Best Gay Erotica 2014

by Larry Duplechan

  He closed his eyes, willing himself to stay focused. Joe didn’t know how he would explain the bruises. He’d have to make sure to change in privacy until they faded.

  Joe jerked away as he felt someone touch his left hand. Opening his eyes, he looked to see Frank unlocking the cuff. His partner had fastened his pants again, looking like he had just been standing around, with no evidence of what had just happened.

  Once his hand was released, Joe fell to the floor, his still-cuffed right hand going straight to his cock. He grabbed hold of his erection, pumping his hand up and down its length as the cuff clanged against the floor with each stroke. He was so close that it didn’t take long before he was coming, white spurts coating the dusty concrete in front of him.

  He tried to get his breathing under control: it had all happened so fast, he was still trying to catch up. Joe startled when a key landed beside him, and he looked up at his partner.

  “Unlock yourself.”

  Joe looked back down, reaching for the key with a shaky hand. It took him three tries, but he finally got it into the lock and undid the cuff. Just as he suspected, both his wrists were lined in red and there were spots of blood where the metal had dug in.

  “Hand them over,” Frank said, his tone flat and revealing no emotions. Joe did as he was told, offering up the key and cuffs before hunching back into himself. “Clean yourself up. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  With that, Joe could hear Frank’s footsteps retreating. He didn’t dare look up, didn’t want to see him go. When it was silent again, he pushed himself up, standing on shaky feet. Joe reached down and grabbed his boxers, pulling them up his legs again. His cock was sticky inside the material, his ass wet and sore, but he had nothing to clean himself with. Going over to where he had dropped his clothes, he began pulling them on. His uniform was dusty, and even after he beat his hands against the pants and shirt, there were still streaks he couldn’t get out. But maybe he looked good enough until he could get back to the station and change uniforms.

  Joe walked outside, shielding his eyes against the morning sun, and saw that Frank was sitting in the squad car. He went over, his body still unsteady, and opened the passenger door. Frank didn’t look over at him when he got inside. Instead, he just turned the ignition on. Joe thought he was just going to leave without saying a word, but his partner finally broke his silence.

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid. That was Lesson One.” Frank shifted the car into gear and headed out, leaving Joe to wonder what Lesson Two would be.

  LIGHT-RAIL

  Calvin Gimpelevich

  The light-rail rolled in: overcrowded, noisy, pushing forward. The doors slid open and I shoved myself on, fumbling the ticket into my pocket.

  I hated public transit: trash everywhere, sketchy seats and riding ass-to-elbow with every transient in town. A kid screamed. The woman next to me jacked the volume up on her headphones and I could hear top-forty pop tinning out the little foam pads. Something scratched at my neck.

  I had already taken the morning off work to get my truck in the shop—thank god I already had tools on-site—and considered staying late to make up; maybe finish the job early to help pay for my broken engine. This was the third time it had crapped out on me, and I wanted an upgrade. I was thinking bright silver, raised wheels and a new rack around the bed. Something manly, useful and flashy. Like me.

  The metro jerked to a stop. Some kid lost his footing and slammed into me before rushing out into the world. I brushed myself off, stuck a hand in my pocket and realized my wallet was gone.

  “Fuck.” I couldn’t see him in the station crowd. The doors shut and we started moving before I could get out and run the little bastard down. “Fuck me.”

  A woman glared. Loose floral print covered her from head to toe. I scowled and she went back to her book. I could look forward to a couple of hours wasted on the phone canceling all my cards and losing sixty bucks for a new driver’s license. I’d strangle that kid if I could. I’d like to put some alligator clamps on his nipples; then pull them off and watch him squirm as the blood rushed back. See how many times I had to do that before he started begging me to let him return my shit. I would bind his wrists together and make him choke on my cock.

  I like to top. Really like it. And construction work keeps me in good enough shape to dominate even the most reluctant bottoms. I started out working when I was still in high school, after school—trying to prove that a scrawny Asian kid could haul concrete—and ended up loving it. Fuck the SATs. I’d worked construction for almost fifteen years and it got me a house, a nice car and no debt. More than I could say for my college-educated peers. Now I work as a contractor, doing the detailed work on big projects. That day, I was scheduled to put in floors for some half-finished office buildings the next town over, if I could get to the damn site without anything else going wrong.

  Another big stop and another mass of people jostled on. It was getting so that every standing body had to press sardine-style against his neighbor. In my case, it was a guy who’d just squeezed in next to me. We made eye contact and he held my gaze. There was a defiant playfulness in his face that made me look down. The contours of an erect penis strained against his pants.

  He looked like a college student: ripped jeans, fitted shirt and shaggy blond hair that wisped over his eyes—eyes so big and blue they were almost too big, almost, with big Bambi lashes softening the angular face. He had a straight nose and full pink lips. He looked like it’d been a few days since his last shave, the pale stubble framing mouth and chin. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. Too lean, young enough not to have finished filling out.

  He was short—a head shorter than me—but lean muscles rippled across his arms as he held on for balance. The T-shirt showed hard little nipples perched atop a modest pectoral shelf. A wiry trail of hair leaked out from his sleeves. The same type of hair I suddenly imagined curling around his dick and sheathing his balls. He looked down at his crotch then back at me, daring me to inspect it.

  It was big, thick and tucked along his leg, fighting the fabric of his faggy tight jeans. I smiled. He inched closer so his cock pressed into my thigh. I could have wrapped an arm around his waist. He swayed against me to the rhythm of the train. I thought about those pretty lips on my dick. It twitched.

  “Dirty boy,” I whispered in his ear. “Cruising on the train like a little slut.”

  He tilted his chin up and whispered back “What are you going to do about it?”

  Exactly what I wanted to hear. I hooked my hands into the sides of his pelvis, firm enough to let him know who was in charge but subtle enough that no one else was likely to notice, and guided him around so I faced his back, then pulled his tight ass into my prick and let him feel the erection swell. He pressed back, dick-hungry.

  Gently, very gently, I started to hump the college boy. I tried to keep the same look of bored indifference that most other passengers wore. Nobody could tell what was going on unless they looked at our crotches, obscured by every other commuter standing by.

  I love to tease. A long painful buildup made the final fucking so much more satisfying than sticking it in the moment I got hard. Discipline: that’s what made it good. Rubbing up against this kid, not knowing if I’d get the chance to finish, built the sweetest agony. I dug my fingers further into his hip bones as the wanting started to hurt.

  “Almost at my stop, boy. Are you getting off?”

  “I can follow you.”

  “Good.”

  We exited the train, him trailing after me like a puppy. Like a good submissive, he didn’t speak. I led us to my worksite. It was lunch for most of the crew. They sat around the site, ripping into soggy ham-on-ryes and PB&Js. I knew about half of the guys from working different jobs around town. They hollered at me and fist-bumped me as I walked by. College boy kept his distance, but the blue eyes continued to follow.

  I got to the scaffolding outside my building and started to climb. I motioned for him to
join me. The boy better not be afraid of heights. We were on a seven-story building, and I had work on the fifth floor. If people noticed him scaling the restricted area, they didn’t comment. He could have been my apprentice.

  I stopped about where I’d left off yesterday and swung into the room. In a couple of months this was going to be another office building; right now it looked like slabs of concrete stacked on top of each with all the artistry of a four-year-old’s Legos. Some of the inner walls had been put in and loose electrical wiring hung erratically from the ceiling.

  The room smelled like sawdust. That floor, like everything above it, hadn’t had the front wall installed, so metal grating and wooden beams were all that shielded us from the street outside. I could see everything happening down below, but it would make a real kink in someone’s neck to try watching me. The wind blew in, shifting the dirt, screws and papers lining the unfinished floor. That, combined with the cement flooring, gave the whole thing a postapocalyptic feel. The boy looked nervous. He looked over the edge, but didn’t get near. It was a long way down.

  I leaned against a steel girder in the middle of the space. In a couple of weeks it would be the core of a wall dividing the giant room in two. “Did you come for the view?” I asked.

  He shook his head. Grinned. “I haven’t come at all, yet.”

  “Then get over here.” He did. The crotch of his jeans was stretched so tight that walking looked painful. Looked like he needed me to stretch him out on his back and fuck him until he shot all over himself. But I wasn’t feeling that charitable. I had some aggression to work out.

  I pulled his chin up to my face and stuck my tongue down his throat. Warm him up for gagging on me later. He let his hands wander, grabbing my ass, sliding up my shirt, reaching down to the lump in my pants. It felt good. I pushed him down so his face was near buried in it, and unzipped.

  I smiled as he stared at my cock, taking in the size of it—seven inches of cut meat, thick enough to stretch an asshole to capacity, dripping precum, so hard that it ached. I grabbed a handful of spiky, soft hair and guided his lips to the tip. He licked the head, took it into his mouth and sucked on it before swallowing the entire thing. Stubble poked at my balls. I pulled his head in closer and started to fuck his face, letting the feeling sweep over my dick. Figured he’d choke on it but the boy sucked cock like professional, opening his throat to take the entire thing, lips stretched wide as they could go.

  I leaned against the girder, hips bucking against his mouth. I could have shot my load right there and watched the cream slide down that pretty face. Instead, I pushed him off, emptying his throat all at once. He gaped for a moment, like I’d taken his pacifier away. Dick-hungry.

  I yanked him back up and grabbed one of the loose cords hanging down on us. None of it had been hooked up yet, so the wires were safe. He started to look nervous when I tied his wrists up above his head, but didn’t complain. I liked watching him endure the discomfort. He had discipline. I respected that. I pulled his T-shirt up so it hung around his hands.

  He had the torso of an underwear model: washboard abs and thick shoulders. His body hair grew thicker than expected, scattered along his chest and happy trail. It bushed out at his armpits, holding in the sweat and musk. What set him apart were the two horizontal scars running along the base of his pecs. They curved up to his armpits like anchors. I’d seen scars like that before: on marching topless boys during pride, on a go-go dancer at the club, but never this close. I ran a finger across one shiny line and watched the combative unease on his face.

  I suddenly realized what kind of boy I had with me. There weren’t many other clues. The height, sure, but some guys are short. I paced around him, looking closer. Not a woman, just another scruffy boy.

  Standing close behind him I started to rub against his ass. Grabbed it, slapped it, and let my cock push into the denim covered crack. He moaned.

  “Do you want my dick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Then I’m gonna need to see yours.” He didn’t answer. I unzipped his fly and pulled out a big flexible dildo carved well enough to look real. It was circumcised, complete with a pee hole, veins and peach shading to match his skin. The thing felt warm from being pressed against his body and the material gave when I touched it—as close to real as plastic gets.

  I pulled the pants off. They were so tight I had to peel them off. A black leather harness held his dick in place. Sunlight glinted back from the buckles. This time I wasn’t surprised. I hadn’t ever fucked a transboy before, but I’d watched them and wondered. I had fucked a woman in high school. Well, I’d tried. We were drunk and I couldn’t get it up, let alone in. Hadn’t been curious about pussy since—but also hadn’t found one on a boy.

  He had a tight little ass. The hair stood out and got thicker toward his crack. I slapped one cheek, then the other, until both sides were red. I ran a finger along his taint and circled the pink asshole. I felt his hole shudder, then his entire body along with it, as I stroked the sensitive skin. I went along his taint to the bottom of his cunt but didn’t go farther. Wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with that. Yet. Instead, I slipped a finger in his ass. He swallowed it whole, then another and another.

  There was a condom in my wallet. Such a shame. For a moment I was tempted to go bare. Self-control won out. I slid the rubber over my dick, then rubbed the head in his asscrack, waiting as long as humanly possible before shoving it in. He spasmed. Started saying “fuck” over and over again. I clamped my hands into his hip bones and used them like handles to force his ass onto my dick. I fucked him hard and fast, watching him take everything in. This time I didn’t last long before unloading inside of him.

  The boy didn’t look even close to being done. He writhed and squirmed as I pulled out, wanting more. He hung there, wrists trapped, unable to touch himself while I took my time watching. Putting my dick back into place.

  Our bodies were so different. Everything about me was thick and dark in comparison. Years of working with my body had earned me the physique I’d coveted all my life. Course black hair covered my arms, legs, chest. And my dick didn’t strap off.

  A jigsaw revving up nearby ripped through our quiet. Voices, loud, all business, yelling out measurements and warning one another to watch the fuck out. It sounded like lunch hour had ended. My boy was still hanging naked from the ceiling. I really hoped no one needed to come in here. Fucking on the job was generally frowned on.

  I undid his hands. Angry red lines showed where the cord had dug into his skin. He rapped the circulation back in before reaching for the puddle of jeans around his ankles.

  “Leave it.” He dropped the denim. “I’m not finished with you.” I grabbed him by the back of the neck and led him over to edge, facing the long drop down. Half a foot farther and he’d fall off the edge. There were people working down there, but no one on the scaffolding too close to us. I let my hand slide down to that other opening between his legs and slipped a finger in. Salty wet lube dripped down my hand.

  He wanted more. I massaged my cock through my pants. The blood started flowing back, not hard as before, but getting there. Another finger inside and he started making noise. I reached for my fly but he stopped me.

  “Wait.”

  “What’d you say, boy?”

  “Please wait, Sir. There’s another condom in my jeans, Sir.”

  “Fine. Bring it.” He did. I ripped open the foil package and put on the snakeskin.

  “Now get on your knees.”

  His head faced the drop. Naked, vulnerable and hot for my cock. He looked like any other boy from behind. I ran the tip of my cock through his cleft. Soft, wet, and warm. It felt good. His hips bucked down, trying to push my dick in the hole. I pushed back. Everything I had slid through the lips, running up unfamiliar parts. My hand found his dick—not the rubber extension, but his hormone-addled little boy-dick rigid with blood and wet from himself. When I hit t
hat he moaned. Then “Oh…oh my god,” as I flicked over it. His cock was the length and width of my thumb.

  Every time I pulled back he contracted, the hole trying to suck me in. After a while I let him. Slowly, so slowly, I entered his cunt. It was tight. I felt him stretch around me, heard him gasp, then felt his body push itself on.

  Inside him, pumping, I reached around to grab hold of his dick. It was the rubber one, a little too stiff and too cold, but stroking that, seeing his muscular back bent away, kept things familiar. For a moment I worried that it was too strange, but he gave me no chance to falter. Gone was the quiet, the modesty. His greedy hole sucked at my dick so overwhelmingly I had to fight not to come. I thought about high school reunions, grocery lists and the DMV. I thought about tiling and grout. I thought about the boy who was starting to shiver around me, moaning, louder than was safe for our continued privacy, and dripping juice onto the hard concrete floor.

  It tightened up as he came. Little spasms grabbed and released, grabbed and released at my dick. He was loud enough that I clamped my palm over his mouth, and still little grunts came. My hand grew hot from his breath. I pulled out, yanked off the plastic, and jerked until I splattered his back. He didn’t wipe off, but stood to gather his clothes from the floor. Flannel went over the mess. I watched it smear under the fabric then disappear. Good. Take it home. Think of me.

  He kissed me. I told him to fuck off. Had work to do. He climbed down with a smile. I had other things to worry about: the job, new cards, getting my truck. I tried to get angry again over my frustrating day, hold on to the jolt and productivity of being annoyed. It didn’t work. I thought about what I’d do to that boy for breaking my concentration and grinned. If I ran into him again, I’d teach him a lesson. Show him a thing or two about what it means to wreck my bad day.

  FIVE-FINGER DISCOUNT