Gay Erotic Stories

I squirmed in my chair as I emailed the last corrections to a Maxim article that was nearly past deadline. Frankly, my ass still hurt. Since my rough encounter yesterday with my hot college-age neighbor, Kevin, I had been walking around in that lopey John Wayne way. (Maybe his ass hurt, too.) Not that I was complaining, mind you. If plowing me was the kind of tip Kevin was expecting for mowing my grass, then I was all too glad to oblige. I don’t bottom very often, but for Kevin, I’d make an exception. Still, I was worried about his older brother, Kurt. At the end of our hot session, I had seen a very unhappy Kurt watching us through the patio door. He spun away and trotted over to their house before Kevin noticed. Ever discrete, I said nothing.

There was knock on the patio door, and I was almost sure who it would be. I opened it and said, “Come on in, Kurt. I figured you’d want to talk.”

Kurt was sturdier and slightly taller than his brother: about 6’2” (my height), beautifully developed shoulders and delts, great biceps and corded arms, full chest swelling and falling under a nylon A-shirt, muscled thighs reaching down below matching nylon shorts with Minnesota colors. The shorts did not drape evenly down his thighs. On his left side, they were interrupted substantially, even dramatically, by ... well, guess. His weight was hard to judge because there appeared to be not an ounce of fat on him. I’d bet he was a lot heavier than he looked. Still, he wasn’t muscle bound. Every part of his frame was geared toward putting it over the bar as a champion pole vaulter.

I took all this in with one quick casual glance. I’d had plenty of time absorbing it more thoroughly when he was working on my lawn. Kurt stepped in and slid the door closed behind him. I looked him straight in the eye. He was dark haired and brown eyed with exquisitely chiseled features like his old man. As usual, he was sporting a substantial five o’clock shadow that helped intensify his don’t-screw-with-me-and-I won’t-screw-with-you attitude. I don’t mean to say that he was an asshole, like his father. He wasn’t, but he carried himself with similar authority. That made me more than a little uneasy. I had the feeling he thought I’d screwed with him.

“Why’d you fuck my brother?” was all he said.

Well, he had to have seen that it was the other way around, but I didn’t think it was wise to quibble on that particular point. I didn’t respond, and he continued. “My brother is the most important person in my life. You know what my parents are like. We both got the shit kicked out of us when we were younger.” I did recall a lot of “bike accidents” and “falling out of trees” that no one witnessed. The two were widely regarded as the two most injury prone kids in the neighborhood.

“That stopped for both of us when I returned the favor to my old man.” I remembered now the week that Stan spent in the hospital when he allegedly fell off a ladder while painting the stairwell: concussion, broken jaw, broken clavicle, broken femur, internal bleeding. It was touch and go for a while. Kurt was still speaking, “I look out for my little brother all the time, so I’m going to repeat myself: why did you fuck him?”

“Look, Kurt,” I answered. “It’s just something about me. I keep it quiet, and it’s the reason for my divorce. It was always there, but…”

He waved me off. “We know all about you, Mr. Acuff. Kevin and I have been watching men parade in and out your house late at night for eight years: cars parked in the driveway all night, leaving early in the morning. The rest of the neighborhood may be oblivious to it, but our room is right next to your driveway. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out. And I’m not Sigmund Freud, either. I don’t care why you fuck men. I want to know why you picked Kevin.”

Funny, he really didn’t seem angry; more like depressed. “It just happened, Kurt. I didn’t plan it, if that’s what you think. He was just … there.” I was at a loss for words. I did invite Kevin in for a beer, but I hadn’t planned for anything to happen. Or had I?

“Well, I’m here, too, Mr. Acuff. Why not me? What’s wrong with this?” Kurt crossed his arms, stripped off his A-shirt with one smooth motion, revealing the sculpted details of this chest and his six—no, eight—pack, part of the machine that propelled him over ever higher bars in championship meets. “Or this?” he continued as he pulled down his shorts to reveal about five fat inches of (almost) flaccid meat without showing any hint of the head.

“Nothing,” I whispered stepping forward and placing one hand on that spectacular chest. “It’s all perfect, Kurt. I had no idea.”

“Well, you know now,” he replied expectantly.

What else could I do? I moved my hand behind his head, and guided his mouth to mine. He accepted my tongue gratefully, toying with it in his own mouth but not. I let my other hand slip behind the waistband of his shorts. It felt like I’d grabbed a fencepost. I slid my hand down, first finding the edge of Kurt’s sheath, then much farther down the bulbous head. It hardened quickly as I stroked it, the head now protruding well beyond the stretched sheath. Even without seeing it, I knew it had to be well over eight inches. I dropped to my knees and pulled the young man’s shorts down, nearly losing an eye as his unconstrained rod snapped out and slapped me in the face.

He had no pubic hair framing his package, and none on the plum-sized gonads hanging down below the exposed tool. I realized that, given his heavy facial shadow, he must shave or wax his entire body regularly. In fact, he was so smooth that he must have done it (or had it done to him) in the last day or two. I grabbed the impressive organ with my left hand and licked at the tip, already oozing with precum. The taste was perfect and I quickly engulfed the bulbous head with my mouth. I let my right hand trace the contours of his abs and chest. I found a nipple and tweaked it hard. The cock in my mouth twitched, but he pulled my head back.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested, “where we can be more comfortable.” That was fine with me, since I had lube and rubbers upstairs. I did not want to undergo another dry fuck like I did with his brother the day before, especially not when he was packing so much meat.

He turned and I followed him across the room to the stairs. As he climbed in front of me, I got in my first good examination of his naked ass. As I expected, it was as near perfect as the rest of his body. Each muscular orb undulated and beckoned me. I could not resist and I raised my hand to stroke the length of his crack. He turned, flashed me a 1000 watt smile and winked. I had never seen him smile like that. Kurt always seemed so serious. When he reached the top of the stairs, he immediately headed for the master bedroom, the third door on the left.

As I entered the room, I found him raising the blind on the side window. “Want to be able to see what we’re doing,” he said simply.

Kurt moved to the bed and lay in the center on his back. He raised his right hand above his head, wrist resting on his forehead, exposing his deep armpit. His right leg was askew, making a nearly right angle at the hip and again at the knee. It was a practiced pose, worthy of a Playboy centerfold, excepts that the tits were hard muscle instead of silicone and that the groin sported a huge cock, extended but no longer completely hard, following the upward crease of his groin well past the limits of the pelvic bone. He smiled again and beckoned me with his left hand. I sat, fully clothed, on the edge of the bed and ran my hand over his chest and abs. He pulled my shirt from my pants and slid his own hand underneath.

“You work out,” he said matter-of-factly, “Where?”

“I have a small gym in the basement,” I answered. “A Bowflex, works pretty well, but I like to add free weights.”

“I’ve never used a Bowflex,” he answered. “I’d like to try it.”

“And I’d like to watch you doing it.” I leaned down and kissed him. He put his hands behind my head and flicked his tongue between my open lips. I responded by plunging my tongue deep into his mouth. He played with it for a while, then pulled my head away examining my face intently

“You are very handsome…Daddy.”

Daddy? Daddy!? At 38 and looking younger (or so they tell me), I thought I had quite a few years to go before I had to play the Daddy card to get young men into bed with me. Nevertheless, it was a plausible conceit. The nineteen year old body next me could certainly father a child, so I myself could well have a son that age. I had never wanted children … before…but an offspring who was also nineteen year old hunk certainly had its attractions.

“And you, Son,” I replied, “have an incredible smile to go with that incredibly beautiful body.” The boy beamed like a six year old being told “good job”. I stripped off my shirt and straddled him, once again running my hands over that well delineated torso. His own hands ran up my chest settling on my pecs. He kneaded the muscles then squeezed and twisted the nipples, not all that gently. It was exquisite torture. I leaned back, grinding my ass into his pelvis and feeling the hardness of his fat rod against the seat of my jeans. The head stuck out beneath me, throbbing purple and angry. It occurred to me that I should take him like this. Given the size of the beast, I couldn’t afford to give him free reign with my ass as I did his brother. First, however, I wanted a taste of it.

I slid down to take it in, when I heard. “Show me your cock, Daddy. Please Daddy, I want it see it very badly.” He was taking this Daddy/Son thing very seriously, and, surprisingly, I was kind of intrigued by it all. I got off the bed, stripped off my jeans and knelt back on the bed close to his head. “Can I touch it, Daddy? Can I?” I nodded and his put his fist around it, or tried to anyway. My cock was only a little longer than his brother Kevin’s, but it had ample girth. “It’s big Daddy, and it has a lot of hair. Will mine get that big when I grow up?” Glancing down at the rigid monster sprouting from his groin, I told him that his would be at least as big, probably bigger. He beamed again.

“Can I put it in my mouth, Daddy?” he pleaded. I asked if he were a good boy. He frowned. “Not all the time, but I’ll be a very good boy today. I promise. I really promise.” I told him that I was sure of that.

I didn’t want to be denied my own need, so I straddled his head facing the lower part of his body. I leaned down until my face was level with his cock. Kurt immediately put his soft mouth around mine. I told him he was a good, good boy. Then, I turned my attentions to the boy meat lying naked along his belly. Thoroughly shaven as he was, Kurt seemed very much the preternaturally gifted child. The head was already oozing a clear fluid giving evidence to the boy’s excitement. I flicked my tongue at the tip to get a taste. His cock lurched at my touch and he gave a muffled squeal. Suddenly he was spurting all over my face. I swore in surprise.

“Oh fuck!” he exclaimed. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I stood next to the bed, face covered in strings of boy cum. “Not only did you make a mess of me,” I chided, “but you also used bad language. Get off that bed, now!”

He stood facing me, eyes on the floor. I pulled him roughly across my lap, adjusting his body so that the heads of our cocks were in intimate contact. He had not softened after his ejaculation. I caressed the exposed muscular orbs, then raised my right hand high above my head and brought it down hard. The sound of the slap echoed from the walls and Kurt yelped in a very satisfying fashion. I raised it again and brought it down even harder on the other cheek.

“Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again,” I warned sternly.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help it. Don’t be mad at me. Please!”

“Well, a big boy like you has to start showing some responsibility,” I said ominously. “Maybe this will make you more careful in the future.”

Thwap! My hand came down again. Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Suddenly I felt a twitch against my cock and then a flood of thick liquid. It wasn’t mine. The kid had come again—probably only two or three minutes after the first eruption! I stood and he tumbled to the floor. He scrambled to his knees, tears streaming down his face. White gummy fluid was smeared over his abdomen and my left leg. I took his face in my hands.

“What am I going to do with you, boy?” I asked disingenuously, now knowing full well exactly what I was going to do with him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he cried. “I don’t mean to be bad Daddy. Please love me.”

He plunged his head my groin, face turned sideways trapping my hard cock under his cheek and hugging me around the waist. It was both pathetic and endearing, making me want him more than ever. I disentangled myself and pulled his head toward the melting pool dripping down my thigh. Without being told, he rapidly cleaned me with his tongue then moved to my face and chest, where some of the draining fluid from his first outburst had dripped. I raised him to his feet and guided him gently to a prostrate position across the bed, first stuffing two pillows under his hips. His legs dangled over the edge. I reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom. Looking down at the twin mounds of muscular flesh beckoning me, I threw the condom back into the drawer.

I knelt behind him, placed my hands on either globe thumbs nearly touching, and spread them apart. Revealed was a beautiful, light brown iris begging for penetration. I put my nose to it and inhaled. He hadn’t shit lately, but it had been long enough since his last shower that a delicious musky odor filled my lungs. I let the tip of my tongue touch the entry point. Kurt moaned loudly in satisfaction. I couldn’t hold back any more, and I plunged deeply into his portal.

“Oh, Daddy,” he exclaimed. “That feels soooo good. Do it some more. Please, more.”

I continued my frenzied work, opening him with my tongue and tasting his interior. “Love me more, Daddy,” he begged. “Love me too much!”

That was it! I stood and filled my hand with lube, then approached his waiting ass. I pressed my throbbing cockhead against his hole. “Do it, Daddy,” the boy pleaded. “Do it now! I want to make you feel good.” I pushed and the head slipped past the obstruction. Grabbing his hips, I plunged in hard until my hips slapped loudly against his buttocks. “Owwww,” he screamed. I stopped. “No, Daddy,” he panted. “I’m OK. Do it again. Make me pay for my mistakes.” I was all the encouragement I needed. I backed out and thrust forward again as hard as I could. He howled—I couldn’t tell whether in pain or ecstasy, but in the moment, I didn’t much care. My answer came quickly. “Love me, Daddy! Love me a lot! Love me very hard!” So I did. Unremittingly, for a good ten minutes, I banged that ass as hard and deep as my muscles and my equipment would let me. The lube thinned out. The thought of withdrawing, even for a few seconds, was not appealing, so I let myself go. From deep within, I could feel my jism rising. I began to spurt into his cavity.

“Oh yes, Daddy!” The boy erupted. “Give me all of your juice. Make me stronger. Make me more like you.” I didn’t count the strokes, but there were a lot and at the end, I was drained as I had ever been. I collapsed against his back, still inside him. I let my right hand tousle his hair as he whimpered quietly beneath me. I pulled out and turned him on his side, so we could lie face to face. His face was wet with spent tears.

“I made a mess on the bed, Daddy,” he said contritely. By God, the kid had come yet again! Where did he get it all? It was all right I told him. I wanted him to come this time. He smiled wanly in response.

“Do you love me, Daddy?” he asked. “Am I a good boy?”

“You are a very good boy,” I answered truthfully, “and I love you a lot.” I surprised to find that I wasn’t bullshitting him about that either. At that moment, I really did. I kissed away his tears and then gave him another deep kiss on the mouth. We lay still for about ten minutes when he got up and went to the window. He beckoned with his hand. Beyond him and across my driveway was his brother Kevin hanging out an upstairs window, grinning broadly and holding a professional looking video camera with a huge telephoto lens. Kurt rejoined me in bed.

A few minutes later we heard the sound of the patio door sliding open, then the sound of footsteps up the stairs. The door to the room opened and in stepped Kevin, camera held to his face.

“Here are the lovers in post conjugal bliss. He said loudly. Putting down the camera, he continued. “That was hot, boys. Wanna watch it?”

We did.