Best Gay Erotica 2014

by Larry Duplechan

  Eventually, Kris’s climax eased. When it did so, he turned his attention back to Harvey’s erection. Clearly, Harvey had found Kris’s orgasm a turn-on, as his cock felt more rigid than ever in Kris’s hands. Eager to please his new lover, Kris licked and sucked for all he was worth. As he sensed Harvey growing ever more excited, Kris cupped Harvey’s balls in his hands and gently massaged them. Harvey let out a loud moan of delight that let Kris know he was on the verge of climax. Kris opened his mouth wide and took Harvey as far down his throat as he possibly could. Harvey’s breathing shortened, and he began to make tiny panting noises. Kris withdrew Harvey’s cock until only the very tip of it rested against his lips. Kris then kissed the end purposefully. His timing and technique were perfect, for the next second Harvey came, covering Kris’s lips and chin with spunk. Kris then fastened his lips around the twitching cock and lapped up the last of Harvey’s cum, finding it delicious.

  When Harvey was finally spent, Kris sat up and began to wipe the spunk off his face. Quick as a flash, and with an incredibly naughty grin, Harvey sat up beside Kris and planted a long, luxuriating kiss upon Kris’s lips, licking some of the cum off in the process. The pair didn’t part until they heard the door to the room open. They discovered Pippa standing there holding a DVD disk and two cocktail glasses, both of which were brimful.

  Harvey and Kris accepted the drinks gratefully, then Kris asked what the disk was. Pippa giggled as she presented it to him. “It’s a present for you, silly.”

  Kris looked puzzled. “Of what?”

  Pippa pointed across at the mirror on the far wall of the room. “Harvey likes to make little home movies and I often play camera-girl.”

  Kris looked down at the disk and comprehension suddenly dawned on him. “You mean, I…we…this is of us?”

  Harvey smiled, “Just in case you ever doubt yourself again.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Kris replied, “I won’t.” And with that, he kissed Harvey once more.

  Sensing Pippa was watching, Kris turned around and said to her, “How about making another one of those home movies?”

  Pippa smiled and retreated out of the room, allowing Kris to turn his attention back to Harvey. “And this time, let’s really give the censors something to think about.”

  Harvey grinned in response, then reached down and began to massage Kris’s cock back to life. Kris decided that it was only fair to reciprocate, and so he toyed with Harvey in return. As their cocks brushed together, Harvey bestowed a series of light, playful kisses around the nape of Kris’s neck. Working his way around to Kris’s right ear, Harvey nuzzled the lobe tenderly, making Kris’s cock throb. To Kris’s disappointment, Harvey broke away momentarily in order to get off the table and nip across to the side cabinet. Kris was about to follow him; however, Harvey swiftly returned, armed with a condom and a tube of strawberry lube. Harvey grinned. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

  Kris bit his lip as he weighed up his options, then, very deliberately, he turned around, leant forward on the table and wiggled his bum invitingly.

  “You’re sure?” Harvey asked.

  Kris nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Harvey didn’t need asking twice. He rolled the condom onto his stiff dick, squirted out a generous amount of lubricant onto his fingers and then smeared it around the crack of Kris’s arse. Kris closed his eyes as he delighted at the touch, breathing deeply in preparation. Harvey took hold of Kris’s bumcheeks and rested the tip of his cock at Kris’s rear entrance. Before entering him, Harvey reached around and took hold of Kris’s balls in his right hand. Gently kneading them, Harvey waited until Kris had grown fully erect before he eased himself in, inch by inch. Harvey couldn’t believe how hot and tight it felt. He halted when his cock was halfway in and asked if it was okay. Kris was enjoying the sensation so much, he found it difficult to reply, but managed to nod his head in affirmation. Harvey then slowly started to build up a smooth rhythm, working a little more of his shaft into Kris with each forward thrust.

  Kris had started to let out little low moans of pleasure. He tried to work out which experience he had enjoyed most—going down on Harvey or being fucked by him. Deciding that both were equally wonderful, Kris allowed himself to become lost in the moment. He was vaguely aware that Harvey’s breathing was steadily becoming shallower and his strokes shorter and sharper. Sure enough, a second later, Harvey sank into him deeper than ever, letting out a deep sigh as he did so. Kris’s arse tingled blissfully as he felt Harvey begin to twitch away inside him. His own cock practically begged to join in the fun. Sensing this, Harvey withdrew from Kris, then deftly spun him around and took Kris’s cock in his mouth. Kris was so aroused it only took a matter of seconds for his cock to erupt. Kris cried for joy as Harvey sucked and lapped at his dick. When Kris was finally spent, the lovers collapsed on the table in each other’s arms.

  Harvey smiled, reached up and ran his left hand through Kris’s hair. “So, still not sure?”

  “What do you think?” Kris replied.

  Harvey purred coquettishly and pursed his lips. “I think you should stay the night, just to make sure.”

  Kris grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” He was so glad that he had agreed to an evening of gambling with Harvey.

  EVERYBODY’S BOY

  Landon Dixon

  I was sitting in the front seat of the pickup with the cowboy. We were parked in a deserted, weed-infested lot on Front Street. The morning sun was just rising from the other side of the river, big and yellow. Everything was quiet, empty, the crumbling buildings and streets still slumbering in the early light. Except for me and the cowboy—we were tugging on each other’s bared, erect cocks.

  “Gosh, but you’re huge!” the cowboy gushed for the tenth time, his sky-blue eyes fastened on my ten-inch dong, his sunbrowned hand riding up and down the smooth, hot, pulsating length of my cock.

  I smiled vacantly, my amber eyes slightly glazed, tugging back just as tight and quick on the cowboy’s hard, throbbing slab of beef. The cowboy was around my age, young. He had a sun-tanned, eager face, thick blond hair curling out from under his white cowboy hat, and was dressed in a checked red shirt and blue jeans, his body tight and compact. I was wearing a tight white T-shirt and equally tight pair of blue jeans, adding to the boyish appearance of my face and body, my soft brown hair cut short.

  “You’re pretty well built yourself, cowboy,” I purred, meaning it. I was getting paid, sure—the cowboy had made the long trek into the city on the strength of my rep—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t take some small measure of pleasure out of the transaction, too.

  The cowboy’s studly prick pulsed in my hand, as I absently and automatically used all the cock-handling techniques I’d picked up in three years of working the streets.

  Yeah, you can jerk a cock with the best of them, I thought to myself: stroke slow and sensual and full length, pull quick and frenzied and short, getting the shaft to spasm to your touch, buffing the cap so that it bloats around your swirling fingers. But it’s a far cry from where you thought you’d be by now: a high-priced, luxuriously pampered call-boy working an elite clientele of maybe eight or ten wealthy men in first-class hotel suites. Or maybe the exclusive boy-toy of some superrich sugar daddy, living the high life in a paid-for penthouse apartment with seasonal trips to Europe and the Caribbean. Instead of hustling parking lot hand jobs with raw kids in battered trucks two blocks off skid row.

  The cowboy grunted and groaned, “Oh, Jesus! I’m gonna come! Yeah, I’m gonna come!”

  I blinked my eyes, looked down at the cock I was jacking. It jumped in my hand, spurted. Hot semen leapt out the slit on the bulbous head, splashed against the dashboard. I milked the spouting dong sure and true, giving a wrist-twist at the top of the tug, jerking out pop-shot after pop-shot. The cowboy bucked, the pickup rocking. And my own cock spasmed and sprayed in the cowboy’s clenching fist.

  I’d been plying my trade so long I could turn it on and off like
that, stoking up the sticky, sweaty, desperate eroticism with my own jetting orgasm. The cowboy loved it, whooping his delight, shooting it. We jerked in rhythm, pumping out passion in pressurized bursts in each other’s squeezing, shifting hands.

  The cowboy dug two twenties and a ten out of his shirt pocket and spilled them onto the seat, as I wiped and zipped. Semen dripped off the dashboard, down onto the scruffy floormats. I scooped up the money, stuffed it into my jeans and stepped out of the truck.

  The harsh morning light hit me hard in the face, making my head spin. I staggered slightly, then recovered my balance and walked away from the pickup, heading for the Gay Cavalier and the gloryholes in back. Business would just be opening up at the low-down bar and blow-job emporium.

  Yeah, you should’ve been a high-priced piece of ass by now, have yourself installed in a real rich setup. But here you are instead, pressed up against the graffiti-smeared wall of the middle stall in the dingy men’s room in back of the Gay Cavalier; a man on the other side of the wall hungrily sucking your cock.

  He’d been standing by the sinks, probably washing his hands for the sixth or seventh time: a tall, thin, dark-haired businessman squeezing in a sordid morning quickie before a busy day of moneymaking. The other stalls were empty, the bar out front quiet except for a few confirmed drunkards. The man was dressed in a pin-striped black suit, white shirt, pink tie, black leather shoes. The leather had the same rich, deep gloss as his hair; his fingernails were impeccably manicured, face and hands tanned.

  But above the spicy scent of businessman’s cologne was the sharp tang of sweat. And his gray eyes held more than a hint of desperation and despair behind the cockiness. There was a wife and kids at home, I suspected, casually meeting the man’s plea and smiling my acceptance.

  It takes all kinds, I mused, as the hundred-dollar bill slid under the stall wall. And you take all kinds—all comers—and you give them exactly what they want. And what you want? I’d moaned, half-fake, half-real, when I’d unzipped and hefted my cock and stuck it through the waist-high padded hole in the green metal wall, and the businessman had eagerly gobbled up my hood, excitedly submerged my shaft in heat and wetness.

  And now my dampened palms squeaked against the wall, my breath fogging the scrawled metal, as Mr. Businessman sucked hard and tight, amateurishly but enthusiastically, trying to keep consuming all of my meat as it swelled out to its full, erect length. Impossible. My mushroomed cap hit the back of his throat and pushed the dandy back, the shaft as long and stiff as it’d been in the cowboy’s hand. I had the gift of stamina and the curse. Businessman gagged and gasped and gave up the fight for all of my cock.

  He blew me as best he could, his love of man-meat, which even family ties and high-society business connections couldn’t break, urging him on. He sucked sloppily and jerkily. I listened to the hissing breath steaming out of his flared nostrils on the other side of the thin wall, the gurgling in his throat, feeling his frantic sucking on my cock right down to my balls.

  All in a day’s work. Getting blown by some stranger in a shabby downtown bar, a gloryhole hummer minus the glory. I gently pumped my hips, nonetheless, helping Businessman get a better vaccing rhythm going on my dong. Turning fifty-dollar tricks in broken-down pickup trucks with fumbling boys, hundred-dollar suck-offs in stinking bathroom stalls with slumming businessmen—this is your typical day? It wasn’t how I’d envisioned it at all, when I’d first started selling my cock on the street.

  Businessman caught on to the pumping pace with his mouth, easing back on his greedy nature and taking what he was given, sucking smoother, tighter, more sure and sensuously. I felt the improvement, the wet, warm, wonderful sensation of velvety man-mouth tugging on my organ, and I pumped faster and more urgently.

  Businessman rubbed the wall with delight, overjoyed with his cocksucking, overwhelmed with all the meaty manhood he was sucking on; his inner homo set free. I kissed the metal, squirmed my tongue over it, hands splayed out and body flattened against it, hips thrusting, cock feeding into the hungry, happy mouth on the other side.

  Businessman’s time was up. He’d gotten more than his money’s worth. I pumped fast and furious into his mouth, then gushed down his throat, giving out a deserved bonus in salty, quivering bursts. The man swallowed with a skilled gusto born of the highly sexed situation, our mutual connection, gulping everything I gave him as I clawed at the wall in ecstasy.

  The fuck-pads were on the fifth floor of the Hotel Sinclair. That’s where I headed next, after leaving Businessman smacking his lips on the other side of the heated gloryhole. I thought about having a drink or two at the bar, but I knew the hot sun and clear blue sky, and the sight of the sparkling green river water would do more to clear my fuzzy head.

  The Hotel Sinclair was three blocks over on Perth Avenue. The streets and sidewalks were crowded now. I was just another faceless, nameless person pushing his way through the throng, a workaday stiff in more ways than one.

  You could’ve had it so easy, I thought to myself, as I was jostled this way and that. Up at noon, fresh from a sound sleep between silk sheets, brunch out on the balcony, looking down on these very same masses hustling to make a buck. No worries about this month’s rent, next week’s food, clothing bills and transportation. You just had to grin and bear it and suck it and fuck it, treat the one man—or maybe a few on a string—right and everything would be laid out for you. No running with the little people.

  It was hot now, the sun blazing down, baking the dusty city core. It was only slightly cooler in the Hotel Sinclair and even dustier. Three old men were slumped in the musty armchairs in the dilapidated lobby. The hunchback behind the front desk glanced up only briefly from his porn mag, nodded at me, then went back to his drooling, as I thumbed the rickety elevator open and stepped inside.

  The fuck-pads were quiet, empty, except for Room 512: my room. I could hear the telltale grunting and groaning even before I pushed open the door. Two men were inside: a large, muscular black man and an even larger, more muscular Hispanic. The black man sported a shaved head and body, gold earrings. His ebony muscles gleamed and bulged as he crouched down and drove his cock into the muscular ass of the man on all fours on the floor.

  The Hispanic man taking the licorice dong deep into his anus had slick black hair and a slick black mustache, diamond studs in his earlobes and tattoos all over his massive, caramel-colored body. His hard buttocks rippled and his body rocked to the pounding beat of the cock reaming his ass.

  The men kept right on fucking, as I walked into the room.

  It was a small, narrow room, even with the bed taken out. There were a couple of mattresses thrown down on the threadbare gray carpet; one small, round, wooden table and a couple of wooden chairs. The walls were gray and ragged as the carpet. The entire floor smelled of stale sweat and sperm. I breathed in the atmosphere, gazing at the big muscle-studs joined cock to ass, and my own cock stirred in my tight jeans. I thought, Welcome home.

  “Tyrese,” the black man said by way of unnecessary introduction. “That’s Diaz.” He nodded at the man on his hands and knees in front of him.

  Diaz stared at my crotch with his pale-green eyes. “You’re ‘Little’ Jason, huh?”

  I nodded, as Tyrese pulled his cock out of Diaz’s gulping ass and rose to his feet. Diaz got up off the floor, and the two giants towered over me, grinning, their long, hard, glistening cocks twitching up in the air.

  I looked from one man to the other, one hard-on to the other, and at the squalid surroundings; thinking, So this is your life? Wandering from truck to toilet to fuck-pad. Taking it up the ass raw and ruthless from two over-pumped musclemen in a shabby room where no one could hear you scream? Is this the best you can do?

  My cock swelled in my jeans, as I looked from the two naked studs in front of me to the two hundred-dollar bills lying on the wooden table. I pulled my T-shirt up and off, popped my jeans open and shoved them down. The bodybuilders’ eyes lit up when my cock sprang out and up,
surging huge and throbbing right in front of all three of us.

  Tyrese and Diaz spun around and dropped down to the floor, onto their hands and knees. They arched their muscled backs, thrust out their tight-packed, mounded buttocks. I stepped out of my jeans, only slightly surprised. I’d expected them to plug and plow me between them like a fuck-toy, yes, but I’d banged big bottoms before, too. A lot of pumped-up men craved nothing more than to be pumped themselves—the bigger the cock punishing them and taking command of their asses, the better.

  I picked the tube of lube up off the floor and slathered my jutting cock in slipperiness. Then I smacked Diaz’s upraised buttocks, and then Tyrese’s buttcheeks, with my gleaming dong. Both men grunted and quivered, asses rippling with excitement and anticipation, cocks spearing out from their loins.

  I slammed my cap in between Tyrese’s cheeks, up against his black manhole. My hood squished inside, and I surged forward with shaft. I didn’t stop until my shaven balls kissed up against the man’s backside, my entire dong buried in his hot, gripping chute.

  “Fuck! Yes!” Tyrese cried, paddling a couple of handprints forward on the carpet with the force and fill of my cock stretching his anus.

  I gripped his tight, tiny waist and pumped my hips, moving my cock back and forth inside him. I quickly torqued up the fucking pressure, stroking faster, stuffing harder, deep as I could go. I rocked the big man to and fro on his hands and knees, his muscles clenching all over his giant body. Then I abruptly pulled back and out, and plunged into Diaz’s waiting ass.