Gay Erotic Stories

The UPS Man By Terry Boughner It wasn't the day for it. I run a small business from my country home. Since I operate mainly by com-puter, there's no staff to worry about, not much of anything really to complicate my life, or disturb my rural solitude. I like it that way. I may be only 25, but I don't like cities or the bar scene with its crowds. I've never been much of a social butter-fly. I'm pretty much of a loner. I love to walk my land on the first light of the day, to see the mountains all misty in the distance, to strip down and go for a swim in my lake while the crows set up their raucous cries. Afterwards, I love to lie stretched out and naked in the sun, soaking up its heat. But today, it was different. I was up early as usual, lifted some weights and took a shower before having my first cup of coffee. After that, I intended to go to my study and work. I'm a writer and I had a publisher clamoring at me to finish the last chapter of a book. But I hadn't even gotten my coffee when the phone began to ring--and it didn't stop all morning. There was caller after caller. None of it was really important, just piddly stuff, but all the questions had to be addressed. Somewhere in the midst of all that, a gentle Summer rain swept in off the mountains enveloping everything in a misty fog. I like a rain like that. I like to walk in it. For some reason I find it sen-sual. The mist beading on my smooth, bare skin makes me horny, but this time I bearly noticed what it was doing outside. By noon, everyone who wanted to call seemed to have done so. Things quieted down so that I thought I could relax a bit. Maybe I could get some work done-and maybe, just maybe, I could squeeze in some time for a walk and a swim. But that thought vanished when I heard the crunch of tires in my drive and looking out the rain-streaked window, saw a car I didn't know. It was only then that I remem-bered. About once every week or so, I have packages to ship out via UPS. It's never very much, some books, a manuscript now and then, not really much trouble, but I hate going off the place. So, when I learned that I could arrange for pick-up at the door, I called them to find out about it. The woman I talked to told me it was told it was no big deal. All that was involved, she said, was filling out some forms and learning about the procedures. She said they'd send someone out about noon on Friday to set things up. Well, it was about noon and this was Friday, so, I guessed, that's who it was. By the time I'd opened the front door, my visitor was already on the porch. He was of Asian descent and about my age, but shorter than I by about four inches, which would make him, as I judged, about 5'6" or so and was dressed in a rumpled loose-fitting light tan suit. "Hi, I'm Johnny Chang," he said with a smile. "You're Glenn Bishop?" One eyebrow was raised slightly toward his thick black hair that glistened with the rain like polished coal. I acknowledged that that's who I was, while thanking the good fortune that had brought him to my door. Some men are handsome, some are cute. But in Johnny, nature had combined them both, giving him a strong, masculine beauty that was absolutely stunning. Yet, for all of that, there seemed to be no trace of vanity about him. Instead, there was about his almond-shaped eyes and at the dimpled corners of his full-liped mouth, both a certain shyness along with an exquisite sensitivity that were as warm as the honey-brown tone of his skin. Only a few seconds passed, but in that little time, I knew that I wanted him, in my bed and in my life as well. But was that possible? Was he Gay? That was impor-tant to me. Unlike a friend of mine named Rick, who liked to make it with straight men, I wanted a guy who knew he was Gay and was comfortable with that fact. And Johnny . . .? Some Gay men I know insist they're gifted with a kind of second sight, Gaydar, they call it, by which, they say, they can tell at a glance if a man is Gay or not. I've never had that talent or whatever you'd call it. I never know if a guy is Gay until he tells me, and desperately, with everything in me, I wanted Johnny to be Gay. Ordinarily, I wear snug-fitting jeans and a sports shirt, even around the place, but today, I suddenly realized, was different. I'd been so busy that I hadn't changed out of my red nylon gym shorts with its slits up the sides, and a tank top that was cut off up to my pecs, leaving my rippled belly bare. The only way he could have gotten a better view of me was if I'd been naked. And he was looking me over. There was no doubt about that, and, I thought, he was enjoying the view. On that misty-gray day, his beautiful eyes seemed to glisten like a dark eastern forest full of stars. Like I say, all this went on in only a few seconds, but that was long enough, I think, for us to take the measure of each other. "It's so quite here," he said. His voice was clear, with a kind of shy, boyish tim-bre to it that was charming. He put down the briefcase he'd been carrying and turned his head to glance around. "It's really beautiful." He turned back to me. "I saw a lake. Do you know it?" "Yes. It's mine. It's not deep. I go swimming there sometimes." Then I added suggestively, "Like when it's warm and it rains like this." I couldn't believe I'd said that. Normally, I'm not that forward with someone, but my desire for him was pow-erful and growing--and there was a whole lot else in me going on for him that I didn't want to think about, not right then. "I'd enjoy a swim if you have the time," he replied with a knowing look. "It would give my suit a chance to dry off. Do you have something I could wear?" What I was tempted to tell him was that since there was no one for miles, we didn't have to wear anything at all and maybe he'd have agreed, but I thought bet-ter of it. For some reason, it's always been a real turn-on for me to strip a guy as I made love to him. Johnny would certainly be no exception to that rule. There are two bedrooms on the first floor, one on either side of the living room. I took him to the back bedroom. This was my room. If he had any doubt that I was Gay, one look would have told him that I was. There were framed posters on the walls showing pictures of young men, Asians, Hispanics, dark young men with smoldering eyes whose naked bodies looked like they'd been sculpted by the gods. Johnny gave them an admiring once over, but otherwise paid no special attention to them. I gave him a pair of worn denim cutoffs and a tanktop that I thought would fit him. Those and some clogs would complete his attire. Afterwards, though I longed to see him naked, so as not to appear too forward, I left him to go back into the liv-ing room to have a cigarette and wait. He took longer than I expected to change, but I chalked that up to my own im-patience. When he did come out, he had with him one of my gym bags, but I didn't pay much attention to that. I was too busy looking at him. God almighty, I could do little more than stare. He had a gorgeously sculpted physique, not body-builder bulky, but one that was perfectly defined, absolutely symmetrical and in perfect proportion to his height. His golden-hued, marble smooth thighs looked like pillars that had been poured from molten bronze. His waist was narrow, his torso was a classic V with washboard abs and sculpted pecs. When he turned, to my no great surprise, I saw that his bubble butt gave a new and definitive meaning to the term. I was going to put my face into that ass of his, suck on his hole, drain him of juice. I promised myself that. We left the house, going out into the misty gray afternoon. There was fog on the mountains like a roof over the world. All was hushed and very still, a silence broken only by our footfalls and the sound of raindrops dripping from the trees. Moisture beaded in dew drops on Johnny's smooth golden skin and made my shorts cling to my loins where coals of passion that always smoldered there, were glowing hot and sending tongues of flame lapping at my belly. Those flames were small now, but it wasn't going to take much at all before they grew into a torrent of fire that would burn me alive. There was a narrow dirt road that skirted the base of a hill. A half mile or so along, there was a wood and beyond that, the lake. On the way, I asked him about himself, where he lived, did he like his work? I'm always curious about guys with whom I have sex or want to have sex. But with Johnny, I had to admit, wanting to know about him went way beyond that. Not only was he physically beautiful, a drop-dead, knock out hunk of male, there was something else as well. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was some-thing mysterious about him as insubstantial, elusive and ghost-like as the fog and mist around us. But rather than being put off by that, this mystery only served to increase his allure. To all my inquiries, he made only vague replies--except to one. When I asked him if he was single, he answered that he was. When I voiced my surprise, saying I'd have thought he would have had a lot of guys on the string, he gave me the strangest look. "I have put men on strings, but never the perfect one," he said, giv-ing me a sultry look and adding, "But I think that's over now." He smiled and one eyebrow arched toward his hair. I wasn't at all sure what he was talking about. I guess I should have asked him to clarify himself, but I did not. I was too busy feeling the wonderful warmth surg-ing all through me, starting in my belly and radiating up and over my chest. God in heaven, I wanted him, I wanted him all, physically, mentally, his heart and his soul, to have him, possess him. But just as importantly, I wanted to yield to him, give myself up to him in passioned abandonment, to offer him whatever it was that made up me. We had reached the edge of the wood, when I stopped and turned to kiss him. Maybe some would say I was going a little too fast, but I couldn't help myself. There was nothing I could do. He laid a hand gently on my right arm, curling his long, slender fingers about my bicep. The other hand he placed on my bare belly just above the elastic of my shorts. At his touch, hot tingles of urgency ran all through me, as if my veins were wires carrying charges that pierced to my brain, while my cock was so hard, I thought it would burst through its imprisoning cloth. "Glenn, kiss me, yes, but know that you're dipping into the dark side if you do." Johnny's voice was as soft as the drizzle misting my skin. "I will do things to you that have never been done before." "Dark side?" I wasn't alarmed, only intrigued. "Uhm-hum," he murmured softly, running the tip of an index finger along my lower lip, then took it quickly away. "A side that will entrap and hold you captive forever to me, bound as helpless as if you were spread-eagled, naked, in a spider's web." As before, I didn't understand exactly what he was talking about-but even if I had, I wouldn't have stopped. I've always been a bottom to another man's top and the analogy he'd used of me being held a captive in his web, was exciting. Besides, his words combined with the glowing, hypnotic look in his slightly veiled, bewitch-ing almond-shaped eyes, already had me in thrall. Keeping his eye fixed on mine, he slipped a hand between us and slowly slid it down my belly, down into my shorts and bikini briefs, seeking and finding the thick, thrusting spear of my masculinity throbbing there, waiting for him to grasp it and make it his own. When he did, I gasped and stiffened against him. His touch was so hot that I had to fight against coming on the spot. He had to know I was close to exploding because he withdrew his hand and holding me by my biceps, pinioned my arms to my sides and crushed his mouth to mine. His tongue pushed easily inside me as he ground my lips against my teeth, holding me tightly pressed against him as he did. I'd had sex with a lot of men, wickedly handsome men with beautiful physiques. But never, ever like this. Never had I been so hot, so near to meltdown as I was now and while I'd played the bottom to some excellent tops, never had anyone taken control of me like this. And with just a kiss! To say that I was putty in his hands, was a gross understatement. His mouth, his touch, the way he held my arms had taken me beyond the point of yielding to the complete abandonment of self. If this was the "dark side," he'd mentioned, then I was at home in its steaming hot, churning, stygian depths. But as I would discover, I wasn't in the depths, only in the outer circle. There were other areas, each one deeper than the last, through which I would be led. "There is no one around," he whispered in an intonation and with a look that said that for whatever was to come, we would not be disturbed. Fog-gray clouds hung low in the sky. Mist swirled around us, isolating us in a world of our own. A crow called out a couple of times and then was still. With his hands on my shoulders, Johnny sent me to my knees. Bending low, I removed the clogs from his feet and set them aside, before kiss-ing his feet, going back and forth. I'd never been into feet before, I had no foot fet-ish, but now it was different. His feet were beautiful. The tops were rich with pro-tuberant veins, and I wanted to lick them, wanted to push my tongue down between his toes, as my cock throbbed demandingly, shoving hard against my shorts. I longed to touch that bulging rod of mine, ached to give my hot, swollen prick some relief. Instead, without looking up, I raised my arms above my head and put my hands on the backs of his thighs. I began to bathe his calves with my tongue. He had a little hair on them. The prickles of it felt good, so good, yet not as good as what was to come. See, I'm a thigh-man. To me there's nothing more beautiful, nothing more of a turn-on than a man's thighs, thighs that are powerful, muscular, bulging with sexu-ality. Thighs like Johnny's, ones that ripple when he walks as Johnny's did, thighs like his are the pillars of a man's strength, molten towers, burning with inner flame. When he stands still, they are the rock-hard symbols of his virility. When he moves, they quiver with sensuality bearly restrained. My thighs are good, solid, with great cuts. There is no denying that. But Johnny's were absolute perfection. Marble smooth and well defined, they were twin slabs of male meat leading to the still-hidden treasures at his loins. As I kissed and licked each of his knees, he got down on his haunches and took my head in his hands. A thick fog swirled off the mountains, surrounding us, envel-oping us like a moist cocoon. His beautiful almond eyes seemed to glow green-yellow like those of a cat. The shorts he was wearing and the tanktop disappeared. I mean they vanished, as if they had never been, leaving him naked and to my astonished wonder, I saw that his cock was huge, a monstrous thing. Fully erect as it was, it was at least 10" long and 5" round, twisted with veins and dripping at the end. His heavy looking, low hanging balls, like his cock, were enormous, the size of oranges, and seemed to be pulsing with a red, interior glow as if they formed some kind of nuclear furnace from which his interior fire was fed. Again he kissed me, deeply, passionately, his long hot tongue probing every cor-ner of my mouth. My balls were aching, my cock throbbed, my insides were like molten lava getting ready to flow. "Would you like to be mine?" he asked softly, as if he were genuinely con-cerned, as if too he thought I might say no. A crow flying overhead set up a raucous cry, the kind of call that warns the flock of danger. Johnny turned his head in the bird's direction. His eyes blazed. The bird fell still and did not call out again. When he looked again at me, kneeling there between his wide- spread thighs, the fire in his eyes had been dampened to a smoldering glow. "Take me," I said in answer to his question. "Make me yours." I reached out a hand to stroke his monstrous, hot cock. God, I thought, if he fucks me with that thing, it'll split me apart. But I didn't care. I wanted him to screw me, thrust that dick of his into my tight little asshole and make it hurt, make it hurt real good. The mist swirled around us and beaded on his smooth, golden skin. Even more than before, we were in a world all our own, a world in which I knew that I was lost and Johnny was my only guide. But I wanted it that way. "Do you really want to be mine?" he asked. His voice was bearly above a whis-per. His tone was thoughtful as he ran one hand slowly over my damp and tangled hair. "Yes. Make me yours. Take me, all of me, rape me, do what you want to me, please." I was giving him carte blanch with me as I'd never done with any top be-fore, but I was so caught up in him, so abandoned to the heat raging in my loins, that I didn't thank-or perhaps didn't care-what the consequences would be. But then again, I couldn't have guessed in a million years what he had in mind for me-and wouldn't have believed it if I'd been told. He kissed me again, more quickly this time, and laid me out on my back, posi-tioning first my legs and then my arms so that I was eagle-spread. I figured he in-tended to put my legs in the air and rear end me that way. At least that's what I hoped he was going to do since my asshole was tingling in anticipation of the hard-est fuck of my life. But he didn't do that. Instead, he got up and went to where he'd left the gym bag. From it he took four lengths of black string, each one having the thickness of fish pole line. The cords didn't look very strong, not strong enough to really hold me if he was going to tie me up. But then I thought, it was probably the illusion of putting me in bondage he was after, not the actual thing. Again, I was wrong. Saying nothing, he tied a line to each of my wrists and ankles, but made no ef-fort to tie me up. Still, just the fact of his doing it, just the feel of those lines on my skin, made my balls contract and threaten to explode. My cock was sticking straight up from its nest of my pubic hair twitched and jumped as if it were some animal trying to get away, while it felt like a rocket about to take off. He went again to the gym bag, taking from it more lengths of string. He tied one to each of my knees, one around the base of my raging hot genitals, and finally be-gan to put one around my neck. "What 're you tryin' to do?" I asked. "Make a pup . . ." He stopped what he was doing and laid a finger to my lips. "It is time for you not to speak again," he said calmly, as if stating a simple fact, and finished tying the string around my neck. "Not ever again," he said half to himself. Like the others he had tied to me, that line around my neck wasn't all that tight, only snug. Yet I could feel my veins pulse against it and it was becoming somewhat difficult to breath. I wanted to tell him to loosen it a little, but when I tried, I found I couldn't say a thing. The words were there in my head, but my tongue and lips wouldn't move to form them. I couldn't even open my mouth! By this time, he'd repositioned himself so that he was kneeling at my side. He'd laid two strings across my mounded pecs and had begun to play with my right nip-ple, rolling it gently, but firmly between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. My tits are about the size of quarters and have always been super sensitive. Even cloth rubbing too much against them can make them come erect. This time was no different except that nipple he was teasing, got stiffer and bigger than ever before. I was so hot, so goddamned hot that I thought my body was going to blow apart leaving only tattered remnants of my shattered flesh scattered over the wet grass. I tried to groan. As before, my mouth wouldn't move. No sound came out. It was be-coming harder to breath all the time. Johnny turned his head to look at me. His eyes were glowing yellow-green, while his balls seemed to pulse with a reddish light. "Don't try to talk, Glenn," he said. "You can't anymore. Just relax. Things'll go easier for you." "Things! What things?! What th' hell did he mean by that! Christ almighty, who was he? What had I gotten myself into? He bent his head down and sucked the tit he'd been playing with into his mouth. Balancing himself with one hand on my left pec, he began to chew on my nipple, biting down hard on its tender flesh. I wanted to cry out, beg him to stop and tell him how hard it was for me to breath, but I could not. Neither could I squirm. It was as if my whole body, every muscle of my handsome, molded physique, had been turned into stone. Even my cock, though it remained fully erect, did not jump around anymore, not by so much as a fraction of an inch. Scared? By this time, I was scared shitless, a bone-chilling fear the like of which I had never felt before. By some means I did not understand, I was completely paralyzed. I was helpless, totally, utterly helpless and I was so frightened that I wanted to cry, but I knew, somehow, that tears would not come. Johnny raised his head and tied a string around the nipple. Finished, he went around to my other side and went through the same process with my other tit. When he had done, he began to run his hands over my body, smoothing down my rippled belly and over the top of my left thigh before starting to play with my ach-ing nuts. That was the thing. I could feel his touch. If anything, my skin seemed to be more sensitive than ever before, but I couldn't move. I couldn't goddamn move! Try as I would-and God knows, I tried-not a muscle would obey my mind. What have you done to me, Johnny? What? Why am I like this? Please, please let me go. But he was not finished with me yet. He went, knelt and gripping my ankles, pushed my legs back so that I was dou-bled over with my knees pressed against my chest. The insertion was terribly pain-ful, but eased as he established his rhythm, in and out, in and out, fucking me steadily for at least 20 minutes, if not more. At the same time, his eyes continued to glow while his huge balls felt like branding irons heated white hot and smoking everytime they slapped against my ass. I wanted to cum, I wanted to cum so much, but though my cock felt as hot as a pistol, my cream wouldn't spurt out. But Johnny came, exploding inside my gut, sending what felt like stream after powerful stream into me, filling me up, so that I wouldn't have been surprised if his juice had dribbled out of my mouth. Still, he was not done with me. As I lay there helplessly, he took out denims a tank top, and a leather belt from the gym bag and put them on. A pair of running shoes completed his attire. They were all my clothes, stuff he'd taken from my dresser, I guessed, while he'd been changing. When he was done, he stood over me, looking down. My God, what's he gonna do? Kill me? Please, no! Please, please! I don' wanna die! But, as I found out, he had no intention of taking my life. He got down on his haunches. "Glenn, I'm sorry, but I told you there was a dark side to me." He paused as if to gather his thoughts, while using an index finger to trace circles on my left pec. His touch burned me like fire, yet felt so good. "I've always had this power over men," he continued. "I would see a man who I wanted to have sex with and all I had to do was look at him and he was mine. It was as easy as that." He said, with a snap of his fingers. From the pocket of his tank top, he took out a cigarette and a lighter. He lit it and sat down with his legs bent against his chest, to smoke and let his eyes roam over my freshly fucked, helpless body. My skin glistened with moisture from the mist. "But I discovered more to that power," he said, letting the smoke from his ciga-rette trail out of his slightly flared nostrils. "I found out that just by concentrating, I could make any man I wanted, a puppet. Not figuratively, but very literally, com-plete with strings, make him dance to my tune, as it were." He stopped to smoke his cigarette. My eyes were wide with disbelief, unable or unwilling to treat seriously what he was telling me. But I had to treat it seriously, didn't I? He had me, didn't he? He had me on strings, fuckin' strings! He had me on strings! Oh God, it was getting so hard to breath! Johnny continued. "Since I'm dominant by nature, completely a top, I liked the power, enjoyed using it. But not on every man, only on a few, ones like you, who I really liked. The men I used it on? Well, like you, they were frightened at first, but I think they've gotten used to it. C'mon, I'll show you." He started to get up, but stopped. "Oh, incidentally, I know it's hard for you to breath, but don't worry about it. The discomfort I can see in your eyes will pass because you won't be breathing anymore, but you won't die. I can guarantee that. You just won't need oxygen anymore." He stood and looked down at me. As his eyes blazed, I could feel tingles begin-ning to radiate out all over me, shivering tingles as if the air had suddenly turned cold. The tingles increased in power and as they did, I saw to my horror, that I was beginning to shrink. I wanted to cry out, I wanted to scream in terror, but no sound would come. Fi-nally, the tingles stopped, but by then I was only about two feet tall. The strings Johnny had tied to me hadn't shrunk at all. He used the ones fas-tened around my wrists to pick me up and suspend me from his belt. In that way, he took me back to the house. All that's been over a year now. Johnny lives in what was once my house and keeps the place up. As for me, I'm still only about two feet tall, and my flesh has turned to what looks like painted wood. It certainly gleams like wood when Johnny polishes me, except, as always, I can feel every touch. Johnny was right about that. I'm not dead. Though I don't breath anymore and I can't eat or drink, somehow, I am still very much alive. He keeps me in what was once my bedroom, hanging by my strings from a peg driven into the wall. There are a lot more strings on me now, and all of them at-tached to an X-shaped frame over my head, just like any marionette, which is what I am. I am not alone like that. There are six other puppets like me, all young men, all handsome and well-built, all naked as am I. There are three on either side of me. I wonder about them, who they are-or were-what kind of lives they led, what dreams they had, but I will never know. We cannot talk to each other, but I think I see in their eyes that they have more or less accepted their fates. I think I have as well. Often, Johnny will take all of us to the barn. He's set up a puppet stage there and he puts on shows for himself alone. Using our strings, he makes us dance around and have sex with each other, real sex. I don't know how he does it, but when one of the others is made to stick his cock in my mouth or up my ass, it feels like flesh and we can cum, over and over and over again, as many times as Johnny wishes. As to his own sexual appetite, it is immense. He satisfies it by taking one of us and holding whichever one it is clasped tightly about the waist, he pumps his dick until he spurts his juice all over the body. That happens 10, maybe 12 times every day. He talks to us too. Just yesterday, as a matter of fact, he told us he was expecting a visitor. This morning he closed and locked the bedroom door. I have heard a car pull up and stop. Through the window, I can see a young man get out and see Johnny, clad only in denim cutoffs, go out to greet him. The young man is dark complected, like an Arab would be, and very good looking. I can see that even at a distance. Shortly, I hear them come into the house. They are not there long. When I see them again through the window, they are going off toward the lake. Johnny has the gym bag in his hand. I have noticed that he has driven an eighth peg into the bed-room wall.