Hot Gay Erotica, page 17
“Gigi,” he tells me—and he calls me Gigi to keep me in my place, to remind me that he is the manly one in this encounter—“get down on your knees.”
And so I do, the joints creaking as much from lack of practice as age. I’m only fifty-two, after all.
“Hands behind your back, Gigi.” The silk scarf he loops round my wrists is more symbolic than practical, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m ceding control to him, making myself helpless before the power of his desire.
Although the knots hold firm when I try them. That alone sends the blood pumping into my cock, my erection jutting straight out.
Sir notices and laughs. “What a dirty girl you are,” he says, rubbing his jeans-clad calf along the length of my manhood. “But we’re not here for your pleasure, are we? We’re here for mine.”
He reaches for his waistband—one of the things I love about these encounters is that he stays almost entirely dressed throughout, while I’m naked on the floor—and then takes his fingers away.
“Ask for it, Gigi.”
“Please, Sir, let me suck on you. Put your dick in my mouth, please.” I grovel, begging him for the chance just to lick the sweat from his balls.
My cock is almost slapping against my stomach.
He lets me plead some more and then unzips his fly. There’s no underwear to contend with—he knew why he was coming over, after all. His cock springs out, long and thick, with a blunt, broad head and a fringe of black pubic hair curling around the base.
I moan, trapped somewhere between anticipation and need.
He smiles and touches his shaft, running his long, tapered fingers over the length of it. “I do have a nice prick, don’t I?”
It’s not a rhetorical question, and I hurry to assure him that he is in possession of the most wondrous, desirable, gorgeous piece of manflesh I’ve ever seen.
“Well, Gigi, since you like it so much, I’ll let you have a taste.” He twines his fingers in my hair, using my gray locks to guide my watering mouth to his shaft.
His grip is firm, and for the first few seconds, all I can do is slobber over his cockhead, swiping my tongue across the velvety, hard surface. He likes it when I point my tongue for a dip into his piss-slit, so I do this repeatedly, delighting in his throaty moans.
He rewards me by feeding more of his meat into my mouth, pushing past my lips in a quest for my tonsils. My tongue traces the network of veins scrolling around his shaft, and my cheeks ache from stretching to contain his girth.
I slide my head back and forth as much as his grip will allow. My spit coats his shaft, and it emerges shiny and slick from my mouth, only to plunge back in, deeper with every stroke.
He increases the pace, thrusting his hips against my face until the broad tip of his cockhead bumps against the back of my throat. All my years of cocksucking, and I still haven’t been able to master that involuntary gag reflex.
“Let me fuck your throat, Gigi,” Sir pants, drawing my head back a fraction. “I want to come in your stomach.” I tip my head back just a fraction, the signal we’ve developed to let him know he’s free to barrel on full bore.
And barrel on he does, slamming into my mouth as fast as he can, short rabbit strokes pushing his cock into the very top of my throat, shifting my tonsils out of position with the force of his urgency.
His pubic hair is scratching against my face, my nose crashing into his stomach with every stroke. My mind is reeling from the lack of oxygen, every breath I take full of nothing but his scent, his sweat, his passion.
When he comes, he erupts with a hot load that spills down my throat faster than I can swallow. It bubbles past my lips, dripping onto my chest.
Sir pulls out of my sloppy mouth, wiping his soft shaft against my hair before tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up. He gazes at me, spunk-covered and rock hard, kneeling naked on the floor before him.
“You’re a mess, Gigi. A girl should take a little more pride in her appearance.” None too gently, he tips me forward so I fall onto my stomach. I feel my erection pinned between my weight and the unyielding floor.
“Nonetheless, I think you deserve a little reward for such a spectacular blow job.” He walks to the corner of the room and rummages in his duffel bag. “Don’t you?”
“Please, Sir, I’d much rather you fucked me,” I beg, desperate to feel his cock inside me.
“Oh, I will, don’t you worry,” he replies. “But first I want to see if this works.” He kicks my legs apart and squats next to my ass. “Do I need to lube you up or are you ready for me?”
A thick finger thrust past my sphincter answers his question. “You’re shameless. What are you going to do if that boy of yours wants to rim you and finds you taste of cherry lube?” He begins to pump his finger in and out rhythmically, and soon my hips rise to meet his thrust. “Or are you such a desperate slut that you just don’t care?”
“As long as you keep doing that, I don’t care about anything at all,” I reply. “Give me another finger?”
“I’ve got something better than that,” he says. I feel a cold, thin shaft slipping between my cheeks. “A silver bullet, as it were.”
Suddenly I am stuffed full. The cool metal pushes in just far enough to rest against my prostate.
My breath is coming quick and shallow, and I thrust my hips upward, desperate for Sir to give me more.
“See, that is nice,” he says. “You’re already squirming like a fish on the line. And it’s got a little handle so I can fuck you with it.” He slides the dildo back and forth, sending paroxysms of pleasure shooting through my body. “Plus there’s an added surprise.”
Just then my phone rings, its caterwauling cries cutting right through my moans.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s my phone,” I gasp, panting as he continues to plumb my bowels.
“Should I answer it?” He twists the shaft within me, stimulating a whole new set of nerves. “Or do you want to talk?”
“The…machine…will…get…,” I pant, my cock flexing madly beneath me.
“But that ringing is getting on my nerves,” Sir says, straightening up. “I think I will get it.” He reaches down and flips a switch on the dildo before striding over to the phone.
I didn’t know if he answered it or the machine picked up or what—and I didn’t care. When Sir flipped that switch, he set the dildo to vibrating what felt like a million times a second. And it was still nestled right against my prostate.
Naked, bound, on the floor of my own apartment, I shot my load while a buzzing metal shaft shook between my cheeks. All the while Sir looked on, a superior smile on his face.
Would I have come without him watching? Probably, but not as hard. And he knew it.
“You do enjoy making a spectacle of yourself don’t you?” he asked, plucking the toy from my bowels and tossing it into his bag. I blushed scarlet, feeling the red heat of embarrassment all the way down to my shoulders. “But I must admit the sight was rather stirring. Makes me want to fuck you.”
He knelt between my legs, and slipped his cock into my well-stretched bung. “But don’t worry, Gigi. I muted your phone, so we won’t have to worry about any more interruptions.”
Once he had the initial orgasm out of the way, Sir could fuck for hours, and we enjoyed a long, leisurely screw. Or he enjoyed it, while I, lying in the slick puddle of my own pleasure, moaned through the ecstasy of being thoroughly used.
He untied me and left. A quick shower and much-needed mop-up of my study later, I was revitalized.
A blissful afternoon in the studio followed, where I did some of the best work I’ve managed in a long time. Completely wrapped up in questions of form and line, I didn’t notice time passing. The sun had dropped well below the horizon when Marco burst into my studio, looking frantic.
“Gregory! What’s wrong? Why didn’t you answer the phone?” He glanced around the studio, looking for bandages, perhaps, or iodine solution. “I thought you were hurt in here!”
“Marco,” I soothed, suppressing the urge to shoot a guilty look at the phone. “I just never even heard it ring. I’m sorry. Of course I would have answered you. I’ve been right here the whole time.” The words were easier to say, of course, because they were all true, if one discounted that first call.
“There must be something wrong with your phone.” Marco stalked out into the hallway to retrieve my mobile. “You’ve got this on mute!”
“Do I?” I walked out to join him. “I dropped it earlier. Maybe I hit a button? Is it broken?”
“No,” he laughed. “You just slide this little lever here on the side. It’s not broken.” He kissed me on the nose, beaming with affection. “My poor Daddy. You really are helpless with this stuff, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “Whatever would I do without you?”
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
NICK ALEXANDER was born in 1964 in the United Kingdom and has lived and worked both there and in the United States, and has traveled widely. He now lives with two cats and three goldfish in Nice, France. He is editor of the biweekly satirical news site www.BIGfib.com, and his work has appeared in the UK magazine reFRESH. His successful first novel, 50 Reasons to Say Goodbye, was published in 2004 to much critical acclaim. AXM magazine described 50 Reasons as “Gay literature at its finest and most original.” The sequel, Sottopassaggio, was published in 2005 to positive reviews. For more information or to contact the author please visit his website at www.nick-alexander.com.
JONATHAN ASCHE’s work has appeared in numerous magazines, including Playguy, Inches, Torso, Honcho, Men, and In Touch for Men, as well as the anthologies Friction 3, Three the Hard Way, Manhandled, Buttmen 2 and 3, Best Gay Erotica 2004, and Best Gay Erotica 2005. He is also the author of the erotic novel Mindjacker, published in 2003. He lives in Atlanta with his husband, Tomé.
One Halloween, STEVE BERMAN gave head to a straight guy in a graveyard. Lately he hasn’t matched the audacity of that October act with anything other than writing stories with queer and weird elements. He has three times been nominated for a Spectrum Award, has published more than sixty short stories and articles, and has a collection of odd plush monsters. His young adult novel, Vintage, featuring a very gay ghost, releases in 2007. He currently resides in southern New Jersey, which is the only state that has an official devil.
An advocate for the fluid nature of boundaries in art+word+ deed, JOE BIRDSONG and his work have been featured in Gay City News, the Village Voice, HX, Next, www.nyhotsex.com, Creative Loafing, Popcorn Magazine, and the Southern Voice. He is a board member on the online forum in NYC, www.motherboardsnyc.com. When not writing, constructing an erotic art film (The PunkSpunk Series), or curating flaming forums [Flaming Slips (of the Tongue), Qwe’re Musicfest], Birdsong receives mail for Quentin Crisp at his East Village home.
KAL COBALT shares an apartment with a number of lively muses, an array of technogeek paraphernalia, and as steady a supply of green tea ice cream as possible. Just four blocks away, there is a tree-laden, perfectly paved neighborhood awaiting Sunday afternoons. K. C.’s stories have seen print online in Velvet Mafia, Clean Sheets, Fishnet, hand.tooth.nail, and Suspect Thoughts, and in SMUT Magazine and others. Find out more at www.kalcobalt.com.
JAIME CORTEZ is a cultural worker in California. His writing has appeared in a dozen anthologies, his visual art has been exhibited at numerous California galleries, and he edited the anthology Virgins, Guerrillas & Locas. He has worked as a high school teacher in Japan, at the AIDS Memorial Quilt, and at Galería De La Raza, and has lectured on art and activism at Stanford, Berkeley, UC Santa Barbara, University of Pennsylvania, and the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. He is pursuing his MFA in art at Berkeley, and can be reached at beardevil@hotmail.com.
WAYNE COURTOIS is author of My Name Is Rand. His work has appeared online in Suspect Thoughts and Velvet Mafia, and in journals and anthologies such as Harrington Gay Men’s Literary Quarterly; Of the Flesh; Love Under Foot; Best Gay Erotica 2005; Out of Control; Walking Higher: Gay Men Write About the Deaths of Their Mothers; and I Do/I Don’t: Queers on Marriage. He lives in Kansas City, Missouri. Visit him at www.waynecourtois.com.
DOUG HARRISON has written book reviews, essays, and short stories for the ’zines Black Sheets and Body Play. His short stories have appeared in the anthologies Men Seeking Men, Still Doing It, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Gay Erotica 2001, Best S/M Erotica, Tough Guys, Guilty Pleasures, Kink, Bearotica, Sex Buddies, and Bad Boys. He is working on a novel about the late-twentieth-century leather scene, and lives in Hawaii with his partner Bill Brent, and can be reached at pumadoug@hawaii.rr.com.
VINCENT KOVAR writes articles, essays, fiction, and plays. His fiction has appeared in Blithe House Quarterly; his nonfiction has been published in Hungry? Seattle and Seattle: 150 Years of History, as well as in a variety of venues, including PlanetOut.com, Unzipped Monthly, Pride Magazine, Watermark , Southern Voice, Texas Triangle, and Seattle Gay News. He lives in Seattle.
DAVID MAY first made his mark writing for Drummer and other gay skin magazines in the 1980s, and is the author of Madrugada: A Cycle of Erotic Fictions. His work has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Mentsch, Kosher Meat, Flesh and the Word 3, and Best of Best Gay Erotica 2. He lives in Seattle (where he is still working on that damn novel) with his husband and two cats.
SYD MCGINLEY has lived in the United States since 1989; teaches college in a red state; thinks students would do better if they’d just do as they’re told, damn it; stays sane writing dirty stories; wrestles with the obligatory novel; and under-appreciates beloved Joe far too often. Publications for 2006 include Mimosa from Torquere Press’s Cherry Bomb line.
SEAN MERIWETHER’s fiction has been defined as dark realism. His work has appeared in Best Gay Love Stories 2006, Skin & Ink, and Best of Best Gay Erotica 2. In addition to writing, he has the pleasure of editing two online magazines, Outsider Ink (www.outsiderink.com) and Velvet Mafia: Dangerous Queer Fiction (www.velvetmafia.com). Sean lives in New York with his partner, photographer Jack Slomovits, and their two dogs. If you are interested in reading more of his work, stalk him online at www.seanmeriwether.com.
SCOTT POMFRET is coauthor of Hot Sauce, the first-ever same-sex marriage novel. Hot Sauce is one of the Romenticsbrand romance novels for gay men (www.romentics.com). He also writes short stories that have been published in Post Road; Genre; Fresh Men: New Gay Voices; Best Gay Love Stories 2005 and 2006; Best Gay Erotica 2005; and many other magazines and anthologies. For more information, visit www.scottpomfret.com.
C. B. POTTS, dedicated to providing the best one-handed reading available, churns out tons of smut from her Adirondack Mountain home, in between bouts of science fiction and responsible journalism. More info at www.cbpotts.net.
RICHARD REITSMA grew up in the Great Lakes State, and now teaches Spanish and Comparative Literature at Goucher College in Baltimore, specializing in contemporary literary movements, literature of the Americas, magic realism, and gay and lesbian studies. He is working on his PhD through Washington University–Saint Louis, examining the construction of sexuality in plantation fiction from the American South and the Caribbean; and he has published an interview with author Christopher Bram in Harrington Gay Men’s Quarterly. He is currently working on a collection of short stories. “Argentina” was previously presented at the Lynchburg College Gender Studies Symposium in 2001.
ROB STEPHENSON’s writing appears online and in print in such publications as Mascara, Skin & Ink, Between the Palms, Blithe House Quarterly, BUTT, Dangerous Families, Problem Child, Best Gay Erotica, Tough Guys, and Perspectives on Evil and Human Wickedness. He has written introductions to two of Samuel R. Delany’s books, HOGG (Fiction Collective 2), and The Motion of Light in Water (a Triangle Classic from Insight-Out book club). Visit www.RAWBE.com
CAT TAILOR’s work includes the BDSM novel In the Spider’s Web, the adult game The Pansexual Perverts’ Play Pack, the sex advice column “Chasing Your Tail? Ask Cat: Advice for Fuckers, Players, and Perverts” on www.shadesbeyondgray.com, and short stories that have appeared at www.twobigmeanies.com, www.sexuality.org, www.shadesbeyondgray.com, The Bottom Line, Amoret Online, and the ’zine Problem Child. She has been interviewed on Playboy Radio and “SexLife Live.” Her website is www.CatTailor.com, email CatTailor@gmail.com.
JAMES WILLIAMS is the author of …But I Know What You Want. His fiction has appeared widely in print and online publications and anthologies, including Best American Erotica 1995, 2001, and 2003, all edited by Susie Bright; Best Gay Erotica 2002, 2004, and 2005, all edited by Richard Labonté; and Best SM Erotica and Best SM Erotica 2, both edited by M. Christian. He made his nonfiction debut with “The Mother and Child Reunion” in Walking Higher: Gay Men Write About the Deaths of Their Mothers, edited by Alexander Renault. He was the subject of profile interviews in Different Loving and Sex: An Oral History. His slightly stagnant website can be found at www.jaswilliams.com.
ABOUT THE EDITOR
RICHARD LABONTÉ has been series editor of Best Gay Erotica since 1997. He writes a book review column, “Book Marks,” for Q Syndicate, and a monthly newsletter about gay books, Books To Watch Out For. For a change of pace, he also edits writing about such subjects as IT management best practices and what’s new about the natural gas pipeline infrastructure of Ontario. He lives in rural Perth and more-rural Calabogie, Ontario, with his husband Asa.
