Best Gay Erotica 2012

by Richard Labonté

  I did as he said, my heart pounding insanely. “What did I do?”

  Without answering, he ran both hands over my back and down my sides, then up the insides of my legs. There was no doubt that his hand paused a little too long when it moved over my ass, then my cock and balls. The sonofabitch was copping a feel.

  “May I see your driver’s license?”

  I stood up and fumbled for my wallet. My hands were shaking as I withdrew the license and handed it to him. “Could you tell me what it is you think I did wrong?” I asked.

  “Did you know that U-turns are illegal here?”

  “U-turns? You’re kidding. This is about a U-turn?”

  “U-turns are extremely dangerous in areas like this.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just saw the parking space and there weren’t any cars coming.”

  “Kind of anxious to get inside, were you?” He nodded toward the bar.

  I was beginning to suspect that this was some kind of elaborate pickup routine. “Not really.”

  “I’ll have to give you a ticket,” he said.

  I watched him walk to where his bike was parked and take a clipboard from a saddlebag. Something else was wrong. That wasn’t a police motorcycle. As he came back toward me, I couldn’t help but notice a large bulge in his tight leather pants.

  “Your bike isn’t quite regulation, is it?” I asked. “Or your uniform.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “It’s my own bike, not the city’s. I’m off duty. But that won’t stop me from giving you a ticket. Sign here, please.”

  “What would stop you?” I asked—and my heart started pounding again. I knew I was doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous, but I was drunk and very angry with the world.

  He lowered the clipboard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I stared at his crotch very pointedly and said, “I don’t know. I just wondered.”

  “You see something down there that interests you?” he asked coldly.

  I looked up—into cool green eyes—then back at his crotch, at the bulge, which had grown slightly. “Well,” I said, “yes. As a matter of fact.”

  “You know I could arrest you for that?”

  “For what?” I asked innocently. “What did I do?”

  He chuckled. “You’re a gutsy one, aren’t you?

  I shrugged, still staring at his crotch. He adjusted his stance so I could see it even better in the light from the streetlight. There was no doubt that he had a very large cock—and it was very hard.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asked.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “My prick,” he hissed.

  “It’s very big,” I said.

  “You got that right,” he said. “Do you want it?”

  “Not if you’re going to arrest me…or give me a ticket.”

  He studied me carefully, up and down several times. “Do you have someplace to go?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do you want to take me there?”

  “Yes.”

  He took my driver’s license from under the clip and started to give it back—then he slipped it into his jacket pocket and zipped it up. “I think I’ll keep this until we get where we’re going. Okay?”

  “Anything you say, sir,” I said, feeling giddy.

  “That’s right, friend. You’ve got the idea. Anything I say.” He patted my arm. “I’ll follow you home.”

  As he lowered himself onto the seat of his bike, he adjusted his hard cock so he could sit comfortably—then looked up at me with a shitty grin and squeezed it with both hands. “Okay.” he called. “Let’s haul ass.”

  Brad had been home and gone out again.

  His denim jacket lay on the bed, and the closet was open; he had changed to his leather jacket. The cocksucker had finished with one trick and had gone out for another.

  “You live with someone?” the cop asked.

  I turned to face him. He had taken off his jacket and cap and tossed them onto a chair by the bed, and was standing with his hands in his back pockets, grinning that shitty grin. His leather outfit looked like it had been painted on his muscular body. His hair was almost a steel-gray, cut very short against his skull. He was the physical prototype of the ideal cop—the one you pictured, as a kid, defending the helpless and innocent against the forces of wickedness and evil. But not with a basket like this one had.

  I tossed Brad’s jacket into the closet and closed the door. “Not anymore,” I said. “You want a drink?”

  “Got any beer?”

  “Several cases.” I started out toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, wait. C’mere.”

  As I turned, he spread his legs wider. With one hand he milked down his cock while his other hand beckoned me to come to him.

  I went back. He took my hand and pressed it over the bulge. It surged, then grew under my fingers.

  “You like that?”

  “No,” I said, massaging it, “it’s too fucking big.”

  He laughed. “You’ll manage. What’s yours like?”

  “Feel it and see.”

  “Not just yet, friend. We’ll get to that later. Just show me. Take your pants off.”

  “Let me get the beer first.”

  “No,” he snapped. “Take them off now. I want to see how big your prick is. I want to look at that nice round ass I’m gonna stick my big prick up inside and give you the fuck of your life.”

  “Not this cowboy,” I said. “I’m a virgin there. Don’t worry, I’m a very good cocksucker. You can shove your big prick there.”

  He chuckled. “Oh? A virgin? I don’t believe it for a minute, Snow White, but…we shall see.”

  “Let me get the beer…”

  “Get undressed first.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and watched me undress. When my cock flipped up as I took off my shorts, the cop said, “Well, well. Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  “Nowhere near as good as mine, but…nice.” He stood up and pulled me to him, turning me so that my ass pressed against his crotch and his hairy, muscular arms tightly embraced my chest and stomach. I could feel his hot breath on my neck, in my ear, and I closed my eyes and allowed the sensations to overwhelm my body.

  Click.

  I tried to pull away, but one wrist was already handcuffed, and he held the other one painfully. The other cold band of the cuffs clipped over it. Click.

  “Hey.”

  He shoved me onto the floor, facedown. Then he was on top of me, his weight on my shoulders, his knees in the crooks of my arms, pinning me helplessly. He grabbed my legs and I felt something being wrapped around my ankles. I tried to yell but he sat on my head, pressing my face into the rug, wrapping my belt around my ankles, then cinching it.

  Then he sat up. Instantly I started to yell, but one huge hand clapped painfully over my mouth. He jerked my head back, and I felt something cold and hard just under my cheekbone. It was a gun.

  He leaned close and whispered intensely: “One more move like that outa you, Snow White, and you’re dead meat. You got that? I mean, your queer brains will be spattered all over this fucking faggot apartment. Understand?”

  I tried to nod, but he held me too tight.

  He eased his hand off my mouth—but the gun muzzle pressed even harder against my face.

  “I said: Understand?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” I could hardly hear my own voice. My heart was pounding and the room seemed to be exploding with colors and noises.

  “That’s a good boy.” I could feel the gun at my cheek twitching, as though the hand holding it was shaking.

  He let my head down very slowly, his hand cupped under my chin—sweating and hot. Then he stood up. The toe of his boot eased under my belly and lifted up, rolled me over onto my back. I looked up into a flushed face—wide green eyes—and a tight, menacing grin.

  The man was insane.

&nbs
p; It was written all over his face.

  And the way he held the gun—leaning down, pointing the muzzle between my eyes—I knew that he wanted to kill me.

  He took a deep breath. “Now…” he said quietly, “if you just behave yourself…we’re gonna have ourselves a little fun. But you have to behave yourself, Snow White, or it’s all over. Bang. You’re dead. Too bad. Now tell me you’ll be a good boy.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded.

  “No…” he said. “I asked you to say it.”

  “All right.”

  “All right what?”

  “I’ll be good.”

  “No. Say ‘I’ll be a good boy …Master.’”

  I looked up at him, convinced of his madness.

  “Say it.”

  The gun touched my forehead.

  “Say. It.”

  “I’ll be a good boy…”

  “Master. Say it. Say it, goddammit, or you’re fucking roadkill.”

  “Master,” I whispered.

  “Good.” He sighed and took the gun away, breathing heavily. “Yes, that’s very good. Because I don’t really want to kill you…just yet.” He ran his fingers up my cock, and it jumped at his touch. “A dead one doesn’t do that,” he said, and stroked it again. “You see…it’s very important…that you remember… always…that I am your master. Absolutely. That’s my job. It’s a case of natural selection, you see. I’m superior to you, and that’s why I’m a cop. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes…”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He nodded—and his hand moved slowly up my stomach to my chest. “If you were superior, then you’d be a cop too. That’s obvious, isn’t it? So you have to trust me completely—because I know what’s best for you. And so, if I tell you to do something—or say something—then you just have to do it, or say it, because I know what’s best for you.” He stood and smiled down at me—like a teacher who has finally got through to a stupid child. “Where did you say the beer was?”

  “In the refrigerator…in the kitchen…Master.”

  He smiled triumphantly. The toe of his boot toyed with my balls. “You like that, don’t you?” He pressed his foot even harder on my nuts. “Don’t you?”

  The pain took my breath away, but I said, “Yes…Master.”

  “Oh, shit, that’s beautiful.” he whispered. “You be a good boy, now. Please don’t try to escape while I’m gone—or I’ll just have to punish you.” He twisted his foot on my nuts and I gasped. Then he casually walked out of the room.

  I heard him in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator—the clink of beer bottles…

  I tried to think clearly while he was gone—tried to decide what to do. He had me helpless—my wrists were handcuffed behind me and my feet were wrapped together with my belt. If I had time, I could probably get my feet out of the belt—but I didn’t have time. There was no way I could get out of the handcuffs without a key. I had no choice but to try to please him.

  All I could do was hope that he wouldn’t decide to shoot me after he’d had his fun.

  But I tried to believe that he wouldn’t go that far. I reasoned it out that he wouldn’t be able to justify shooting me—not naked and handcuffed in my own apartment.

  If only Brad would come home.

  I heard footsteps coming down the hall, then the cop came in with two beers—and something else: a can of Crisco. He grinned at me, then sat on the bed and guzzled the first bottle down without breathing. He belched loudly and started on the second bottle—now playing with the lump in his crotch, which had gone soft—always watching me with those cold green eyes. He unzipped his fly and pulled his prick out, then his balls. He was uncircumcised, and he toyed with his foreskin, teasing it open and closed over the large head—shining slickly where it peeped out. He ran his finger around inside the foreskin, over the ridge of his cockhead—sipping the beer—watching me.

  He finished the beer and stood up. His cock arched out from his crotch, still limber, flopping back and forth as he moved. It was as big as I’d ever seen. Maybe bigger.

  And, god, it excited me.

  He excited me.

  I thought: I’m as crazy as he is.

  He lowered himself onto my chest, kneeling over me, slowly milking his flaccid prick in front of my face. “Make it hard,” he whispered. “Make it hard for your Master.”

  I lifted my head and he guided his cock into my mouth—first the cold nozzle of foreskin, then the thick, salty, cheesy head—through my lips, down my tongue…

  “Oh…Jesus…” he whispered. “Oh, yeah, suck on it. Suck that big cop-cock, Snow White. You got a cop’s prick in your mouth. A great big fuckin’ cop-cock in your fuckin’ queer mouth. Oh, you queer cocksucker, suck on that big prick. Suck it, goddamn you.”

  He heaved himself over me and rammed his groin hard into my face—and I swallowed his incredible organ, all the way down. My body was tingling and twitching insanely as I swallowed and swallowed, milking his big prick, making it harder and harder inside my throat. He urged it in deeper and deeper until I couldn’t breathe—I was swimming in blackness, retching uselessly—nothing could get past that big shaft down my throat. My lungs were on fire.

  Then he pulled out—and it felt like he’d ripped my throat wide open. He raised up, pumping his cock, his big hairy balls dancing on my nose and my lips. Cop’s balls. “Suck them.” He commanded. I sucked one in, then the other—and they filled my mouth. Hot, hairy cop balls filling my mouth as he pounded his big prick above my open eyes.

  He held my face and eased his balls out of my mouth, then worked his way down my body, backing up until my stiff cock touched the tight leather covering his ass—bent back painfully—and then slapped forward onto my belly. He laughed and grabbed my cock, twisting the skin until it felt like it was on fire. Then he twisted my balls. The pain coursed through my body with each twist, and I strained every muscle to keep from screaming—until finally, at the instant I thought I would pass out, he let go.

  I sank back onto the floor, my body shuddering uncontrollably.

  He turned me over, facedown, and ran his fingers over my ass. He pulled the cheeks open, opened the can of Crisco, dipped his fingers into it, and spread the cold grease all around my tense asshole. First one finger slipped in—then two—one from each hand—and he pulled the sphincter open…

  Then his great body was over me—zippers and buttons cutting my skin—and I could feel the big head of his cock inching into my asshole. The feeling was nothing but raw pain, engulfing my body completely. Then, suddenly, the head was inside. I sobbed as he pressed it in deeper—and deeper—and I yelled.

  Both hands grabbed my mouth. He rammed his prick all the way up into my guts. It felt like my body had split apart.

  “Oh, Jesus.” he whispered. “I’m in you, man. All the way up your ass. You got the biggest cock on the force up your ass, you queer sonofabitch. So you’re not a virgin anymore, are you, Snow White? How does it feel? Does it feel good? Do you like it?”

  I couldn’t have answered, even if his fingers hadn’t been crushing my jaw. The pain had become something else—a feeling so thrilling I couldn’t even think.

  Then he started a slow pumping, with his body pressed hard against mine, just his hips moving, his fantastic prick reaming my guts out. My own cock was about to explode.

  I felt something cold on the back of my head. I knew it was the gun. The cop was breathing heavily in my ear as he fucked, and he whispered: “Okay…Snow White…are you ready? We’re gonna…all shoot together. And you’re gonna shoot…like you never shot before. Me…too.”

  “Warren.”

  A door slammed, something crashed, and a blurred, snarling beast collided with the cop, knocking him off me. I saw Brad’s face for an instant—hideous with fury—as his fist crashed into the man’s stomach. I heard them both land on the floor. Flesh slammed into flesh…and then silence—except for Brad’s gasping for breath.<
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  He crawled into the closet and grabbed some thin, elastic belts, which he quickly wrapped around the unconscious cop’s wrists and ankles.

  Then he stood up weakly, panting, and sat on the bed, looking down at me.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and passed out.

  I was lying on the bed when I woke up, still naked, but no longer handcuffed or tied. Brad was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me anxiously. He was holding my hand, and when I opened my eyes, his fingers tightened around mine. “Are you okay?”

  I grunted. “I’m still alive…I think. Where is he?”

  Brad nodded toward the other side of the bed.

  I leaned up and looked over—and laughed.

  The cop lay on the floor, his arms behind him, apparently handcuffed, his ankles wrapped with elastic belts. A towel was tied around his mouth. His eyes were open, watching me cautiously as I peered over the edge of the bed.

  I lay back on the bed and found Brad’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

  “Well.” I said. “That was fun.”

  “You idiot.” he yelled. “He almost killed you.”

  “Don’t call me names. If you’d been home…”

  He nodded quickly. “I’m sorry. I can explain everything.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You came home just in time. That’s fine.”

  “What’ll we do with him?” Brad asked.

  I sat up on the bed and crossed my legs, yogi-style, and studied the cop. “I don’t know,” I said, knowing he was hearing every word. “What do you do with a crazy police officer who rapes you and almost blows your brains out? What do you do with such a total asshole?”

  “We could blow his brains out—and call it self-defense. Who would know different?”

  The cop made a strangled noise and tried to sit up.

  “No,” I said. “I couldn’t kill anybody—even him. No, we’ve got to deliver him to his own…”

  “Does Ash have a lawyer? Let’s ask somebody what we can do so this sonofabitch never bothers anybody again.”

  “Nnnnnnn.” The cop had sat up and was shaking his head desperately. “Nnnnnnn.”

  “I think he’s trying to tell us something,” I said.