Authors: Tavish
BETWEENMEN (2 page)
With that, I rolled him onto his stomach on my kitchen table, positioning him so that his cock hung straight down, pointing at the tile floor. I massaged his ass-cheeks for a while before I parted them, maybe a little more roughly than Jason expected. He yelped when I jammed my fingers back inside his pucker and stirred them around to stretch him out good and wide.
When I decided he was ready, I closed in on him by leaning forward over the table. The hot weight of my balls pressed flush against the backs of his thighs when I fitted my cock against his scalding sphincter. A fresh stream of sweat slithered down my chest to dapple his already-drenched bush. Reaching down with one hand, I dug my fingers into the erect flesh of his left nipple. With the other, I fitted my cockhead into the shallow part of his asshole.
“I’m going to put it inside you now,” I whispered. Jason’s head was turned halfway toward me, his cheek resting against the table. His face still looked slack with anxiety. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Jason squeezed his eyes shut as he nodded. “I do want it,” he managed to say huskily. “I want it bad. I want it now.”
“I figured.” With a grunt of satisfaction, I clamped both hands over his hips and shoved my bloated cockhead past my sphincter. He huffed and puffed and grunted as I fed my hard cock into his tunnel a couple of inches at a time. My idea was to make it happen so quickly that he wouldn’t have time to feel the pain—not at first. Then, just as my cockhead hit home and his asshole swallowed me up to the balls, I heard him cry out. He was feeling it now, all right—but to judge from the way he was howling, he wasn’t just twisting around with discomfort.
“Yeah, Dan!” he grunted. “Give it all to me! Yeah!”
His taut pucker gripped the sides of my shaft as if it were trying to draw me deeper into him. At that point, my orgasm exploded inside me, searing through my guts and nearly turning my balls inside out. My hard-boiled sperm filled the condom to bursting inside his stretched-out butt-hole.
While I filled him, Jason reached down and wrapped both fists around his free-swinging cock. By now it had snapped bolt upright again, and he wasted no time yanking it to a second climax. This one was smaller, to judge by the tiny puddle of cream it left on my kitchen floor—but to judge by his blissfully happy expression, it was every bit as satisfying as the first.
Finally, my own hose ran dry. It drooped, empty, in his ass-canal until Jason himself grunted and reached down to pull it out. His hole was still convulsing, clutching at my pole as he slid it out with agonizing slowness.
We slid off the table together, our drenched bodies coming apart with a loud sucking noise. I found myself gasping for breath. I’d actually been so excited that I’d been holding my breath. Now I realized that the whole kitchen smelled like musky, heavy mansex.
We leaned against the kitchen cabinets, our cocks oozing leftover spunk and maybe a little pre-cum as we started to get excited again.
“I never asked you how the lawn mowing went,” I said, tracing his nipples and then his pubic hairline with my finger.
It took a moment for his eyes to focus. Somehow I had a feeling what he’d been fantasizing about. “Oh, yeah. Well, actually, it ran out of gas. I’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Actually, the whole yard’s a mess. I could use a hand around here all summer.”
“Great.” Like I’d hoped, his fingers found my cock and started rubbing it back up to full length again. “As long as you keep showing me exactly what you want done—and how you want me to do it.”
ALSO FROM TAVISH LEE
A COLLECTION OF EROTIC SHORT STORIES THAT ARE 100% MAN AND 1000% SCORCHING HOT!
In the first sizzling installment of the Man Up series Tavish Lee reveals that construction workers’ hats aren’t the only thing that’s hard!
Man Up, Volume 2: Bad Influence
The eternal attraction of the bad boy next door…
When these guys talk about getting their engines lubed up and running, they aren’t necessarily talking about their vehicles!
They might seem like straight arrows to the rest of the world, but behind closed doors, they’re anything but straight!
ROOM FOR A HARD-ON
“See this ad?” Grinning, my friend Barry pointed out an innocuous ‘Male Roommate Wanted’ blurb in the campus newspaper. “It’s been in there for months. He doesn’t really want a roommate. He does it to get guys to come up to his apartment.”
“What for?” I asked, cursing my own stupidity the second after I’d said it. Barry just grinned.
“Call the number and see,” he said.
Normally, I don’t do crazy things like that, but in this case my curiosity—not to mention another long-neglected part of my anatomy—was piqued. So after a few days, I checked to make sure the ad was still there. It was. I called and made an appointment with a pleasant-sounding young guy to see the room.
“I’m Zeke,” he said, sticking out his hand when I showed up at the address he’d given. The apartment was pretty small, just a living room, kitchenette, and two bedrooms with a tiny bathroom in between. Zeke, as I’d suspected, was a lot more pleasant to look at. He was college-aged, like me, with longish brown hair, a gold hoop earring, and a neatly trimmed goatee.
I played along as he showed me the room, hiding my grin when I saw the heaps of all-male magazines and videos strewn around the bare-wood floor. Eventually, I told him that my friend Barry had pointed out his ad to me.
“Oh, Barry, yeah,” he said, breaking out in an unmistakably horny grin. “He came to see the place last week. Big guy,” he added after a moment, and his eyes dipped down to my crotch.
“I’m not so small myself, as a matter of fact,” I said, unbuttoning my 501s as Zeke’s mouth literally started watering. I’d come prepared, and in no time I was capped in a mint-flavored rubber. Zeke peeled off his short, revealing a skinny chest with a trail of dark hair from his tits to his pubes, but left his jeans on for the moment.
For a few moments, Zeke didn’t close his jaws. He just let my rigid tool hover there, poised in the center of his open mouth, stimulated only by the warm current of his breath. Then he tilted his head back, gingerly extended the tip of his tongue, and encircled my mushroom-shaped dome.
Pretty soon, he’d sucked me all the way down and gnawed on my balls. That just about sent me over the edge. A rough climax took over my senses as I jammed myself as deeply inside him as I could go. As the spunk rushed out of me to fill the condom, I began pumping my hips madly, my bloated nutsac slapping his bearded chin. The stiff little hairs tickled, getting me off even more intensely.
I was still coming hard when Zeke made these fake swallowing movements with his throat, like I was pouring fine wine into his gullet. At the same time, he unzipped his own jeans and started pulling his prong, blowing a load of cum onto the floor between us. The spicy aroma reached my nostrils too, and for a moment there it really seemed like he was drinking my sauce. To complete the illusion, he scooped up some of his own and smeared it all over his chin and chest hairs.
When I had nothing left to give, I pulled my cock out of his mouth with a pop.
“Say hi to Barry for me,” he said.
“I will. And I’ll think about the room.”
“You do that,” he said, grinning. “You can see it again sometime if you want.”
I nodded and left, my nuts throbbing happily in my cum-stained shorts. One day soon I just might do that.
Take a walk on the steamy side of town with YES, MASTER, a hot new collection of four scorching m/m tales by Tavish Lee.
In FARM HANDS, Billy decides to hire some new farm workers from the pool of eager college students on break. It doesn’t take him long to find just the guy. Jimmy Joe is a student at the nearby university who’s grown up working the land with his family. Billy’s willing to give him a chance and teach him everything he needs to know, but in the process Jimmy Joe will have to lose something: his cherry.
DIFFERENT STROKES heads to a popular gay seaside resort, where two longtime companions decide to spice up their relationship by slipping into the shadowed entrance to the local underground leather bar. There they encounter the legendary Styx, master of the underworld, who has plenty to teach them about starting over.
In GORDON’S GAME, a newcomer to San Francisco in the carefree days of 1977 decides to get his feet—and plenty else—wet in the big leagues when he ventures out into the local bar scene for the very first time.
Finally, a magnificent top named Warlock leaves his playmates SPELLBOUND when he reaches for the black riding crop on his wide belt and the pair of handcuffs swinging from his narrow waist.
College student Brody Johnson signs up for an archaeological expedition to Italy, expecting romantic ruins, exciting new discoveries, and maybe even hunky guys. Instead, he finds himself sleeping in an uncomfortable tent and spending his days listening to dull lectures about broken stones and pottery shards.
Then he stumbles upon the ruins of an ancient temple that seems to be inhabited by a creature from the distant past. Brody knows that satyrs were known for their insatiable sexual appetites and amazing male endowments--but satyrs never really existed outside of myths.
And they surely can't exist in the twenty-first century...or can they?
There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of tourists at the resort in Montego Bay the week Mike arrives for his summer vacation, but the only one he notices is the young guy in the hotel room right next to his. Jesse’s like something from a tropical wet dream: about 18 or 19, sun bronzed from his sturdy legs to his heat bleached hair, buffed muscles glistening with suntan oil—and prone to sunbathe in nothing but a pair of expensive looking sunglasses.
The heat is on as Mike gets up his nerve, and a few other body parts, in his quest to make this one the most memorable getaway of his life!
FLESHDANCE
When I broke up with my boyfriend of five years, I was pretty down for a long time. So the guys decided to cheer me up with what they called a reverse bachelor party: they invited all the single men they could think of over to my place and hired a hot male stripper to entertain us. They wanted to convince me that being 35 and on my own again wasn’t as bad as I thought.
I admit I was skeptical until I caught sight of the dancer they’d chosen. He called himself Sinboy, a name that fit him like a deluxe lambskin condom. He came over to my place about an hour into the party, and from the minute I opened my door, all I could do was fantasize about what he kept under that pirate-style red satin shirt and tight black jeans.
“So how long have you been doing this?” I asked as I showed him into the living room, where my buddies were eagerly waiting. It wasn’t an idle question: Sinboy couldn’t have been more than 18 or 19, with silky blond locks that hung low over baby-blue eyes and tender coral-colored lips that would have fit perfectly over the raging boner I’d sprung in my pants.