Best Gay Erotica 2014 Page 4

  The other muscleman’s anus was just as tight, just as hot. I plowed through ring and drove into chute, giving Diaz just what he so badly wanted.

  I was on fire, the heat of the hunky men’s bodies and asses flaming my passion, driving my performance. At eleven o’clock in the morning, in a skuzzy hotel, fucking two anonymous men in the ass in a dirty room, for profit.

  I grinned, drilling into Tyrese’s rectum again. Who wants to be tied down to one old man, or a group of jealous men, jacking and sucking and fucking the same old same old, day after day and night after night—a peacock in a gilded cage?

  I pulled out of Tyrese and plunged back into Diaz, pistoning that man’s anus with my pipe. I had a college fraternity initiation party in the park down the block at noon—young, pretty men with young, anxious, pretty mouths and cocks and bodies excited to pay me to participate in their perverted games behind a screen of bushes. And the cop on the beat: he was scheduled for a back-alley suck and fuck early that night.

  I eagerly reamed one muscleman, then the other, rejoicing in their gyrating asses and cries of pounded-out passion, reveling in my wickedly satisfying life. They jerked out their own orgasms in sizzling strips all over the floor. I tilted my head back and roared, blasting half my orgasm into Diaz’s trembling ass, then uncorking my spurting hose and plugging it back into Tyrese’s shuddering butt, searing the man’s bowels with my sprays of utter bliss.

  Is this what you always wanted? Is this as far as you’re going? Leading with your cock, fucking all the time, anywhere, any men, coming and coming and coming?

  Sure it is!

  THE PIÑATA CONQUEST

  Boot LS

  I hear the rope groaning under my weight, but I don’t feel any real strain. I’ve been hanging here for almost twenty minutes. Still have feeling in my extremities. No real pain. Actually, it’s pretty nice. The strain on my joints is minimal, better than when I’m standing up. It’s easier to breathe up here. I’d stay here forever if I could.

  But I can’t. I may not feel it, but being suspended too long can be dangerous. So one way or another, I can only stay up so long.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asks, giving me a gentle nudge. I turn around slowly. He smiles at me.

  “It’s nice,” I say, nodding as much as the ropes will allow.

  “Good.” He stops my twirl, kisses me. His hands in my hair, rubbing against my beard, tracing the line of my jaw. “Because it’s going to get worse.”

  I smile. I knew that was coming. Jake never puts me up like this without a good reason. There’s always a catch. Always a game.

  “What are we playing?”

  He smiles and steps back, lets me admire his bare chest and the lines he works so hard to keep there. I could teach an anatomy lesson with that body. At least, as far as the muscular system goes. “Piñata,” he says.

  Then he wheels out the table. The wheels screech and whine as it moves into my field of vision. Across the table is a pool noodle, a flogger—a leather cat-o’-nine-tails, only with three or four times more tails—what looks like a padded sword, a Wiffle ball bat, a piece of plastic piping and a strand of bamboo.

  “The other guys will be here in a few minutes,” he says. “Once they get here, we’re going to play piñata.”

  I swallow, afraid I already know the answer to the question. “And how does piñata work?”

  He reaches under the table and picks up a plastic bag. Inside the bag is a bunch of candy. Looks like miniatures, like the kind of candy we usually hand out to the kids in the neighborhood at Halloween.

  “You put this in your mouth,” he says. “And you hold it as long as you can. When you’ve had enough, you just have to let go.”

  “So that’s the safeword?”

  He shrugs. “Makes it pretty obvious, doesn’t it?” He smiles, that charming smile that melts me a little bit on the inside. “Now, we’re going to start here,” he points over at the pool noodle, just a long strip of hollow foam. “And every five minutes, we’re going to switch to the next toy.” He picks up the bamboo. “I really hope you don’t last long enough for this one,” he says. “I’d hate to see the marks it would leave.”

  I smile at him. “So I just hold out as long as possible. Doesn’t sound like that big of a deal.” There’s more. There always is. “What’s the catch?”

  He smiles and puts a blindfold over my eyes, kisses me again. “The catch is that when you let go, you go home with whoever hit you last. Now, it’s just for one night, but that’s the deal.”

  We’ve talked about this. While generally monogamous, we both love the fantasy of being traded, sold like meat. Well, I love the fantasy of being sold. He likes the fantasy of selling. Of betting on who gets to use my body.

  I know the guys he’s invited. It has to be Larry and Brad. They’re the only ones we know who we would trust to do this. They’re the only ones who we know can handle it. And they’re the only ones we’ve ever talked to about this idea. At least, the only ones we talked to seriously.

  So one of them might take me home tonight. One of them might find out just how talented my tongue can be. One of them might get to use me a lot rougher than he usually uses a partner, because he’ll know what I can take. They know my safewords, they know my fetishes. They know the things I like that Jake doesn’t like.

  And then there’re the things Jake likes that I don’t. Things that I normally wouldn’t do, but that I will tonight. Things he knows I’ll do if he wins.

  I laugh. “It’s going to be an interesting night,” I say.

  “Yes, it is.” He reaches underneath and gives me some gentle attention while we wait for Brad and Larry.

  I’ve almost cum when the knock sounds on the door. I don’t think that’s an accident. I don’t think Jake is surprised, or disappointed, to leave me so close to the edge. Maybe I’m imagining the chuckle under his breath. But I doubt it.

  “Open,” he says. I open my mouth, and he puts the top of the plastic bag in. I bite down. I can breathe without difficulty. All I have to do is hold my jaw together. Clamp my teeth.

  One way or another, this is all going to be over in the next half hour.

  “So here’s how it works,” Jake says, once our guests have been shown in. “First we hit with the noodles. When the bell dings, we move to the next toy, then the next. Whoever knocks the piñata open wins the prize. And everyone knows the prize, right?”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Larry says. His voice is deep. He’s a smoker.

  But Brad. Brad is the smart one. The clever one. The cruel one. “Why is he blindfolded?”

  Actually, that’s a good question. Why am I being blindfolded? Maybe it’s so I can’t throw the game, can’t make sure to let go when Jake is swinging. But no. Not my Jake. There’s more. There’s always more.

  He laughs. “Once the piñata falls, it has to guess who knocked it open. One guess. A thirty-three percent chance to guess who gave the last hit.”

  “And if he’s right?”

  Jack chuckles. “If he’s right, he gets to come home in the morning. If he’s wrong, then the winner gets to keep him for twenty-four hours.”

  Still a one in three chance of staying here with Jake. A one in three chance of just staying home, of a full day with all of the things that Jake likes to do but I don’t.

  I’m honestly not sure who I’m rooting for.

  “Won’t he just be able to count whose turn it is?” Brad says. “Doesn’t matter what order we go in, he just has to follow the hits, keep track of the count, and he’ll at least have good odds of knowing who gets to hit.”

  That’s true. But I bet Jake thought of that.

  “There’s enough tools here for us each to have one,” Jake says. “You just hit whenever you feel like it. Hit twice in a row if you want. Hit and then move. Don’t hit for five minutes. Remember, the goal is not only to be the one to knock the piñata down, but also to have him guess that it was someone else.”

  They c
huckle, and I adjust myself, steeling for the first round. The bell rings, and the first hits come in almost immediately.

  Using swimming-pool noodles for beating is brilliant. They don’t hurt really. There’s a dull thud. But they make a lot of noise. The noise those things make is enough to make others wince. You can swing them as hard as you want, but it never makes more pain than a dull thud.

  Jake knew what he was doing picking those. There’s a slight sting, but for the most part all it’ll do is tire them all out. As bad as the noise makes it sound, they could pound on me all day with those things, and the biggest danger I’d be in would be fear of boredom.

  The one thing the noodles do manage to do is make my skin more sensitive. Which means, when the bell rings a second time, and the first hit from the flogger comes, I can feel it a bit more directly than I might have otherwise.

  This time around, the hits are a bit more scattered. I think I recognize Jake’s hand, the way he jerks back just a little bit at the end, the twitch that adds some sting to the thud of a flogger. Then come two quick hits, solid pounds of weight that crash into my sides.

  I grunt, for the first time, and I hear snickers of satisfaction. I tighten my jaw and try to steady my breathing. Another hit comes from the other direction, almost making me gasp at the surprise instead of the pain.

  “Almost had him!” Larry says.

  “And if you had, he would have known it was you,” Jake says.

  Two hits later, Jake steps in front of me and runs his hand gently down my cheek. “It’s okay,” he says. “I just need to check. Can you open your mouth?”

  I nod.

  He laughs. “Not a trick, love,” he says. “This doesn’t count as being broken. I just want you to open your mouth for a second, so I can see that you can. Then we’ll put the bag back in and the game will be on again.”

  I open my mouth, give it a stretch and then close it again on the plastic bag.

  And just as I do, the bell rings. I smirk. If I didn’t have something in my mouth, I’d yell at Jake for claiming that there were no tricks.

  Round three starts with a solid hit to my ribs. It feels like one of the pool noodles, but with a pipe, a plastic pipe, on the inside. Same loud noise, but with a whole lot more pressure behind it, a more intense impact. The first hit makes me ache, makes me swing back and forth a little. I squeeze my hands, clench my jaw and try to pull in breaths that just won’t come.

  At the apex of the swing comes another hit, sending me the other direction. I clench my eyes under my blindfold, bite down and cough at the hit.

  Then there’s an upswing, a single hit between my legs. One solid blast, and the candy crashes to the floor. I cough, gasp for breath. I nearly vomit from the pain.

  On the one hand, I’m happy it ended when it did. I don’t want to know what the Wiffle ball bats would have felt like. I certainly don’t want to know what the bare piping or the bamboo would have done to me.

  I am a bit surprised it took that long to hit between my legs, actually. I’m not complaining, but I expected them to think of it sooner.

  Jake pulls the blindfold off my eyes and rubs my jaw, kisses away the tears. After a few seconds, when I can breathe again, he kisses me gently. Then he helps turn me toward the others.

  “Okay,” he says. “Time to guess. Who took the last hit?”

  I take a deep breath and look at the guys. Jake stands with his arms crossed, barely breathing hard, smiling and sweating a little. He locks eyes with me, the view of a sinner and a saint, but mostly a sinner.

  Brad smiles, nervous. He won’t make eye contact with me.

  Larry also won’t look at me, but he looks bored. Like it all comes down to a foregone conclusion. Like he not only knows who hit me, he knows who I will choose. Like he’s not surprised.

  Why wouldn’t he be surprised? Why won’t Brad make eye contact?

  Maybe Brad won’t make eye contact because he feels bad about it. Maybe he’s guilty for hitting me there. And that guilt is written so clearly on his face that Larry doesn’t feel like there’s any chance I’ll pick him. And Larry knows that since he didn’t deliver the final hit, he doesn’t get me anyway.

  Unless it’s a bluff. Maybe he wants me to think that he doesn’t care, wants me to guess someone else, so that he’ll get the full twenty-four hours.

  But then, why would Brad be so guilty looking? Why would he avoid my gaze?

  I look over at Jake, but he is no help. He smiles, knowing that it truly doesn’t matter what I choose. At best, he gets twenty-four hours of pushing my soft limits. At worst, he gets to have that experience of trading me away, and I come back in one day. We talk about it, we decide if we want to do it again and we have fantastic sex.

  If it was Jake, and I guess him, then I don’t have to worry about what he’ll do as much, because it won’t be as long.

  But then, if it was him, he’ll find some other way to get past the soft limits. He’ll have plenty of chances for that. Tonight wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about Jake getting to do extra things. It was about us experimenting with this fantasy.

  Which means it has to be one of the others.

  Fifty-fifty. Guess right, and I go home with one of them for the night. Guess wrong, and it’s twenty-four hours.

  I smile at Jake. “Are you sure?” I ask him. “It’s not too late to back out. Not too late to change our minds.”

  Jake smiles. “It’s okay,” he says. “Just guess.”

  I look over at Brad and Larry. Brad is guilty. Larry is confident.

  I sigh. “I think it’s going to end up with twenty-four hours,” I say. “With Larry.”

  BIG THICK DICK AND DOUBLE-CHOCOLATE BUBBLE BOOTY

  Shane Allison

  I notice this beefy-looking tall brotha walk in. I’ve seen him before. I fucked him once in a bookstore bathroom. He’s quiet and has dick for days. I think he works at some motel; I don’t know. I follow him into the back of the dirty bookstore. Damn, look at the ass on him! A double-chocolate bubble booty I could eat off of for days and still have leftovers. I bet he looks delicious naked. He sees me but pretends I’m not there. He walks into one of the booths in the far corner of the back. I twist the doorknob in hopes that it’s open. It’s not. I hear money being worked into the machine. I hear the ohs and ahs of a woman being fucked. I hear the slurps of a dick being sucked. I tap gently on the door. I know he can hear me. He knows it’s me. I wish he would let me in. I really want to suck his dick. I want to smash my face between the double-chocolate bubble cheeks of his booty. I hate when guys play hard to get. The ohs and ahs are enough to make my dick hard. I bet he’s got his dick out. Damn, I wish he would let me in. I want to see his dick. I want to drop to my knees and put his dick in my mouth. I would suck him so good. I would give him the best blow job ever. I want him to sit his double-chocolate ass on my face. I want his dick to kiss the back of my throat.

  I’m so fucking horny right now. I hate hard-to-get guys. I circle the back like a dick-hungry shark. The gay porn DVDs locked behind the plate glass make my dick crazy-hard. Damn, look at the dicks on these guys! They’ve got some big nice asses, too. I love rimming a nice juicy ass. This place is cleaner than where I usually go. They have better gay porn movies, and it doesn’t smell like piss. This place isn’t run by gay-hating girls armed with flashlights, yelling at you to get in a booth. Bitches! They only have guys working here. Some of them are really cute. There’s one guy who works here I would love to fuck. He’s tall, a little on the heavy side. I bet he looks good naked and has a bodacious ass. This place is convenient for me because it’s on my way home. Yeah, this place kicks the ass of the place I usually go. I’m sick of seeing the same guys whose dicks I have sucked over and over.

  Someone new just walked in. He’s cute, slightly older than Double-Chocolate Bubble Booty. He looks to be in his early forties, Native American–looking, though I’m not sure. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, painter pants with paint stains on them and dusty
tan boots. He looks familiar. I watch him take one of the booths in the corner. He looks at me like he wants me. I’m grabbing at my dick. He watches me grab at my dick. I walk over where his door is cracked open. He unzips his painter pants and takes out his dick. He hikes his T-shirt up over his belly. I see dark waves of hair on his stomach. He puts in some money. Someone is getting fucked. Someone is getting his dick sucked, from what I can hear. I’m so fucking hard right now. I need to suck some dick. I wedge the door open enough to slide in between him and the small bench in his booth. Our bellies rub together. This is meant to be. Straight porn plays out on the TV. I waste no time. I sit down on the bench and put his dick in my mouth. It’s soft, yeah, but it doesn’t take long to get hard. Jesus, his dick is huge. Wait a minute, I know this guy. I knew he looked familiar. I’ve sucked his dick before at the other place. I’ve had him in one of the booths at the other place, where they don’t have good gay porn movies, where it always smells like cum.

  I remember him saying, “Make that dick come! Make that dick come!” He came all over my shirt that night. He had a lot of cum built up. Now it’s like his dick won’t stop growing in my mouth. I suck him slow. I’ve got my lips tight around his dick. I love sucking dick. I could suck dick all day. I would take load after load down my slutty fucking throat. He’s moaning. He likes the way I’m sucking his dick. I can tell. It’s one of the biggest I’ve had in my mouth. I mean he’s gotta be like nine inches, six inches around. Gimme this dick! Nice and fucking juicy. I grab ahold of his hips. I push in. He shoves it all the way back in my throat. I didn’t know I could take a dick this size so deep. I shut my eyes. I need to focus on all this meat I’m getting.

  Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

  I take it all the way. I’ve worked up a thick mix of spit. Big Thick Dick stands up on top of the bench over me. His dick is point blank to my face. I put it back in my mouth. Yeah, I’m gonna make this dick come. Big Thick Dick grabs my head, mashing me on his dick. It stretches my throat. I don’t gag. Big Thick Dick reaches over my shoulder and unlocks the door to the booth. He cracks it open just a little. He wants someone to see us, to see me sucking his humongous dick. It’s cool. I don’t mind. Big Thick Dick wants someone to watch him give my slutty throat a beating.