Best Gay Erotica 2010, page 3
“What about this?” Jake said, picking up a beer bottle. He swigged the dregs then got the mouth and neck of the bottle slobbery. He spread one of Bowser’s cheeks and brought the bottle to his asshole. “Watch,” he said to Nate, and pressed it in. Bowser groaned as the bottle entered him. Jake pushed it as far as it could go. He took his hand away and the bottle stayed. Jake and Conrad chuckled.
“You wanna try it?” Jake said, looking to Nate. Nate kicked off his shorts and went over to Bowser, taking the base of the bottle in his hand. He could feel the tight grip of Bowser’s asshole around the bottle’s neck as he pulled it out then in. “No need to be gentle,” Jake said, taking the bottle from Nate. He jammed it hard and steady, and Bowser only whimpered and backed up for more.
Conrad left and came back with a huge pump-top bottle of lube. He set it on the counter. Jake reached over and squirted some in his palm.
“What are you doing?” Conrad said.
“First dibs, man—you got it last time.”
“New guy gets first dibs,” Conrad said.
“Whatever,” Jake said, grimacing. “Here, let me see your dick.” He took hold of Nate’s cock with his lubed palm and got it slick. Then he removed the bottle from Bowser’s ass and set it on the counter with a clink. He put more lube on Bowser’s hole. “He’s ready for you, dude. Have at it.”
“Relax, man. I don’t think he’s done this before,” Conrad said.
“No way,” Jake said. Nate blushed.
“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” Conrad whispered in Nate’s ear. “Go as slow or fast as you want—don’t sweat it if you pop quick.”
“Fuck him, man,” Jake said.
“Somebody fuck me,” Bowser said. Conrad helped get Nate’s dick inside. The heat was what struck him—like a rolled-up electric blanket. It was tight, too. He felt like he should hold still and get his bearings, but some instinct took over and he backed out, then shoved it right back in. He was drunk, high and tripping, and Bowser’s ass was drawing him in like water down a drain.
Jake had reached underneath Bowser and was whacking him off. “He’s gonna shoot already,” he said of Nate.
Conrad said in Nate’s ear: “Cum inside him, man—lube it up for the next guy.”
“I think he’s already cumming,” Jake said, and it was true. Nate’s juice had just spilled out of him, the tenor of the room so pitched that it felt like the continuation of a sustained climax.
He was done so he slid out. Conrad clapped him on the shoulder. Jake had taken his place and was making a show of slapping his boner against Bowser’s sloppy hole.
“Behold the master at work,” Conrad said. “At least he’d like to think so.” There was no denying that Bowser perked up when he felt Jake’s hog at his back door, a fact that made Nate feel slightly inadequate. Bowser spread his cheeks and waited. Finally Jake slid it home.
“Fuck,” Bowser cried out. Jake’s fuck was showy; he ran his hands through his dreads, flexed his abs as he swung his hips in slick little thrusts. Nate watched, amazed at the sight of something so large breaching something so small, the rim of Bowser’s asshole stretching elastically around Jake’s cock.
Jake went on for a good ten minutes before he stepped aside to give Conrad a turn.
“Wish me luck,” Conrad said to Nate. Hot as it had been to watch Jake’s big dick pierce Bowser’s butt, Nate liked watching Conrad the best. Conrad really seemed to enjoy himself, varying his thrusts between quick jabs with the head and long pistons inward. He clutched Bowser’s torso as he screwed, sliding his dick all the way out, poising it at the entrance, and driving it back inside. Jake did the duty of jerking Bowser off, the three of them going at it like a well-oiled machine, or maybe just a well-practiced routine.
Conrad was obviously going for the gold. His thrusts got faster and his face flushed red.
“Oh, man, he’s blowing,” Jake said of Bowser. Conrad took hold of Bowser’s ass and pounded it even more savagely. His eyes found Nate’s. He was breathing like a locomotive and it was obvious he was cumming. “Yeah, man, cream that ass,” Jake was saying, but Conrad’s eyes never left Nate’s, not even after he’d finished, relaxing his body onto Bowser’s, catching his breath. He gave Bowser’s butt a slap and slid out.
“Thanks for the good time,” he said.
“Whenever, chief,” Bowser said, turning around. His cock dripped on the linoleum as he walked to the fridge. He chugged a carton of orange juice.
“Guess you’re spending the night,” Conrad said to Nate.
They said goodnight to the others. Bowser shook his hand and said, “Good job.”
“You’ll get better,” Jake said. Still half-hard, he led Bowser to the couch. Apparently the party wasn’t over yet.
Conrad motioned for Nate to follow him. Just before they turned down the hall, Nate looked back to realize the front door was still open.
From the road you could see inside: just enough to make you wonder.
THE STRAY
David May
Some are more human than others.
—Stevie Smith
Bud was discovered, as strays often are, wet, cold, and shivering in the back patio of the Seattle Eagle. It was commonly assumed that Bud had had parents and a family at some time in his life, and even a proper name, but none of this information was forthcoming. Stories spread rapidly that he’d been kidnapped and imprisoned and had only just managed to escape with his life, but with no memory of life prior to his enslavement (for cable television had supplied numerous such stories to draw on); or that he was the victim of some cruel Master who, having provided Bud with a brain injury, abandoned his amnesiac slave to Fate. While none of the scenarios being woven about his past proved to be true, neither was there ever a satisfactory explanation of Bud’s beginnings.
The facts were these: the day manager found Bud huddled in the back of the bar’s patio. Being a kind man, the day manager knelt beside him and asked, “What’s your name, bud?”
And from that moment, he answered to Bud.
The bar’s manager and staff then took it upon themselves to look after Bud, to feed and clothe him, to keep him warm and safe—just until he was able to tell them what had happened. Bud, it should be noted, had an almost unearthly handsomeness, with a compact, well-muscled, furry body; high cheekbones, and devastating green eyes complemented by a sexy scruffiness that appeared permanent. Being that sexy and that handsome, as well as agreeable, his presence was something of a commodity. Soon Bud was working at the door of the Eagle on weekends and sometimes as a towel boy at the bathhouse across the street. Customers were charmed by his guileless pleasure in being admired, to say nothing of his willingness to provide whatever pleasure his admirers might ask of him. Thus he was treated kindly, as strays often are when they are both beautiful and agreeable.
In no time, he was collared and well cared for by a Sir who saw in Bud all that was wild and wonderful in the world. He treated Bud gently but firmly, and Bud thrived under his care. Already free with his body, Bud had no qualms about repaying the Sir’s kindness with whatever sexual reciprocation was required of him. Sir loved Bud deeply, and when he learned that he had pancreatic cancer, he took steps to be certain that someone would take care of Bud after his death.
When Sir died, Bud didn’t weep, but uttered primal cries of despair. He wandered about the apartment looking for someone he knew would never return, burying his face in Sir’s pillow and finding comfort in what remained of the man’s scent. He was adopted then, as strays frequently are when orphaned, by Sir’s friends, a couple known as the Bills. Bud slept between them, or in a pile of blankets on the floor, accepting their attentions, sexual and otherwise, with a kind of acquiescence that they found touching. In addition to cleaning house for the Bills (and Bud was nothing if not obsessed with cleanliness) and working in their garden, Bud continued to work at the Eagle on weekend nights, as a bathhouse towel boy on other nights, and as a purveyor of pleasure when the occasion arrived. Downstairs in the Bills’ playroom, Bud built himself a nook to sleep in. Closeted there, snug and secure in the dark he felt at home in, he slept through most of Seattle’s wet winter days. When the weather was fine, he slept naked, stretched out across a blanket on the back lawn, abandoning himself to the sun as if it were his only lover.
Late at night Bud would wander Capitol Hill, deftly leaping into trees, padding gently across rooftops, or gracefully running along back fences. When the moon was full, he would sit on the rooftop and stare at it for hours, finding comfort in the cold light and the smells of the night. Then he’d stretch, and gracefully, almost silently, leap to a tree, then the fence, and finally the wet, dewy earth. Shaking the pads of his feet dry, Bud quietly returned to the warmth of the Bills’ bed, where he would sleep succored by the scent and warmth of the men who had taken over his care.
When awake, Bud watched the world around him with constant curiosity, alert to subtle shifts in his surroundings. He listened carefully to every word said within his earshot, sometimes repeating what had been said word for word weeks, or even months, later. Other than these few odd habits (odd habits not being uncommon among strays), Bud smiled when expected to smile and laughed when it was proper to laugh. In short, he seemed not quite normal, but normal enough, and content with his life.
Years passed, and one May the Bills decided to take Bud with them to Chicago for International Mr. Leather. They had gone in previous years, off and on, but had been disinclined to spend their money on Bud’s airfare and food, leaving Bud at home to take care of himself. When they returned, Bud was happy to see them, seeking some sign of affection—a slap on the ass, a cock down his throat, a fierce dry fuck while he bent over the toilet—to assure himself that he was still loved. This year, however, the Bills realized that they were losing their edge, having passed the peak of their appeal as Daddies, and decided to bring Bud with them, thus securing for themselves the status of Slave Owners, and so increasing their desirability.
Bud did not take easily to being on a leash, but complied despite his desire to run free. Being led about, dressed in new gear (rubber, leather, camouflage), on display, was not something he was well suited to, but neither was being punished, so he obeyed. Not liking the crowds at the event, Bud would, when surrounded by so many admiring strangers, lean into one or both of the Bills for safety. For this he was teased but fondly caressed, and so it became a part of his strategy for survival in the noisy vastness of the hotel’s lobby. That the Bills sometimes sold his ass to strangers was of less concern to him than that he not be restrained or caged, so he remained docile while keeping an eye on the exit, a ploy common to strays whose survival depends on the kindness of others.
Late Saturday night, after an orgy that might have exhausted others (an orgy to which the Bills’ entrance had only been made possible by their ownership of so beautiful a boy), Bud’s owners collapsed into bed, snoring away almost as soon as their heads hit their pillows. Bud, accidentally left unfettered for the night, removed the leash and most of his clothes before exploring the halls and stairwells of the enormous hotel. He sniffed the air hoping to find what he was looking for, what he sensed was waiting for him.
He found men in every out-of-the-way corner, singly or in groups, wherever he looked, men unused to so much stimulus and unable to sleep for fear they miss something, men stumbling back to their beds after a night of dreamlike debauchery, men waiting in the doors of their rooms hoping for one more fuck. Some of these men reached out to him, called to him with thick, urgent voices, but Bud ignored them. They were not what he sought; they were not the one he knew was so near.
He entered the lobby bar with reluctance, even as his instincts urged him forward. A good number of men still congregated there during the late hour, some of them sad enough to earn Bud’s sympathy. He moved lithely through the milling men, eyes and ears alert. Some were laughing too loudly, some sobbing into oversized cocktails over a lover’s faithlessness; others basked in the glow of so many men, absorbing the pheromones that filled the air. And there, in the center of it all, was the one Bud sought, the one he’d sensed was there since his arrival two days before.
Bud stood and stared. The man stared back.
The man was tall, powerfully built, thick legged, and almost impossibly muscular. His sandy blond mane of thick hair was in need of cutting; a full beard covered his face almost up to the cheekbones. His mouth was large and sensual; his brown eyes glinted yellow when the light caught them; his bare arms, chest, and back were thickly matted with fur.
Someone said something funny, and he laughed, his laugh a roar, his chuckle a very loud purr. Surrounded by admirers, the man accepted their homage with a graceful acquiescence, gently touching one or another of them in their conversation, slapping another manfully on the back. Through all this camaraderie, though, he remained aloof, waiting as he was for Bud to find him. Very calmly leaving his flock of admirers, the stranger approached Bud, gently touching the small of Bud’s back, stepping close to Bud before whispering, “There’s my little bro.”
Bud’s heart stopped in his throat.
“Are you my brother?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Big bro?”
“That’s right.”
There was a kiss, gentle and deep, strong and tender, that laid claim to Bud as neither Sir nor the Bills had ever done. Big Bro put a hand on Bud’s tightly covered ass and walked away with him amidst the applause, the ohs and ahs and laughter of those who had hoped for Big Bro’s attention and now wished that they could watch the coupling to come.
Big Bro led Bud out of the hotel and hailed a cab. Nearly naked, Bud wrapped himself around Big Bro more for protection than for warmth in the night’s quite cool spring air, hiding what was exposed from an uncertain world. The cab raced along the lake, Bud nestling into the vast furriness of Big Bro’s chest, Big Bro stroking Bud’s scruffy cheeks and chuckling so loudly that it sounded more than ever like a purr.
When they reached their destination, a tower overlooking the lake, its height threatening to scrape the sky with fairy tale-like accuracy, Big Bro led Bud by the hand inside and up the elevator to a vista frequented more by birds than men.
Bud stared into the open space beyond the window for several minutes, watching the moon’s reflection on the lake that was so much like a small sea. Big Bro wrapped his arms around Bud, nibbling Bud’s ear, caressing Bud’s nipples, purring.
“Is this my new home, Big Brother?”
“Yes, little bro. This is where you belong.”
Bud knelt and removed his boots and socks, then the tight leather shorts that had been his only other clothing. Kneeling before Big Bro, he undid the button fly and pulled aside the leather jeans to better see what was to possess him. Unleashed suddenly from the confines of the leather, the thick phallus slapped Bud sharply across the face. Bud flinched slightly before opening his mouth and inhaling Big Bro’s mammoth member to the root. Big Bro rocked back and forth on his booted feet, his gloved hands caressing the back of Bud’s head as he pushed his cock in and out of Bud’s throat.
“Oh, little bro, oh, little bro…”
The rhythm of the rocking increased in speed, and Big Bro’s murmurs became more guttural. Holding the back of Bud’s head, he fucked Bud’s mouth long and hard until, screaming, he exploded and shot his seed down Bud’s anxious and hungry throat. Bud felt the head of the cock expand and burst, felt the ribbons of manhood cascade down his throat, and he eagerly swallowed even as the still hard cock was removed from his mouth.
After Big Bro had come to himself and had caught his breath, he knelt down next to Bud and kissed him with more longing than he had before, with more desire, more love. He held Bud close, letting their furry pelts rub against each other, kissing Bud, licking the sweat from Bud’s face and neck. Bud responded in kind, purring with pleasure at the rough texture of his lover’s tongue as it scraped against his skin and fur. He helped Big Bro out of his boots, leather jeans, harness, armbands and gloves. Licking the hairy flesh as it was newly exposed, making Big Bro purr in return, Bud sought only to please him, to mark him as his own, even as Big Bro had marked him.
Big Bro dove into Bud’s hairy ass, parting the furry cheeks with his huge paws while his tongue sought the musk of Bud’s sex, the new center of his own joy. On his stomach, Bud felt the rough tongue pluming the depths of his fuck hole, and kneaded the carpet just as Big Bro’s paws were kneading his buttcheeks. Bud lost himself in the pleasure of the grooming, of the bearded face against his furry buttcheeks, in the need mounting in his own loins.
Bud was roughly turned over onto his back, his legs wrapping themselves over Big Bro’s broad, hirsute shoulders. Big Bro’s cock found its target and entered the snug cavern where so many men had spilled their spawn, but which would now make room only for Big Bro’s essence. He entered slowly, ever alert for whatever sensations were revealed in his lover’s face, as eager to please as to be pleased. Bud gasped, only partly from the pain of being split so roughly apart, and partly from anticipation of the coming ecstasy. He nodded, and Big Bro pushed forward, slowly sliding into the hairy hole, into the depths of Bud’s body and soul.
The scent of their pheromones thickened the air around them, adding to the urgency of their need to couple, to climax face-to-face, to know and share the agony of the coming climax. They kissed roughly as they fucked, their teeth clashing together while their tongues wrestled for control. Big Bro pushed forward as Bud met each thrust with his own, his cock arching high into the air as Big Bro’s manhood drove deeper and faster into Bud’s body.
They came together. Big Bro’s cock once again exploded, expanding and stretching the confines of Bud’s guts. With Big Bro’s final thrust, Bud’s body arched toward the ceiling as he ejaculated, covering them both with cum. What Big Bro couldn’t catch in his mouth, he licked from the matted hair on Bud’s body, even as Bud returned the favor by cleaning Big Bro’s sweaty body.
