Gay Erotic Stories

An important message from the author: This sexual fantasy is a work of fiction. It exists in the mind of a character. Non-consensual sex is rape and inflicting physical violence is battery. Neither should ever be condoned. Please accept this literature as it was intended, pure fantasy for manual sexual release. I'm only a small time thief. I mainly focus on purse-snatching and pick-pocketing since they're quick and easy activities for a small, nimble individual like me. I stand only five feet tall at a lean 110 lbs. With my mousy-brown hair, fair complexion, and twenty-something average-American looks, I tend to blend into the woodwork. Today is a day like any other. It's mobbed on the streets of New York City this Saturday afternoon. Young guys and gals, tanned and toned, roller blade down the avenue dodging traffic in their skimpy clothes. Tourists with their "I Love NY" and "David Letterman Show" T-shirts are herded along the sidewalk by the propulsive crowds. Locals go about their business occasionally directing profanities at the reckless cabbies. I have only snatched one purse from an old Italian grandmotherly type so far today. The bitch was blind as a bat and only had five dollars and some change on her. It's time for another hit. I scan the streets from behind my black Ray-Ban's and pull down on the visor of my olive colored baseball cap (both lifted from a local souvenir shop). Then I make the spot. In front of the news stand at the 2 o'clock position is a large construction worker with a bodybuilder-type build (slow) in brown work boots (hard to run in) and tight, faded blue jeans (even harder to run in). The perfect target! Sure, if he caught me he'd probably pound me within an inch of my life... but that slow, over-developed muscle head could never catch me! I eye the blond, shirtless figure as he reaches for his wallet, his powerful wrists muscles rippling beneath the taut, tanned skin. Now!... I sprint swiftly and quietly and snatch his wallet just as it leaves his rear pocket. "What the..." I hear him mumble and before he knows it I am off, dashing safely down the street. I smile to myself as I think about how little ol' me made of with that testosterone machine's money. A lot of good all those countless hours of pumping iron did him when it came to this. The cocky son's of bitches! They're all so smug, strutting around with their gym bunny, bimbo girlfriends... always taking their shirts off and rubbing their size and strength in the faces of little runts like me. Picking their pockets is a double treat for me. A little small-fry-guy revenge against those muscle gods; sort of David meets Goliath... you know? Sometimes I even fantasize about having one chained up in a cage. In this scenario, I laugh and taunt him -- tell him how helpless his big-shot ass is. As he strains and swears and I drop my pants and urinate all over his pumped muscles. I laugh harder as he reddens with anger and screams, "I'm gonna kill you... you little... "...Fucker!" I snap out of my daydream as a large, muscled arm wraps around my arms and torso constricting me like a strait-jacket. It lifts me up and starts to carry my down an alley. "Help!" I barely manage to spit out before the arm tightens and forces the air out of my lungs. I twist my head and see the buffed construction worker that I just picked. He does not look happy. I hear a swift kick of his boot against a wooden door and we are suddenly inside what appears to be a large abandoned storage room. I'm thrown against the cold cement floor with a thud, my glasses and hat flying off. My eyes adjust to the much dimmer lighting and I notice scraps of wood, corrugated cardboard, some plastic and not much else strewn about. My captor is now over me kind of bent over with his hands on his knees. He is covered with glistening sweat and breathing heavily from the pursuit. I was totally taken by surprise... this was a fast fucker for such a big dude! I am really scared now. Unless I can get a good kick to his nuts and make the wind and blow out of here, I'm going to end up a pile of broken bones. I pull back my right leg and aim squarely for the family jewels. One swift kick... and nothing. It doesn't phase him. What the hell does he have, steel balls? He chuckles, "You little fuckin' bastard... you just don't give up." With his left hand, he grabs me by my shirt, just below the neck. I feel myself being lifted off the ground again. His right fist swiftly pounds itself into my gut. I double over in total agony. He still has me a few feet above the ground. The right fist opens up and he slaps me with his open palm immediately followed by a backhand. I taste the blood from my bleeding lip and feel like I'm going to throw up. I'm heaved, back first, against a wall. The muscle dude is now standing up straight and with my eyes adjusted, I finally get a good look at him. He's probably in his early twenties like me and must be about six feet seven inches by my calculations, and close to 300 lbs. He has closely cropped golden hair and a smooth perfectly proportioned body: pecs so thick his nipples point down, valley-deep abs with eight distinct sections, and super broad shoulders tapering down to a thin waist. He is covered in oil and sweat, his face reddened with anger from his forehead to his small sloped nose to his strong square jaw. He definitely looks ready to go in for the kill. He approaches me again and I've no energy to retaliate. "In some countries, I would have the right to cut your hands off for stealing my money," he suddenly muses, "But I'm just going to have some fun with you." This does not sound like a good thing. He quickly pulls the boots off his feet. He then follows by unbuttoning his jeans and peeling them down his massive thighs and calves. I was wrong about the him having steel balls... he has a steel rod of a cock. With the jeans off it swells to it's full erection, at least a good ten inches and thick all around. "Oh Fuck!" I spit out in desperation and disbelief. "You bet your ass, little guy!" he replies in a deep almost gruff tone and proceeds to pull my button down shirt apart popping all the buttons. Then he literally rips my white undershirt off my body with those powerful hands and fingers. I attempt to struggle but before I know it my shoes, socks, jeans, and (with a rip) my underwear become history as well. I try make a last ditch effort to escape and feel his fist make contact with my abs again which are now mush. I double over. When I gain some orientation, I look up at the bodybuilder who is beating the shit out of me. He is standing again and spitting into his right hand and then lubing up his massive cock. My eyes find his face and he is wearing a most wicked grin now. His hands grabs me by the waist and I'm lifted into the higher than before. My nude body is lowered right onto his massive rod and the pain is unbearable. I scream and he clamps his right hand over my mouth while lifting and lowering my body up and down his big dick with his left arm around my waist. He fucks me harder and harder, rhythmically, while stifling my screams of bloody murder with his other hand. All the while my cock rubs against his sweaty abs and begins to grow too. My screams turn into moans. "That's right... how does it feel to be fucked by a gorgeous muscle stud, you little runt?" he coos in my ear. "Mmmmph," I reply with his hand still over my mouth. He removes it. "What? I didn't hear you. How does it feel to have fuckin' Conan's hot cock in your tight virgin ass?" "Aaah, h-h-hot," I whisper "What?" "Fucin' hot!" I spit out. He continues to fuck me relentlessly as I think of his allegory. I momentarily imagine myself in the distant past, my village pillaged and plundered by barbarians, and me mounted upon the mythical muscle-god Conan! That is about all I can take. I start writhing like a maniac and shoot a load of jism all over his massive chest. It is immediately followed by the feel of a gush of warm cum up my ass... then another... and another. This is unbelievable! Caught in the ecstasy, I begin to hungrily lick my cum from his huge, wriggling pecs. "That's right... you took your punishment like a good boy," he compliments. He is relaxing now and I lap up the last bit of jism as he withdraws from me and places me on the floor. I look up at the gorgeous body above me as it dresses. The amazing musculature, striations quivering beneath the taut, golden skin. "Steal from me again... and you're fucked!" he offers with a wink before vacating. I'm lying naked on the cold floor. My lip has stopped bleeding but I'm sure going to be covered with nasty bruises. Cum is still dripping from my ass. I put my jeans, shoes and shirt back on. I leave the ripped undershirt and underwear on the ground. Then I spot the muscle guy's wallet on the ground. Hell, he had left it! I pick it up and peer inside. It's empty. If you enjoyed this story, send your comments to Z101740@aol.com