Hot Tales of Gay Lust Two, page 1
HOT TALES OF GAY LUST 2
A collection of twenty erotic stories
Landon Dixon
Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2011
ISBN 9781908192462
Copyright © Landon Dixon 2011
The right of Landon Dixon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
Hood: First published on Unzipped.net Premium, March, 2010.
Campus See-curity: First published in Freshmen Magazine, November, 2009.
Shadow Over Southdale: First published in Men Magazine, June, 2009.
Man Wanted: First published in Men Magazine, July, 2009.
Owner-Operator: First published in Men Magazine, January, 2007.
Rendezvous In Porcelain: First published in Freshmen Magazine, August, 2008.
Hardboiled: First published in Men Magazine, April, 2007.
Hit On Me: First published in Freshmen Magazine, July, 2007.
False Fronts: First published in Men Magazine 281.
Nailed By Noir: First published in Men Magazine, November, 2007.
Dicked: First published in Men Magazine (June, 2008) and Best Gay Erotica 2009 (November, 2008).
Stickhandling: First published in Freshmen Magazine, March, 2004
Golden Boys: First published in [2] Magazine, December 2007
Troublemaker: First published in Freshmen Magazine, January 2009
Teaming Up: First published in Men Magazine, November 2006 and Ultimate Gay Erotica 2007
Also available from Xcite Books
Contents
Campus See-curity
Golden Boys
Hardboiled
Dicked
Hit On Me
Man Wanted
Hood
Nailed By Noir
Owner-Operator
Rendezvous In Porcelain
Shadow Over Southdale
False Fronts
Stickhandling
Troublemaker
Teaming Up
Classic
Down on the Bayou
Dream Lover
Glory, Glory Hole
Johnny Club
Campus See-curity
I’m a security guard. My beat is a second-rate college; my job, usually about as exciting as a Cop Rock re-run. One night, however, things really did heat up, and my nightstick got more than its usual palm piloting. This is how it went down.
My boss, Colonel Klink to the boys in blue polyester, told me to investigate reports of items getting stolen from the women’s locker room in the athletic centre. So, I stashed my baloney-and-cheese-on-rye out of reach of his long arm and big mouth, and made tracks for the gym. The men’s basketball team was practicing on the polished hardwood, and I stopped momentarily to give a brisk visual-frisking to the sweaty boys in their white shorts and blue tanks. Then I shifted my private’s eye into the women’s locker room.
I found nothing suspicious – other than the usual bra stuffings, nipple clip-ons and cameltoe enhancers – so I sidled on into the men’s locker room, found more of the same. I decided to next check the crawlspace between the two shower rooms. And when I opened the trap door and dropped down onto the ground floor, I found that somebody else was already there ahead of me: a college boy!
‘Explain yourself!’ I barked, making rapid observational notes of his glossy black hair and liquid brown eyes, trim, tight body, pert buttocks and poking nipples.
The freshie looked at me unconcernedly, placed a slender digit up against his full-bodied lips and said, ‘Shhh!’ Then he sprang up onto his tip-toes and applied his eye to the outside wall of one of the shower rooms.
I made a brief, butt-thorough survey of his hot young body for weapons of any kind, and came away with a second baton tenting my pants. The size-small cutie was scantily and sexily attired in a cheerleading get-up, his slender legs spilling like spun caramel out of the bottom of his stretchy blue shorts, his smooth brown arms bare in a team white shirt that stretched tight across his chest and nipples. ‘Step away, son,’ I commanded.
He glanced at me, actually heeded my authoritative thunder, and moved back.
I shuffled forward in the tight enclosure to investigate, found a ragged peephole. The horny cheer-boy obviously liked to watch, probably secretly ogling the babes with the labes as they showered, I figured.
I pressed my orbital bone to the hole in the wall in order to rubber-stamp my suspicions, but saw nothing but wet tile and feet. The skin-sighter was only about twelve inches above floor level, so I tilted my eyeball heavenward and everything suddenly became a whole lot clearer, and a whole hell of a lot more exciting; for I was witnessing a couple of round-ballers scrubbing their long, lean bodies under the cascading hot water. This was the men’s shower room, the ebony-skinned players sporting dangling dicks from their sudsed-up pubes.
‘Sweet John Law,’ I muttered, watching the gleaming guys sensuously soap and rinse.
So, my peeping-tom was a man-lover, like myself. As I digested that queer bit of information, and was about to turn and confront the petite perp in the name of duty, I felt a soft, warm hand reach around and seize my hardened length of steel.
‘Keep right on looking, Officer,’ the lusty lad breathed in my ear, buffing the rigid outline of my sex pistol.
He pressed close, his hot bod melting my tin badge on the other side, the tangy-sweet scent of his perspiration and body spray clogging my nostrils and dizzying my head. I had a job to do, but something had come up of an even greater imperative. So I stood there and stared at the men up-front rubbing their bodies in the fine-needled spray, as the young man in behind rubbed my cock in a manner most fine.
I groaned, body flooding with heat, dick with maximum blood. And then the spy-guy suddenly dropped to his knees and unzipped me. I moved back a bit, to allow him to squirm in between the shower room wall and my blue-striped legs, get eye-to-eye with my ram-rod. But I never broke surveillance of the two showering liquorice hunks in the adjoining tiled playpen.
‘My name’s Sergio, by the way,’ the brunette boy-toy said from between my lower limbs. He dragged my cock out of my fly-opening, the unconcealed weapon hard as fourth year quantum physics.
‘Chad!’ I grunted in reply. As Sergio clutched and stroked my laid-bare meat-club with his hot little brown hand. I just had to look down in appreciation.
‘Nice to meet you, Officer Chad,’ he said, looking up, tugging long and tight. Before sticking out a tongue as brilliantly pink as the inside of a girly snatch and slapping the wet mouth organ against my cock helmet.
‘Officer downed,’ I gasped, just about loud enough for the glistening gems on the other side of the wall to hear me.
They didn’t, though. Because as I stuck my eye back into the peephole, I saw that they were now joined by the rest of the squad – ten pushing and shoving and laughing college team players as bare and buff as the first two, their hard bodies on display made absolutely delectable with a splash of water and a swipe of soap. I hadn’t seen so much wet, cocky flesh since the time I’d rescued a pack of naked fraternity pledges from the lampposts they’d been duct-taped to during Hurricane Andrew.
Sergio swirled his slick tongue under and over and around my swollen dickhead, making my balls tighten and pulse race. Then he pasted the raging member up against my uniform pants and licked up and down the throbbing shaft, wet-stroking my flesh-stick like it was a melting Popsicle on a hot summer-school day.
‘Suck me, baby,’ I groaned, feeling every wicked tongue-drag all through my body and soul, ogling the steamy twelve-man shower scene.
Sergio gripped my extendable pole at the base and pulled it down like a campus election lever, swallowed my mushroomed cap in his sultry red mouth and started sucking. My knees buckled like when I’d gotten my SAT scores.
The whiz-kid stroked and sucked, sucked and stroked, subjecting my jangled senses to an oral exam that was a glowing testament to higher and harder education. Then he crammed as much rent-a-cop beef into his mouth as he could, and bobbed his head back and forth, deep-throating like a medical student with a tongue-depressor fetish.
‘Yeah!’ I growled, getting an eyeful, giving a mouthful.
I heard the breath whistle out of Sergio’s button nose as he wet-vacced my prong, felt the humid heat of his heavy breathing up against my crotch. He pulled my balls out as he sucked, juggled them like a crowded course load. Life on the thin, blue line had never been so good. Klink was never going to buy the paperwork on this one.
And then things got still better, even hotter, when Sergio took one last sensual pull on my dong and popped it out of his cauldron of a mouth and blurted, ‘Fuck me in the ass, Chad!’
I was all for it, always willing to provide back-up at a moment’s notice. But the ball boys on the other side were really soaping up their studly bodies now, rubbing the dirt out of their butt cheeks and stroking the sweat out of their c
Sergio saw my need and put his smarts to good use again. He slithered up in between me and the wall, back and bum to my pointed front, packing us in tight, but leaving me with a clear view. Then he wriggled out of his shorts in a choreographed move that had me leading the cheers. I momentarily broke away from the hole to ogle his fresh, bronze buns, the young man’s ass-ets good enough to eat, taut and mounded and smoothly cheeky.
‘Fuck me!’ he urged, assuming the position up against the wall and shuddering his luscious rump at me.
I quickly unholstered a tube of lube from my utility belt and greased my gun and the college boy’s crack. He gasped and jerked when I finger-frisked his baby-bottom smooth butt cleavage. Full-out moaned when I sunk a slippery digit into his sublime manhole and wiggled it around a bit. The guy was primed tight and hot, bursting with a yearning for learning.
I slowly withdrew from his bum, letting his ass lips suck on my finger on the way out. Then I gripped my rod and pushed it to the head of the ass. ‘Here it comes, baby,’ I instructed, pressing my cap into his pucker.
‘Yes! Bust me! Bust me, Officer Chad!’ Sergio squealed, shaking me right down to my nut sack with his proclamation of anal virginity.
Just what the hell were they teaching these kids in high school, anyway?
I gritted my teeth and grabbed onto his shoulder and pushed forward, popping the quivering young man’s anal cherry and plunging into his chute. The dirty descent was pure heaven.
I plowed in long and hard, Sergio’s anus heart meltingly stretching to accommodate me, his hugging, heated bung turning me molten. Until my bristled balls kissed up against his velvety butt mounds, my cock embedded in his ass. This college boy had just graduated to the big time.
‘Oh, God!’ he moaned, clawing at the wall, writhing on the end of my dick.
I crowded his back and crammed his butt, pressing my peeper to the spy slot again. The b-ballers were still going at it wet and steamy, buttocks glistening and shivering, dongs dripping and dancing. As I pumped my cock back and forth in Sergio’s gripping bum. This was 4D action even better than the film department could deliver.
Plastering my hands to the wall and eye to the hole, I pistoned Sergio’s ass, smacking sharply up against his rippling cheeks, stuffing his sucking chute full of knowledge. He tore a hand off the wall and grabbed hold of his own smooth-shafted erection, fisting in rhythm to my dicking. I rocked him, cocked him, the heat and humidity on our side of the wall as thick and heavy as on the other side.
‘Fuck, I’m gonna come in your ass, Sergio!’ I bellowed, fast-fucking the scholarly sexpot, my flapping balls gone to boil. The anal and visual stimulation was just too much for me; this was going to be a crash course in homoerotic studies for Sergio, the ass-celerated program.
‘Yes, please come in my butt,’ he cried, jerking for joy. His gorgeous bronze body shuddered with more than just my furious cock-thumping, his prick going off in his flying hand and dousing the wall with sizzling sperm.
I churned my hips and Sergio’s bung in a frenzy. The hoop boys were leaving the shower room, prancing out of sight in a sweaty blur of swinging dicks and clenching cheeks. My bum-splitting cock surged out-of-control, and I slammed up against little Sergio with a roar of ecstasy, spunking his chute and splashing his bowels.
My body jellied and my brain turned to mush, as I opened up the stunning student’s mind and ass to the exquisite pleasures of an endless river of heated semen; as I stared through a glazed eye and a crude peephole at the water-dappled studs exiting the shower room.
At the exhausted, panting end of it all, Sergio spun around in my arms and lovingly gazed up at me with his wet baby-browns. ‘Are you going to arrest me?’ he pouted.
I cleared my throat, and some of my head. ‘I think you’ve, uh, learned your lesson – for tonight,’ I replied sagely, if not by the book.
He kissed me soft and shy on the lips, smiling. ‘More community service same time, same place tomorrow night, Officer Chad?’
‘Agreed,’ I exhaled, satisfied to let the punishment fit the crime in this case. The young man could really learn from his mistake, in the hands of a qualified teacher like myself.
Golden Boys
I stumbled out of the bush and into a clearing, at last. I’d been slogging through the Yukon “jungle” of scrub spruce and sedge tussocks for three straight days, had picked up more blackfly bites than a swamp-bogged moose, more branch scratches than a treed lynx. So any open space was mighty welcome.
I brushed back my hat and let the warm summer sun bathe my face, the cool breeze dry my sweat, taking a much-needed break from the headlong fever of the Klondike gold rush. Canadian Shield showed through the yellow grass and green moss on the floor of the clearing, and as I ambled over to the edge of the patch of fresh air, I saw that it was actually the ten-foot-high cut bank of the Yucatash creek.
And then I saw something that made my eyes and trousers pop: the Goldtwinkle Twins, as they were derisively known, on the flat, pebbled creek bank opposite, sexing it up all out in the open like 1898 was the age of enlightenment!
I dropped my hat and pack and went belly-down in the grass and moss, my trail-reddened eyes locked on the pair of fervent man-lovers. They were less than 50 feet away from my vantage point, the red-haired little one – Tommy Mulray, I pegged him – on his knees in the smooth pebbles, earnestly sucking on the big, hairy, hanging nut sack of the giant known as Dag Grunthle.
The pair of prospectors were as naked as any man’s lust for gold, like they’d been going about the grim task of taking their weekly baths when things had gotten a lot out of hand. Dag was huge, bushy headed and bearded, body hairy as a black bear and built the same. While Tommy was small, smooth, sleek, and ivory as a soap bar. He tugged on his partner’s balls with his mouth – first one, then the other, then both – Dag’s enormous, arrow-straight cock casting an ominous shadow over the ardent sack sucker’s face.
My eyes watered, right along with my mouth. There was no doubt now that the rumours were true: the Goldtwinkle Twins were as bent as an old gold-panner’s back. Some in Dawson City had said that they just fostered their queer reputation to keep claim-jumpers away. But now I was getting the truth, in the sun-drenched, water-dappled, Tamarack-backed raw.
I pumped my hips, humping the soft grass and springy moss, as Tommy disgorged Dag’s matted sack and licked up, up, and up the guy’s claim-stake of a cock. He finally made it to the cap-crowned top, then opened wide and swallowed, Dag grunting like a pack-mule.
Tommy sucked on the big man’s knob, Dag arching his gigantic body and extending his massive arms up into the air like he was seeking sexual salvation. Praying, no doubt, that his entire tremendous staff would be baptised in the hot, unholy waters of Tommy’s mouth.
But little Tommy had other ideas, popping Dag’s dripping purple hood out of his mouth and pinning it against the brute’s stomach. He started licking up and down the wrist-thick, vein-ridged shaft of Dag’s cock, really lapping at it, Dag groaning some more, tree-trunk legs trembling.
I humped the ground faster, harder, ignoring the ants crawling up my legs. A hard-luck sourdough had to take his pleasure from the harsh, beautiful land wherever he could find it.
Tommy licked the foreskin almost right off Dag’s thunder cock, before pulling the stiff, glistening member back down to horizontal, like a barman pulls down a draft handle to give a customer some good head. He engulfed Dag’s hood in his warm, wet mouth again, some of the giant’s shaft this time, commenced cocksucking.
‘Attaboy!’ I exhaled, spitting out the last of my tobacco in my excitement. I was really thumping the tundra now, the sun and scenery heating me up like gold fever, my balls boiling right along with Dag’s.
Tommy was just too tiny to come anywhere close to deep-throating the giant, but the little guy could still handle a rod. He gripped Dag’s fleshy ass cheeks and furiously bobbed his head, red lips flying back and forth, halfway down the big man’s corded shaft, mouth pressure-sealed to extract maximum cock satisfaction.
Dag buckled, shook, Tommy blowing his socks off. I was sure the grizzled bear was blasting his load, dousing his partner’s throat in man-juice. So my own hips took flight, my ground-down stick of dynamite primed for explosion.
