Best Gay Erotica 2014 (15 page)

I gave it to him.

When I licked his cockhead with my tongue, his knees clamped my shoulders. I felt the coiled strength of him. I loved the texture of his knob and rolled my lips over it until he let out a needy groan. I plunged down his staff, taking him all the way in a single swallow.

I buried my nose in his damp, dark curls, inhaling his scent. I took his cock down my throat, holding it there. My tongue continued to strum his shaft. I lifted my head, keeping my lips sealed around him, squeezing him. I knew my talents as a cocksucker, and I wanted to share everything I had with Curt.

As I started bobbing up and down on him, his strong narrow
body jerked. His ass fidgeted on the wood, and his bony knees gripped my shoulders harder, like a vise. He moaned louder. I kept up a deliberate speed, wanting him to enjoy the experience.

Pretty soon he let me know how much he was liking it: “That's so fuckin' good! I can't believe how good you suck!”

The corners of my stretched-out mouth turned up in a secret smile as I continued to blow him. But he deserved the full benefit of the experience. I wriggled my free hand beneath his sweat-slick ass, finding his hole and slipping a fingertip up into him. He just about shrieked with pleasure. His hands were suddenly raking through my hair. His hips rose. He was face-fucking me.

I probed his ass deeper, wiggling my finger up to the knuckle. I felt his sweet, tight passage clamping around my digit. He pulled harder at my hair. He was shouting more things now, but I couldn't hear. Blood roared in my ears. I sucked him faster, mouth slurping, everything a blur of flesh and steam.

My finger was all the way up into him when I felt his cock start to spasm. Reluctantly I pulled my mouth off him as he began to shoot. Hot droplets spattered my shoulder, and I smelled the beautiful salty tang. His ass muscles clenched as spurt after spurt jerked from his cock.

He let go of my hair. I sat back on my haunches, looking up at him. He lay back limp and spent, a look of satisfaction on his pale face. He knew what it was all about, I thought, and I was happy for him. I was glad no one had interrupted us. That got me thinking that it might be nice to see Curt outside the bathhouse, someplace private. But that could wait.

Smiling, he reached down for me, and I climbed up to nestle with him again, my new steamy punk lover.

THE CHICKEN COOP

David Holly

Farmer Cutler was the sternest, tightest and strictest native of Tillamook County. His word was the way it was, and his opinions, prejudices and pruderies seemed to have been handed down from on high. There was Farmer Cutler, Mrs. Farmer Cutler and their son Rupert Cutler. Rupert was my age, and the most obnoxious boy in the whole county. If you've ever heard the expression “holier than thou,” then you have an accurate picture of Rupert and his parents.

No one in his right mind would want to shovel shit for Farmer Cutler. So why was I spending the summer after my high school graduation working as his farmhand? Well, you see, the Cutlers attended our church, and my father—in a misguided outpouring of Christian charity—had volunteered my services.

“Since Chad graduated high school, he hasn't lifted a finger except to tap his video game console. Pay him what you will. He'll be at your farm at seven tomorrow morning.”

“Five in the morning would be better.” Farmer Cutler said. “I'll get him started with the milking.”

By the morning of the fifth day, I was frazzled. Not to mention, I had gone four days without even getting a chance to jerk off. Farmer Cutler was always around, and if he wasn't, Mrs. Farmer Cutler or Rupert were. Rupert was the worst. He would sit and read Bible verses at me while I cleaned up after the cows. Just when I was feeling lowest, Farmer Cutler told me that he was getting new birds next week, so I had to clean out the chicken coop.

The chicken coop was constructed on three levels. There was a roosting area, which was thick with ancient chicken shit and heaven-only-knew-what, a raised catwalk around the interior of the coop, and the bottom floor with the rows of egg boxes. I leaned against the railing, surveyed the mess and nearly cried. Then a rebellious thought struck me. I suddenly realized I had been scratching the head of my cock through my jeans while I was standing lost in thought. What if I jerked off in Farmer Cutler's chicken coop?

My cock was more than half hard already. Standing on the catwalk with my ass pressed against the railing, I pushed down my jeans and briefs and fingered my cock. It hardened completely in an instant. I massaged my cockhead between my forefinger and thumb, played with it and wrung it for a few seconds. Then I spit into my hand and slicked my cock. I rubbed the spit over my dickhead and down the shaft. Adding more spit, I stroked my shaft slowly. Eighteen years old multiplied by four days of unwilling chastity was sure to equal a shuddering orgasm and a massive ejaculation. I tried to stroke even slower, but the merest touch of thumb and forefinger on the head of my cock threatened to commit me to a rapid climax.

Just as I decided to finish and let fly, the chicken coop door rattled. I pulled my briefs over my erection and tried to fasten my jeans. My heart thundered, while my face both cooked and
chilled. Making my way around the catwalk, I pushed open the door. I saw nothing but the Holsteins grazing in the sunny pasture. I stuck my head out and even looked around the door. No one.

My cock had completely deflated by then, but it took no time at all to bring it back to full rigidity. My hands were slick with my spit, and I was thumbing the head of my cock with one while I was jerking the shaft with the other. I could feel the first tingles that signaled oncoming orgasm when the door rattled again. Distracted, I stopped masturbating, halting my orgasm before it started. Still I had both hands on my spit-slick cock when the door swung wide open and Rupert leaped in as if he had been goosed. He raised a hand and pointed directly at my cock.

“Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness.” Rupert was blowing Ephesians at me, while he pulled the chicken-coop door shut behind him.

I turned toward him, rubbing my cock ever so slowly and meaningfully. “Oh, Rupert, no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it,” I quoted, squirting a dose of Ephesians back his way. I expected him to flee, to run crying for his daddy who would condemn my soul to everlasting torment before notifying my parents and the rest of the church that I was an unclean, idolatrous disciple of Onan.

To my shock, Rupert pushed close to me at the rail, stripped off his trousers and gripped his cock. “Ah, Chad,” he gasped. “Do it this way—like you're wringing out a washcloth.” So saying, he spit into his hands and using both, he wrung his cock in two directions. “Do it gently,” he warned. “You won't believe how hard you'll squirt.”

I tried his technique, taking care not to break my cock in the process. I was wringing the head of my dick harder than I twisted the shaft, and I felt the tingles start again. “I'm going to come fast.”

“You started before me,” Rupert said rather accusingly, as if I should have invited him. “Tell you what: let's do each other.” He pushed my hands aside and gripped my cock with a backhanded grab.

Maybe Rupert wasn't so “holier than thou” after all. Whatever he was doing to me, it wasn't a grip I could refuse. Throwing caution to the birds, I slicked my hand with my spit, grabbed on to his cock and jerked him hard. I squeezed the head of his dick, pressing my thumb down hard on his pisshole.

The tingles in my cock turned into an anguished prickling. The prickles spiked into sharp barbs of pleasure that quivered my dick and contracted and dilated my asshole. My cum spurted along Rupert's arm, and as my cum touched his skin, he crashed into full orgasm himself.

“Chad, that's fuckin' good,” he gasped, as I jacked him off, all the while pressing my thumb against his pisshole to maximize his pleasure. His cum exploded around my thumb, and I used his own semen to jack him harder.

After we finished, we cleaned up with some of the rags and water I had brought to wash away the shit left by chickens who had probably gotten eaten a decade earlier. We were both pretty much a mess, considering the volume of spit and cum we'd expelled, but we managed to get rid of most of the evidence.

For a few minutes, we could only grin rather stupidly at each other. I didn't know what to say; however, Rupert finally worked up the nerve to ask whether I'd still be working in the chicken coop the next day.

“It's a four-day job, at least, Rupert.”

“How about I meet you here tomorrow, Chad?”

And so we jerked each other off in the chicken coop every afternoon—until the day the goddamned poultry arrived.

A PORT IN THE STORM

Dilo Keith

I answered the phone at the front desk and a deep, sexy voice said, “I'm looking for Eliot Silverman.”

“Speaking,” I said. “How may I help you?”

“I heard that you'll print anything I want on a business card and that I should ask for you.”

“Almost anything. What did you have in mind?”

It turned out he wanted a photograph of his cock—bold, but not very original. He thought it would leave an impression at the clubs he frequented. I offered suggestions for effective lighting and tasteful poses to make it more than just another boring cock shot. Most people do that sort of thing on home printers, badly. Fortunately for me, others appreciate the quality I offer. Competing with the numerous digital arts and services providers meant doing something different for our customers, and word was getting around about our “special” offerings.

Today, however, I would have preferred something that didn't remind me of other people fucking. Michael and I had had next
to no sex for over a week, due to his working late every night and being out of town on business the past weekend. Jamie, Michael's part-time submissive and the third in our ongoing threesome, had also been unavailable. Michael and I had managed a quick blow job here and there, but that wasn't going to help now even if I'd had the chance. I wanted Michael to walk in the door and bend me over the arm of our leather couch, taking time only to free his cock. I'd lube my ass before he arrived. I could jerk off as soon as I got home—or maybe before I left work—so I could go slowly, worshipping his body first, savoring all the tastes and smells I hadn't been able to enjoy lately.

In reality, all I had was Michael saying something about a chance of getting home earlier tonight, but I suspected he'd stay if there was any work left. A little persuasion might help, though I was reluctant to disturb him with my selfish desires.
Taking a break will make him more productive, right?
During the drive home, I thought about what I might say.

In the privacy of our living room, for the third time in an hour, I had my finger on the key for his number. I finally pressed it, hoping I'd catch him on a break.

“Perfect timing,” Michael said. “I'm eating the meatloaf Jamie left.”

Fuck, that means he's staying
. “At least you're taking care of yourself, but…”
Seems he's not even trying to get home
.

“But what?” he prompted.

“What happened to finishing early tonight?”

“It's not like I have a choice.”

“But you said—”

Michael cut me off. “Don't whine or I'll make time to find that paddle you hate when I finally get there, even if you're asleep.”

He's not serious
—
just cranky about working
. “Isn't it my turn to top?” I honestly didn't know—we hadn't planned anything—but it was a way to turn the conversation to sex.

“Not until I say it is. Besides, if that's what you want, Jamie will be there soon. You know he'll do anything you say.”

That was true. When Michael first brought home that sweet young thing—literally half his age—I hadn't dreamed we'd end up with such a delightfully kinky, pliant and obedient sub who wasn't fazed by a dom who switched once in a while.

“I don't want to top Jamie now.” I fondled the growing bulge behind my zipper. “I actually don't want to top you, not tonight. What I want is to lick and suck you all over before I sit on your cock. I'll lower myself slowly, inch by inch, squeezing and—”

“Stop that.”

Cranky
and
horny
.

He continued, “I need to finish here. What's gotten into you?”

“Nothing, for over a week now.”

Michael chuckled. “I guess I set myself up for that. You're not the only one who's gone a week without a proper fuck. Did something happen today?”

“It could have been all the work I've been doing on the Three-H site.”

“The what?”

“Hot, Hairy and Hung. I'm calling it that until Greg comes up with a name. I worked on the photo gallery today. Eight pages of steamy manliness. It's coming together rather nicely. Wish we were.”

“Me too, but I need another couple of hours here, at least. Try to behave, El.”

“Sorry to be a pest.”

“It's okay. I miss you too,” Michael said, sounding like he
meant it rather than simply being nice to his horny partner.