Gay Erotic Stories

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a work of fiction involving non-consensual sex and risky behaviors. Please don't read if it's illegal in the state or territory where you reside or if you are offended by the content. love to get feedback or humiliation at bitchboy1984@yahoo.com _______ That next day I called in sick and lay in bed until 12:00pm. Each time I woke up I'd lay motionless in bed and will myself to fall back asleep, hoping that when I awoke next the searing pain in my asshole would be gone, a horrible nightmare escaped.

After my shower last night, I had no energy left at all and had simply collapsed in bed, so each time I awoke I saw the countless cuts, bruises and scratches all over my body, the deep wounds around my nipples from where he had drawn blood with his nails. There were a couple of drops of blood on my white sheets. FInally sometime after noon I stumbled out of bed and saw my naked body in my bedroom mirror. He had truly done a number on me, there wasn't a part of my body that wasn't marked up. I had a black eye, and a split lip, and light abrasions on my forehead from where he had ground my face into the asphalt. More than anything else, more than pain or fear I felt extreme humiliation. I had never lost a fight before. Why had I let that punk do all this to me? What was wrong with me? I felt tears in my eyes and a choking well up in my throat but I swallowed it down. I began to tell a lie to myself, that I had gotten beaten up and robbed, that's all. Still naked, I got some cardboard and blocked and taped up the broken window I had been forced to enter through last night.

My friends would ask what happened to me, and I would tell them that I simply got mugged and had my phone and cash taken from me, that's all. Anything else that happened to me after that wasn't up to me, I couldn't resist it. Lots of guys have gotten mugged. It was just a consequence of living in the city. Plenty of guys have been overpowered at knife-point and I didn't need to feel any shame from this.

After examining my wounds for a couple more minutes in the mirror, I took another long shower and gingerly cleaned my asshole once more. The intense pain of the rape shot back to me once again but I forced it from my mind. Drying off in the bathroom, caught sight of my body once again. I almost had to laugh when I thought of how I let that skinny bitch have his way with me. I'm 6'2 and almost 200 lbs, I lift, swim, play rugby, hockey, racquetball and box. I could have kicked his ass if I wanted to. Come to think of it, if I ever see his ugly face again, I will.

Repeating this to myself in my head again and again, I got my spare key from my drawer and began to go about my day. The depression and shame I was feeling before was now replaced with a sense of nervous cockiness and a strange orneriness. I felt like competing with a guy, beating him at something. It didn't matter who or what. Walking around my neighborhood, I fantasized about shoving guys heading towards me in the opposite direction, putting them in a headlock, spitting in their face.

It was Wednesday. I had a hockey scrimmage on Friday, but that was too far. Our rugby league wasn't in season right now, just an optional workout. I figured I could call my buddy Tucker and see if he wanted to box a bit. Well I couldn't actually call him, as that fucker had stolen my phone, so I went back to my place and sent him an email. Two hours later, we were at the gym, squaring off in the rink.

This was going to be sweet. Tucker was cocky as hell but I had 15 lbs and 2 inches on him. We went at it for like half an hour and I just whaled on him. It was an intense rush and just what I needed to feel like a man again.

Every time he was ready to throw in the towel I'd encourage him to keep going or question his manhood, get him angry so he'd come back at me. I noted with some confusion that my dick was getting hard. When he finally threw in the towel for good he was barely standing.

"Damn that was a good workout Rog. What the hell got into you?" He stripped off his shirt as he made for the locker room and put a towel around his neck. Tucker was a squat, barrel-chested red head. I noticed his pale chest and stomach was covered in swirling red hair.

"Nothing Tuck, sometimes I just gotta remind you who's boss is all." Removing my gloves, I collared his neck with my free hand and sort of shook him around a bit. Bossing him around like this was making me feel great.

"Yeah, well. I think you just wanted to feel like a big man after getting your punk ass robbed!" My stomach sank and face burned.

"You want to hit the sauna?" He asked as he stood in the doorway to the locker room. I panicked. I couldn't reveal my body to him, the incisions around my nipples, the bite and cut marks all over my body.

"Ah, no man I gotta head home. I'll see you on Friday."

"Right. Hey, if I was hung like you, I wouldn't want to get bareass in the locker room either!" He laughed in my face and slapped my ass hard as he escaped into the locker room. Two men exiting the locker room heard his joke and smiled broadly at me. My face blossomed red and I laughed nervously, just taking it. Tucker thought I had a small cock too, just like that fucker last night said. As I stood there awkwardly, I noticed an older guy working out in the corner who had overheard everything. He looked to be in his early 50s, skinny and kind of nerdy. He was staring at me with a curious, slightly amused look, as if to ask if I was indeed hung small. I stared him down and stormed out of the gym in a huff. As I went through the exit I roughly shoulder checked another man who got in my way.

"Watch where you're going you little bitch!" I growled and he looked at me with disbelief than decided I towered over him and scurried inside. I felt a little better but was still on edge.

Back at my apartment, I stripped down for the shower, but first examined my penis in the mirror. I looked at it through different angles, standing at profile, straight on, tried to see it through other men's eyes. Was it really small? I had a strange tingling in my stomach as I stood in front of my full-lenght bedroom mirror examining my endowment. It was a warm rumbling in my belly, competitions of excitement and embarrassment, curiosity and fear, titillation and shame.

It wasn't tiny by any means. But attached to my big, linebacker body, it looker pretty small. It poked its head out humbly from the thick bed of dark brown pubic hair that bearded my loins, extending along my stomach and up to my chest. The bright whiteness of my little pecker contrasted sharply with the dark pubes. It was neither skinny nor particularly fat. As I studied it, I imagined my crotch side to side with those men I saw every week in the locker room, who confidently place their towel over their shoulder as they strut to the showers, big fat hoses swinging proudly between their legs. I realized that when I walked, my dick never swung, just sort of bounced around in its bed of pubes. I thought of Tucker's fat cock, which was almost obscenely large on a man of medium height like him.

I realized I hadn't looked at myself like this since I was a boy going through puberty, desperately measuring my small but constant boner, checking for each new sprout of pubic hair. Locking myself in the bathroom away from my fathers and brothers, face red with shame and pants at my ankles, trying to see a man where a boy was. Now in my late 20s, I still felt like that boy.

I looked down from the mirror to the end table beneath it and saw the framed photo of me and the other groomsmen in my brother's wedding two years ago. I thought of the morning of the wedding, and a humiliating memory I had long hidden from myself came burning back up. Before attending, many male members of the wedding party were to shower  and change for the service at my Brother-in-laws sports club, one of those old snooty places. I was unable to avoid being naked in the public eye amongst all of my brothers, cousins, uncles, family friends, etc. from both sides of the family with an age range of 8 to 68. Only two of the youngest boys were smaller than me - I was even dwarfed by a 10 year old cousin! Since then at every family gathering I'm reminded that every man there knows just how small I am. The other side of the family, my sister-in-law's father, brothers, uncles and cousins seem particularly amused and pleased by how small I was, cracking jokes to this day.

I went through every past situation where I have been exposed to comparison with other males endowments, and there has never been a time when I've had a larger penis than someone my own age. I had only matched or bettered pre-teen boys, if any at all.

"Damnit," I cursed to myself. "I needed to stop thinking about cocks." What the hell was wrong with me? Psyching myself up, I put some music on, got dressed in nice jeans and a button down, and headed to a bar down the street from me to find some tail.

Three hours later I returned. It was around midnight. I struck out, and had accomplished little more than getting into a shove fight with some prick at the bar and getting pretty shit-faced. I was so buzzed when I got home that I didn't even notice that the door was unlocked as I entered my apartment. Not turning on the lights, I immediately shucked off my clothes and fell asleep face down, ass up in bed, not even getting under the covers.

When I awoke the next morning I was in the same position, above the sheets, face down in a pillow with my bare butt pointed up in the air obscenely. It felt strange waking up like that, I felt very self-conscious to have slept in such an unmanly position even though I was alone. It was a strange sensation I couldn't put my finger on. Vulnerability and exposure, I guess.

Groggily I stood up and looked around. My jaw dropped. Wall to wall throughout the entire studio were blown-up copies of the cell phone photos he had taken of me the night before, naked with my face clearly in view. Well, not entirely naked- in most I was wearing the open dress shirt that he had mutilated, ripping the buttons off of. In one photo I am looking dazed, propped up against the dumpster, legs spread eagle exposing my little shame. In another I was in the same position, but this time a stream of what was obviously piss was dousing me. There were several of these, showing my white shirt getting stained dark yellow, my hair getting drenched, my dick and face getting doused with his waste. The worst were the ones where I had been foisted over the side of the dumpster, my ass up in the air and dripping with his seed. There were a couple of me being penetrated, his big dick looking like a sequoia splitting my ass cheeks. Almost all of these photos clearly showed my face, and in most I also sported an erection, albeit a small one.

Then something new caught my eye. In all of the pictures' upper right corners, he had reproduced a scanned copy of my license, superimposing it over the top of each image. In addition the clear face shot of my license, all of my personal information was given. I read with horror.

"Roger Byron Packard. 6' blue eyes 1818 59th Street Apt. 705 tel. 202....". All of my information was on these posters he had made. How many of these had he made? This was a warning from him, clearly. I had been too drunk last night to notice them, not even turning on the lights, too drunk to notice that he had left the door unlocked behind him, having slipped into my place while I was at the bar.

I began tearing them all down, still naked, tears in my eyes. Then I came upon a note from him. In scratchy, erratic handwriting, he had written "If you don't want to see these all over the city, be at the corner of Bridle and Dioguardio at 10:00 tonight. Just wear a pair of your tighty-whities and bring nothing else. No shoes, no socks, just your undies. If you do not show, these photos will be sent to every man in your cell phone, including your father Earl, your brothers Steven and Michael, and your pal Tucker."

My stomach sank. All yesterday I had began forming vague plans in my head of how I was going to get back at that motherfucker if he ever came after me again. Mostly they involved kicking the shit out of him. I knew that if I called the police, my Dad would receive photos of me in the most humiliating position imaginable. He would know that I had been assfucked, that I had taken a huge amount of another man's raw seed up my shitter and deep into my guts, and if my treacherous little pecker was to be believed, he would know that some part of me enjoyed it.

All throughout work I could barely focus as my predicament weighed on my mind. I had to do this. I had to go to the street corner tonight. I couldn't fight him, not yet. I had to endure this last humiliation then figure out some way to free myself from him.

Bridle and Dioguardio was in Herriman Square, one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, worse even than the alley of 23rd he had sent me two nights before. At 9:45 I stepped off the subway and approached the designated street corner. This was the scariest place I had even been in the city. At first, every storefront appeared to be bodegas, OTB parlors, pawn shops, dollar stores, but as I approached my destination these were replaced by abandoned warehouses and vacant lots. At 9:55 I was at the corner, which was in front of a sprawling parking lot that occupied the entire block. He must have chosen this spot for me on purpose. Unlike any of the other corners, where cover was provided by the looming rundown factories and warehouses, this particular corner left me completely exposed from all points on the street. Anyone coming from any direction, within a several block radius, could see me.

I was shaking violently when I began to undress. I had worn running shoes, track pants and a sweatshirt that, along with my socks, I stuffed into a small plastic bag and hid between a garbage can and the chain link fence behind me. In the overgrown grass, it was well concealed. My plan was to endure whatever nightmares the man had in store for me and then retrieve the clothes before heading back. There was no way in hell I was running all the way home naked again. Some things in life only need to be experienced once, I told myself with a bitter smile.

I then spent the next 10 minutes with my arms crossed at my chest protectively. I looked down at my white, nearly naked body. I still had many bruises and scratches from the attack two nights ago, most visibly the red ring of cuts around my nipple. The wind blew and my pale flesh erupted in goosebumps. My nipples became hard as little diamonds. I had never felt so exposed. At least two nights ago when I was buck I had been able to run and hide. Here I had no choice but to remain on the street corner, nearly naked. Luckily only one car passed by me, a trucker that honked and yelled out something I couldn't hear. Time had never passed more slowly in my life. My heartbeat was so loud and frenzied I could hear it pounding in the quiet cold night.

I saw figures approaching from down Bridle Street. It was a group of very rough looking youths. A new panic set in, replacing my vague dread of being discovered with the far more immediate terror of bodily harm. These guys would surely kick the shit out of me.

Just then a black Lincoln pulled up jerkily to my corner. The driver idled and honked the horn. This must be him, I thought. I nervously approached the car, and peered inside the dark windows. The driver exited the car and approached me.

It was a complete stranger. My face burned with newly renewed shame. Instead of my assailant and tormentor, it was a middle-aged looking businessman with salt-and-pepper hair and a graying beard. He stood a couple inches shorter than me but he definitely outweighed me. The beard, glasses and dumpy gray suit, in combination with his beer belly and his strong smell of liquor and cheap cigars, made him look like some kind of sleazy professor. He stepped around to where I was standing and opened the car door. I blushed a bit. He was treating me like a woman.

"Uh, who the-" The man quickly stepped behind me and, collaring my neck, slammed my head into the roof of the car, then shoved me once more into his car. I was dazed and temporarily sightless as I was roughly forced in the car and had the door shoved behind me.

The businessman nonchalantly walked around to the driver seat and we took off into the night, wheels squealing. During the drive he was completely silent. As we drove further and further from Herriman, and where I had dumped by clothes, I began to get nervous. I reluctanlty spoke up,

"Um, Sir, where are we-" Without taking his eyes of the road, or even turning towards me, his right hand left the wheel and in one quick motion gave me an extremely violent backhanded slap to the face. It hit my nose and eyes mostly, blinding my briefly, making me tear up involuntarily. Then I felt a mercury heat drip from my nostrils and I knew he had given me a nosebleed.

I was disgusted with myself as just I sniffled like a little bitch girl in my seat as a little bit of blood dripped down onto my bare chest. One landed one one of my splayed thighs. Gaze still fixed on the road, the businessman reached to his feet and brought out a bottle of Jack Daniels and took an astonishingly long swig. We drove and drove for hours down highways I was unfamiliar with. Eventually we even crossed a bridge. I caught one of the signs and realized to my horror that I was in a completely different borough then where he had picked me up. He was bringing me far out on the other side of the city.

The businessman man drove faster and faster, making me all the more nervous by drawing drink after drink from his bottle. He must have been pretty ripped, but he seemed like one of those old drunks who could hold his shit. Finally he got off the highway and quickly pulled into a very disreputable looking motel. All I could deduce was that we were deep out in the dreary burg of Bosden, which was farther away from Herriman than it was from my apartment.

I fearfully took in the flophouse before me as he went to the front office, locking me in the car. The Bosden Roadside Resort was surely a pay-by-the-hour place. In every window the curtains were askew. A soda machine with a dusty, old-fashioned soft drink logo that had long since been updated several times glowed menacingly.

Suddenly the businessman was back and opened my side door and roughly hauled me out of the car by my arm. He pushed me forward and up the steps to the second level of the motel, and around to our room, still painfully squeezing my wrist. I felt so helpless, being led around by a man in a suit while wearing a pair of tighty-whities. As he stepped in front of me to unlock our room, another door opened down the hall and I heard a man erupt with cruel laughter. I had no time to look as he pushed me inside the dank room, hard.

The carpet looked like I could catch a foot fungus from it. The bed was stained and riddled with cigarette burns. The walls were discolored and peeling. There was a distinct odor of urine and mold in the air.

To my surprise, the first thing he did was kiss me. He brought my face to his and roughly invaded my mouth with his big wet tongue. His wiry beard felt crazy as it scratched and itched my face. I had never been kissed by a man before, and certainly not one this scuzzy. His breath reeked of Jack Daniels, cigars and coffee, and I remembered how yellow his teeth were.

Two nights ago I learned that it was possible for a man to be raped by another man, when one brutally forces his cock into the victim's ass. This night, I was subjected to a new lesson. It is possible for one man's mouth to be raped by another man's.

My mouth was invaded, conquered and completely violated by his thick, slithering tongue, his stinking gums, his biting yellow teeth, and his gray beard and dry lips. His kisses were so violent and strangely passionate that it felt like he was trying to eat me alive.

As his brutal tongue had its way with mine, his big cold hands ran up and down my body, caressing and squeezing my bare skin. Gripping the seat of my briefs, with one quick rip he tore my underpants in half and the two pieces fluttered down my legs to the floor. I was now truly naked before this fully clothes, powerful, filthy man.

He continued to rape me with his tongue, his two paws clutching and clawing my bare butt cheeks possessively. He kissed me like the football captain kissing the head cheerleader. We might as well have been at Makeout Point in the back of a Camaro. His forceful kisses began to make me light-headed. Despite his odor and other hygiene problems, I began to swoon. A man was making me swoon like a woman. The two tight hands clasped on my buttocks kept me standing up as my knees began to wobble.

He gently lowered me to the bed and put my feet on his shoulders. This was happening so fast. As he mounted me he kept up the oral assault, so I couldn't think clearly or take stock of the situation. After one of his wet kisses, looking lazily between my spread legs, I noticed that my little dick had betrayed me yet again and was flopping around uselessly between my thighs, completely hard. He quickly undid his belt and freed his big white cock, which emerged from a nest of gray pubic hair. It was not as insanely big as my tormentor's, the man who had sent me here in the first place, but it still looked to be some 7 or 8 inches long and was more than twice as long as my stunted pecker. It was, objectively, an ugly prick, veiny and gnarled, purple at the head, and blue and white at the shaft. He produced a bottle of lube and began applying its cold contents to my vulnerable asshole and his long, bumpy shaft.

He forced another long, lapping kiss into my mouth, sending me back to the stars, and placed his peckerhead at the point of infiltration. I still felt like that weak, seduced high school slut in this strange man's arms. In my mind, he was the big man on campus, and he now had gotten his slut's panties off and was open to get his dick wet in some pussy.

He penetrated me slowly, easing his big salami up my crapper. Whereas the man who raped me two nights ago had tried to hurt me as much as possible with his cock, the middle-aged man above me seemed determined to get as much pleasure out of me, to shame me with the good sensations he produced in my fucked butt. He played my asshole like a musical instrument.

And I sang for him. The thin walls of the motel echoed with my womanly moans of rapture. With each stroke he drove his big thick cock into my prostrate and made my whole body quake. It was the most humiliating form of pleasure I had ever experienced, that any man could subject themselves to. In my heart I knew it was unnatural and wrong, to take a man's cock up my ass and enjoy it so much. So each moan of pleasure was also a wail at my rapidly diminishing manhood.

This masterful cocksmith above me was truly fucking all of the manliness right out of me. All resistance was gone, both in my rectum and in my mind. All masculine resistance, all my strength, all my independence and dignity were being slowly dicked out of me. In its place, deep in my guts where my prostrate hid, he was planting a flower in me, the shameful blossom of submissiveness, passivity, and femininity. I could feel it take hold deep in my ass and spread to the rest of my body. It made my tense muscles loosen, my arms and legs go limp. It made my tongue roll out of my mouth like a dog, and it made my moans of ecstasy go several octaves higher.

He groaned, long and deep. The cock in me spasmed. The QB was about to knock up his main girl. I accepted his hot white seed willingly, and let it flood into my body. He was getting himself all over inside of me. My sex-crazed mind dreamed fantastic situations where his seed replaced my own seed in my balls, supplanting my manhood with his own making me his progeny, making me his biological property. I was his. To my astonishment, I shot a load on my belly, just from a dick in the ass.

After cumming he reached into his jacket pocket and produced his wallet. His veiny fingers penetrated my mouth and i opened them willingly. He stuffed a couple of filthy looking bills into my mouth then removed his hand, gently shutting my jaw.

From his brief case he produced a length of rubber tubing and a small red funnel. He pushed me back onto the dirty bed and flipped me over so I was on my stomach. He took a long swig from his bottle then threw it across the room, apparently empty. He stuck the hose up my cum-slick ass and ran it through my chute so it was deep in my anus. He directed his softening prick at the attached funnel and let loose a stream of urine.

He was pissing inside of me.