put on my face, I wondered, and settled on something cocky, an upturned chin and an intense squint. I spread my legs and planted my feet. The punk had moved away from the wall he'd leaned against. His face shone in the light of a streetlamp; the skin there appeared never to have been shaved. A teenager, I thought, as my eyes fell down to his blue jeans, glowing like neon against the stark black of the nighttime street. His jeans clung to him like a second skin; I could make out the faint outline of his dick as it snaked down past his right pocket. "Hey, faggot, look up here when I talk to you." He pointed to his face. I'd been so busy scanning him that I had failed to notice two young friends walk up behind him from the shadows. One wore a leather jacket, the other a tight tank top showing off beautiful arms and a slim waist. But I had to keep my eyes on the punk who had accosted me. He was obviously their leader, and I held his gaze. Not difficult; his eyes were the same lovely, luminescent blue as his jeans. Outnumbered three-to-one, I should probably have kept my cool, but gay baiters stirred my blood. "I'm not a whore, fellas. They're over on Pine." "Funny, faggot." I saw him crack the knuckles of his right hand by pressing his index finger against his thumb, then his middle finger, ring finger, lastly his pinky. Then he repeated the action on his left hand, slowly. "I don't like faggots," he said. "Oh, so you want to beat me up." I nodded as if thinking. To keep itself from shaking, my body tensed all my muscles. I felt my biceps tighten where they came out of my T-shirt; sweat tickled my lower back. My body is small and wiry but toned; I could never take on all three of these guys, but perhaps one-on-one... The lead punk stepped closer. I saw a small scar by the opening of the left side of his mouth. "So, you want to prove your manliness by beating up a queer," I said to him. "How macho. And three against one. How butch." "I think he's making fun of you, Jason," the kid in the leather jacket said. The punk--Jason--ignored his friend. His intense--and intensely blue--look of hatred seared right through me to some point in the sidewalk behind me. I began to notice how humid the night was. My brow sweat, and there was no sound to stir the air. "Don't make this worse on yourself," Jason said to me. He sounded as if he almost felt sympathy for me, as if what were to happen were an unavoidable act of fate. The punk took another step toward me. He licked his lips; he had a thin upper lip, almost nonexistent, but his lower lip was big and puffy. My insides shook but my voice held steady. "Why don't we make this interesting?" He stopped moving toward me. He was barely three feet in front of me. I could see his nipples pushing through his white cotton shirt. The night's warm air felt like his breath on my face. The punk said, "How?" "Just you and me, big boy. And we fight for something." "Like what, faggot?" "Use your imagination." I winked at him. Leather Jacket said, "What about us, Jason?" "Shut the fuck up! This is between the fag and me now." He turned back to me. "Okay, pops. If I win, we get you a hooker and you screw her." "Okay." "And we take pictures. Might even send ‘em to your fag boyfriend." The punk and his friends laughed, a dry, harsh sound that echoed around the empty street. I said, "Which boyfriend?" "Shut up. Let's go." The punk took off his shirt. His torso was long and leanly muscled. The streetlight overhead danced along the ridges of his stomach and the narrow valley between his pecs. He came toward me like a starving man approaching a buffet. I stepped back and said, "What if I win?" The punk laughed, one single bark thrown into the turgid air. "That's not going to happen, pops." "I'm only twenty-eight," I said. "But, if it does happen, I, uh, let's see, I get to fuck you." Leather Jacket said, "What?" Jason stopped in his tracks. He looked like I'd already slapped him. "Scared?" I said. The hurt-boy look passed into angry-boy. "No, faggot. You're on." He held out his hand for me to shake, to seal our deal, I guessed. I hesitated but took it. I shouldn't have. As soon as he gripped my hand, the punk jerked me toward him. Off-balance, I fell for him. In a split second I saw my shadow cross across his crotch. I thought he was going to try to twist my arm behind me, and without thinking I leapt towards him, hoping he couldn't get to my arm that way. It helped me regain my balance. And it took the punk by surprise. When our shoulders collided, he took a step back and loosened his grip on my hand. His breath was the only thing I heard, shallow and wet. He tried to pull me toward him again; for a second I saw his nipple and the ring stuck through it. I made myself fall to get away from him, and I managed to pull him down with me. He never suspected my ploy, but I had to be careful: he nearly fell on top of me. I rolled into a brick wall, away from him but toward pain. My shoulder sounded a wet thud. Above me I saw him reach out and keep from falling; his palms stung the wall. He glared down at me right before my left foot crushed his right knee. Then, he fell. I tried to get off my ass before he regained his composure, but he was too fast. We were both on one knee when he reached out and punched me in the face. Off-balance, he fell into the dirty brick wall; I saw the rough surface scrape the skin on his shapely shoulder muscle. I saw all that before the pain hit me. My left eye shut and I fell backwards. Adding to the lack of grace, something waited behind me--a cardboard box--and it poked me in the back as I fell. I should have laid flat on my back; instead, I sprawled on the clammy sidewalk with my legs facing up and my torso twisted to the side. The punk's friends had to jump back as I fell by their feet; for a second I saw the one in the leather jacket. As he leaped backward his jacket opened, revealing the milky white skin and smattering of hair on his stomach. I had little time to enjoy that view, for the punk, Jason, rushed toward me again. A red bump had appeared on his left temple, and a red anger lit up his ice-blue eyes. I had just enough time to roll over before he tumbled onto the spot I had just been lying on. How had this fight become so clumsy so quickly? I thought as I kicked at his arm, causing his bare upper body to fall forward. Without thinking, I rushed over to the punk and grabbed at his tight ass. He was attempting to get back up, but on all fours I climbed on top of him and pushed him back down. He pushed up against me--when had my dick gotten so hard?--but I pulled his left arm behind him and pushed it up toward his neck. He lay flat on the ground and grunted his pain, but he couldn't push me off him. I pressed my smaller body down as hard as I could; our sweaty skin stuck together, and produced so much heat, I felt my hard cock pushing against the denim covering the swelling of his bubble butt. He struggled and twisted his tall, muscled body. I growled in his ear, "Give up, big boy." He continued to struggle; his ass rubbed against my crotch. "Concede, fucker!" "All right," he said, a little too quickly, I thought. "All right. You win." I didn't let him up yet. "You're not going to run, are you?" "No. No, all right? Get off of me." Now he sounded defeated, pathetic. "For now," I said, standing awkwardly: my knees ached, and my elongated prick pressed tightly to my close-fitting jeans. I watched as the punk slowly stood up, first getting to his knees on all fours and thrusting his ass out and up inadvertently. I noticed a small heart tattoo in the small of his back. His waist seemed impossible narrow compared to the broadness of his shoulders. The punk finally stood and turned to face me. In the dim light of the alley, the ring through his nipple glowed like a beacon, calling me toward it. But I resisted. This night would be about me now. It was time to break the boy. His mouth hung slightly open, his breathing heavy and his lips glowing with moisture. Even so, he licked them. His head stayed hanging, but his eyes looked up at me, despite his being at least four inches taller than me. I said, "Take off your clothes." "What? You want to do this here?" I stepped closer. "Why not?" During the fight, the punk's two friends had moved between us and the opening of the alley, and there was almost no light--just enough so that his sweaty skin shimmered. "No one will see us. And your friends will stand guard. Now, strip!" Despite his obvious reluctance to be humiliated in front of his friends, there was enough command in my voice to make him begin stripping. His pants came off in two fluid motions of his long, lean arms. For a second I found myself staring at the punk's cock, swaying in the humid nighttime air about six inches soft. I could almost taste his foreskin. Then I remembered that a few moments ago this punk had wanted to split my head open just because I was gay. The kid wasn't going to earn the pleasure of me sucking him off, not tonight. But hopefully he would learn something as he gave me pleasure. When he was completely naked--even his shoes and socks--he hung his head, low, like the way his smooth balls hung. His dick seemed to be shrinking; perhaps he was shy about being naked in an alley. My dick seemed longer than it had ever been. I reached out and grabbed his package. His penis and balls barely fit in my hand, but the contact seemed to stop their shrinking. The punk kept his head down as I took one slow turn around him, inspecting what I had won. Except for the blond thatch tickling my right hand, there wasn't a single hair on the punk's body--not around his tiny, erect nipples, nor on his tight, round ass, nor even, it seemed, on his slim, toned legs. As I completed my circuit, I removed my hand from his luscious dick and let my fingers slide around the punk's waist, stopping only to squeeze his left buttock before pulling away. He didn't seem to react to that. I stood in front of him again and began unzipping. "All right, Jase. On your knees." He said nothing, though his parted mouth apparently wanted to. He slowly got down on his knees. I managed to wedge my throbbing dick out of my tight jeans. Two drops of pre-cum splashed to the pavement below. The punk stared long and hard at my cock right in front of his face like it was an exhibit in a museum. His lips hung open but he didn't move. So I took my dick in my hand and lay the head of it on his big, wet lower lip. The punk absent-mindedly put one of his hands on his chest and stroked the smooth, hard muscle there as he took the very end of me into his mouth, tasting my dick like a treat he wasn't sure he'd like. I felt his teeth, and the tip of his tongue against my piss-slit. But I was in no mood to be nice to the little gay-basher. I felt his teeth open tentatively, and I thrust into his mouth. The back of his throat felt like sandpaper on the tip of my penis. He gagged, but I didn't back down. I began facefucking him with quick, forceful strokes; after the third, he stopped gagging. His jaw relaxed, and I felt his teeth scrape my skin. I boxed him on the side of his head for that, and he opened wider. I could feel his warm breath as it got faster. As I fucked his face, the punk slid my pants down to my ankles. He grabbed my thighs with his hot hands. Finally I got his throat to relax completely, and my balls, swinging low in the warm night, pressed against his chin. I kept on pushing in, trying to feel every inch of his throat, hoping I could grow even longer as the punk began to gag and resist. I pressed so hard against him, he lost his balance, and his tight, lean body fell backward. I clutched his head in my hands, and he stopped short of hitting the wall. Now he sat on his ass on the dirty alley floor, never having let my dick leave his mouth. He moaned softly now as I fucked him harder. His mouth fit me like a pair of new socks, warm, comfortable, and durable. He gagged again, and grabbed my cock with one hand, so I slowed down. He seemed to be okay on his own. His lips lingered around the head of my dick, his tongue slipping expertly around the underside. I put my head back and moaned, forgetting for a moment I was in a public alleyway. As Jason continued to give great head, I looked around. The alley was dark, except near the street where Jason's two buddies stood. They were dark to me, with all the light behind them, but I thought I saw them both rubbing their crotches. There was the hum of a nearby air-conditioner, and the distant throb of bass from a nightclub around the corner. The guy in the leather jacket even seemed to be tweaking his right nipple. By now I was ready for the main show. I held his head in my hands and pulled myself out of his mouth. A thick cobweb of spit and pre-cum trailed from his thick lower lip to the head of my dick, and it hung there even as I continued to move away. When it was about a foot long, the thick strand split, and most of it fell onto the punk's chin. The wetness made his face shine, even in the dim light, as did the trail of sweat falling down his temple. He bent forward, as if to follow my cock and recapture it, but I held him in place. He looked up, his eyes open and imploring. I wanted to smile at him, but I remembered how easily the word "faggot" had escaped those lips earlier. I peered down at him, lightly slapped one of his smooth cheeks, and told him to stand. Again, I had his beautiful, milky white skin right in front of me. His nipples stood erect over his tight pecs, and his young dick was half hard, quivering as it pointed at me in the dark alley. I kissed him--roughly, with my tongue as far in his mouth as it could go and my teeth banging against his--for just a few seconds. I squeezed the big head of his semi-aroused member, rubbing the small amount of pre-cum around; Jason let out a short, throaty groan. I let go and walked around him. Pressing my throbbing eight inches against his mounds, I whispered in his ear, "Have you ever had a man's dick up your ass?" When he didn't answer, I slapped his ass, hard, the fleshy sound echoing up and down the alley. I told him to answer me; he said, "No, faggot." The latter word seemed softly spoken, and trailed off into the humid night air. I roughly pushed his shoulders forward until he was bent over with his palms on the ground. Forcing his feet farther apart, I crouched behind him, my face even with his asshole. I ran my hands over the globes of his perfect bubble butt, the best I had ever seen. His balls hung low and moist right below the pink, tight hole where I placed my mouth. I kissed and sucked around that hole; I felt him tense, even lift his hands off the ground, but after a few seconds he relaxed. I heard him sniffle, as if he were trying not to cry. I didn't stop to consider his feelings. I thrust my tongue into that clenched little opening, feeling the rough skin on my taste buds. It was like heaven; the musky flavor was like ambrosia. I ran my hands along the punk's smooth, lean thighs, which were very tense. After a few minutes of eating him out, I gave his balls a quick tug. Jason gasped at that. Standing again, I pushed my pants to my knees. I took my dick in my hand and for a minute watched the glowing skin and the tight flesh of the punk, bent over and quivering with what I hoped was fear. My dick seemed longer and harder than it had ever been, and I slapped the top of Jason's ass with it a few times before running it up and down his crack. I almost came right then. I took a condom from my front pocket, thanking myself for bringing it along. Slowly, I slid it on myself, giving my over-sensitized member some time to cool. Jason seemed to be shaking more now, so I said, loudly enough for his friends to hear me, "Don't be afraid, Jase. We ‘faggots' do this all the time." I heard him whimper; he must have been crying. His asshole was still wet from my spit, but the opening was shut tight, like that secret room in a grandmother's house that you weren't allowed to go in. Yet you knew there must be something special inside. I was about to find out. I held my dick in my hand. It felt like a foreign object, it was so big and hot -- incredibly hot. I pressed the head against the punk's tight hole. There's no way it'll fit, I thought. The punk felt it there and let out a startled "Oh!" To taunt him, I held it there until I felt him relax just a little, and then I plunged in. My cock got about halfway before he clamped down too hard. His howl of pain rang up and down the alley and probably onto the street beyond. He continued moaning more softly as I pulled all the way out and dove back in. He screamed a loud swear word as I felt his sphincter torn open and my hairy balls pressed against his butt. I held his slender hips against me for a long time, feeling the back of his intestine against my cockhead. He squirmed and groaned, a sound more of pleasure than of pain. I began fucking the smooth punk with long, slow strokes. Every time the head of my dick nearly escaped his hole, he sighed and relaxed; and he would tense and suck in his breath as I drove back in. My slow strokes kept me far from the brink of climax. I stared at the punk's slender back as he bent over with his palms on the alley floor. Suddenly, I saw his friends approach. I almost stopped my rhythm, thinking the two might try to stop me from raping their leader. Then I saw the long, slender cock of the boy in the leather jacket. Up close I could tell he was about eighteen, with ivory skin and a few strands of hair around his nipples. I looked up and found his eyes intently watching the in-and-out motion of my rigid dick. The other punk had removed his tank top, and his lean, muscular body shone with sweat in the dim neon light of the alley. He had big, brown nipples atop his broad chest and a six-pack I couldn't help but stare at, with a trail of hair leading down to his dick, which he held in both hands--and the big purple head still peaked out and winked at me. This boy had pale blue eyes, and he leered at me with sneering lips as he stroked his big rod. He walked over and stood right beside Jason. He took one hand off his huge dick and placed it on his leader's back, stroking Jason right above his ass crack. The punk moaned louder, perhaps because of the increased attention or because I resumed my fucking, faster now, and with shorter strokes. I thrust into the punk harder now. Jason accented each beat with a tiny grunt. His body began to slide forward with each thrust, toward his friend in the leather jacket. I slid my hands from his tiny waist around to his taut stomach. I pushed his body up from how he had been bending forward, with his hands on the ground, all the while pummeling his virgin asshole. He now bent at a right angle. His breathing became shallow as his head came to rest in front of his jacketed friend's flopping dick. Jacket slapped his leader's face with the engorged head of his young cock, and Jason stared at it for only a second before taking it into his mouth. Jacket threw his head back and moaned as if howling at the moon. I couldn't help getting a little more turned on, and without thinking picked up the pace. With forceful, fast strokes, I fucked the leader of the punks hard and good. With each thrust, his face slammed forward into Jacket's belly until the leather clad boy's dick was entirely engulfed in his leader's mouth. As he pinched his nipples, I saw that pained look come across his face, and soon he began to cum in his leader's mouth. The punk wasn't ready for that and he pulled back. Jacket's dick throbbed and bucked even with nothing holding it, and a big spurt of milk flew out and onto Jason's cheek. As Jason pulled further back, Jacket's spewing member had a clear shot, and his next shot of cum flew over Jason and hit me in the chest. Two more shots landed on the punk's back, one right at the top of his ass crack. The third boy with the broad chest, who had been stroking Jason's back, withdrew his hand, as the volley of manjuice began a slow trickle down the valley of Jason's ass. After thirty seconds, Jacket's cum lubricated my hot fuck of his leader. With his hand Jacket squeezed out a few last drops of semen. He wiped his dick on Jason's cheek as his leader spat some of Jacket's cum onto the street. His eyes were closed, but he continued to grunt each time my balls touched his balls. The punk’s grunts added to my pleasure. As long as I'd fucked him, his hole had remained tight, virginal and hot. With his friend's juice on his face, the punk writhed more and more beneath me. On his own, he straightened a little more, reaching behind himself to grab my straining thighs. I let him, and let him take over the motion. The punk began to ram his ass down on my dick, and I stood still and felt every velvet sensation of a virgin ass fucking my stiff pole. With my hands, I rubbed my chest. My skin was sticky with sweat, and my small nipples were hard as leather. I noticed the big, bare-chested boy move toward me. He seemed to be advancing in slow motion, as if the air were so humid it had become an ocean and we were drenched underwater. His fingertips brushed my stomach, and his touch was electric. I used almost all my energy keeping myself from cumming. His other hand reached behind me; I stared into his intensely pale eyes as his hands simultaneously wiped the sweat from the small of my back and poked painfully in my bellybutton. His finger in my navel sent a dull ache piercing through my entire abdomen, as if a vibrator had suddenly been rammed there. The boy pressed his hard, sweaty body to mine as his hand found my asshole. He roughly wedged two fingers in there as his moist lips kissed my neck. His pecking felt like light feather touches, but his prying open of my hole was brutal and painful. I clamped down on his intruding fingers, which had already reached the second knuckle; but I also groaned in such intense agony that two men walking past the alley turned their heads and saw what was happening. The pale-eyed stud slid another finger into my experience hole, but even experience couldn't prepare me for the tight feeling of pain this boy produced. Here I was happily raping his leader, so why was I letting this hunky punk hurt me? Maybe because his kisses upon my neck--and now my shoulders--were the most tender touches I'd ever received. Or maybe the way his other hand as easily slid between my thigh and Jason's ass and now cupped my balls, tugging on them firmly yet gently, holding off my orgasm and helping me fuck his leader even longer. Jacket had pulled up his pants and returned to guard the end of the alley. The two newcomers approached slowly. One wore a shirt and tie; he was about thirty, with short blond hair. He seemed amazed by what he saw; he stared at the inward-outward movement of my dick as if he never thought such a thing were possible. His companion was younger, mid-twenties, with a shaved head and a tight silver shirt on; his nipples stood out in the heat of the night, and I recognized him as one of the local whores. The older man, curious, must have picked him up. I gave a mighty thrust into the punk's ass; he grunted loudly and deeply, like a buffalo. I looked at the shaven-headed newcomer and said, "I think my friend here needs some relief." I leaned over Jason and squeezed his dick once to accentuate my statement. The punk's dick lay hard up against his stomach, and the veins felt so swollen they might pop at any second. Shaved Head knew what to do; he ran to us, sat down below the punk and took Jason's cock in his mouth. I resumed my fucking of the punk. I was amazed I hadn't exploded yet. The boy with the pale eyes stopped kissing my neck, and he took his hand off my balls as he moved to stand behind me. He had all four fingers of his hand in my fuckhole now, and he moved them in and out roughly. With his free hand he reached into the pocket of my pants, which lay down around my ankles. Pale Eyes drew out other condom I had brought along. He whispered in my ear, his voice like honey, "Please. Please let me have you." I thought, This isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm fucking his leader, and that's that. But I couldn't help myself, not with this boy's pale, sensual eyes and his awe-inspiring six-pack--and the huge purple head atop twelve inches of boycock. He pressed up against me. His manhood slid into the crack of my butt, and some of the fine hairs below his navel tickled my sweaty flesh. What was there to think about? I was in too much ecstasy now, too much to voice my answer, so I nodded to him. In response, he stuck his fat tongue in my ear, and the fingers in my asshole tickled my prostate. It was too much. As Pale Eyes withdrew his fingers, I drove my dick into Jason as far as I could go. My legs tightened almost painfully and my entire body shook as I pumped my largest load ever inside the hot punk's ass. I moaned, then, losing control, screamed in rapture as wave after wave of ecstasy poured out of my body. Continued in "Street Fight, Part II"