All Male Fiction: Selling My Soul

By: Tommyhawk1 & Ryan Michaels

Tonight, one of the local gay bars was having a Halloween party. Costumes were optional so I thought I'd go for a few drinks and check things out.

I had just gotten a drink at the bar, turned around, and nearly ran right into Adam. I goggled at the hair my fingers longed to run through, the eyes my longings dove into every time I looked into them, the smile that tore my heart out without ever leaving those lovely, languid, luscious lips... okay, that's not the best alliterative poetic phrase ever concocted, but god, that's how I felt about Adam.

But I was now confronted with Adam dressed in a football uniform, his costume complete with shoulder pads, those tight football pants, and it appeared he was even wearing a jock with a cup.

"Hey Scott, how you doing?" Adam put one hand on my shoulder. God, those shoulders of his, those magnificent bulges of the man who worked out just enough to give his body that perfect amount of definition, the rounded shoulders, the bulging biceps…

"Muh-uh?" I mumbled. My lips were numb, because all my blood, all my passion, all my desires, had pooled underneath that hand, throbbing there, wanting only to be with him, only him, always.

"Well, catch you later," Adam said, and withdrawing that hand and sending my heart down into my shoes, he smiled at me and then turned and walked away. My eyes fed upon the sight of that perfect pair of ovals that were being hugged tightly by those football pants until the press of other people's bodies closed it off from my sight, and when it did, all I could do was sigh.

"You missed out on him again, didn't you?" came an exasperated sound.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"You want him that much, why don't you go get him?"

"I've tried," I protested. "I... I just can't. God, I'd... I'd sell my soul for a chance with him, a real chance!"

"Your terms are accepted," the voice said.

"Huh?" I turned around at that. I'd been carrying on a heck of a conversation with this guy who had come up behind me, a stranger come to think about it.

Black hair, dark eyes, a goatee that came to an excruciating painful looking point at the end, heavy eyebrows, and dark brown skin above a suit of black with a dark gray sweater under the jacket. He was dressed as the Devil.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm the answer to your problems," the man smiled at me, and it was an evil smile, befitting of his Devil costume.

"Oh really, how's that?" I asked.

"It's simple really, I just grant your wish."

"My wish?"

"Yes, your wish, your desire to be with Adam."

"And how would you make that wish come true?" I asked with a laugh.

"It's quite easy. You just stated you'd sell your soul to the Devil in exchange for a chance with that boy."

"Oh, and let me guess, you are really the Devil, right?" I laughed.

Without answering my question, he simply responded with, "Of course, if you didn't really mean what you said, I won't hold you to it."

"Sure, whatever you say, buddy!" I replied and turned to walk off.

"Wait!" he exclaimed and I turned to look at him once more. "Maybe this will convince you that I have the power to give you what your heart desires."

He waved a hand and the crowd parted like Moses had parted the Red Sea. They weren't knocked aside; it was like they all decided to move at the same time, a coincidence that happens now and then. Only this coincidence put Adam and me in plain view of each other. Adam looked at me from across the room, scanning my body, and then he locked his eyes on mine and smiled.

"How did… That's impossible… You-you can't really be…" I babbled unable to form full sentences.

"So what do you say? Have we got a deal?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know what's going on here, I must be dreaming or hallucinating, but yeah, you've got yourself a deal! You get me Adam and you can have my soul!"

"The bargain is confirmed," the Devil said, and I looked at him puzzled. "It's what we do instead of having people sign their name in blood," he assured me. "Now that we have a binding agreement, I'll just fetch Adam over here and you can take it from there."

The Devil wiggled a finger at Adam, a 'come here' wiggle of the index finger, and Adam immediately began to walk forward, through that aisle of people who had kindly stepped out of the way.

As Adam made his approach, I turned to look behind me and the Devil was nowhere to be seen now. Out somewhere poisoning kittens and pushing little old ladies into the paths of 18-wheeled trucks, I guess.

When I turned back around Adam was right in front of me. "Hey Scott, you're looking good. Have you been working out?"

It was a cheesy line but at least it was a line, and Adam was using it on me! "No, not really," I mumbled nervously.

"Oh, well your body looks great. You should have worn a costume to the party, maybe like a Tarzan costume, you know, just a loin cloth, show off that hot body of yours."

I couldn't believe the words coming out of Adam's mouth, or better yet, that they were being said to me. I didn't know how to respond and just blurted, "You too… I mean your body looks great, too."

"Thanks," he replied with a smile. "I work out regularly."

"It shows," I replied bashfully.

"Well, what you see isn't all me. I mean these are shoulder pads," he said touching his shoulders, "and this," he said knocking on his crotch and laughing, "isn't all me making this obscenely large bulge. That's all just my cup," he said, looking down at it and cupping his hands around it to show off the sizable mound protruding from his crotch.

Seeing him tapping on his cup-covered crotch and then looking at it and groping it made my cock twitch in my pants. And then he let go of it, chuckled, and look back up at me. "Not that I need a cup to make a big bulge, believe me, I don't. It's just part of the costume; I wanted to make the look as authentic as possible." That remark made my cock do more than twitch, and made my mouth salivate.

I knew I wasn't drunk, for I hadn't even had a chance to take a single sip from my first drink of the night yet, and I hadn't done any drugs, so I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, and it was then that I knew, as unbelievable as it sounded, that the man in the devil costume had to have really been the actual Devil. There was no other explanation for what I had seen or for how Adam was acting toward me.

"Hello?" Adam said waving his hands in front of my face. I had gone into a daze, talking to myself in my own head, trying to comprehend things. I looked up at him. "Am I boring you?" he asked with a smile.

Before I could answer I heard a voice in my ear saying, "You've already sold your soul, so don't blow it now if you want to blow it later." I whipped my head over my shoulder and then looked behind me; no one was there. If I didn't believe that man was really the Devil before, I believed it now.

"Everything okay?" Adam asked looking puzzled by my strange behavior.

Uh, yeah, everything is great," I said. Better stop acting strange and just talk to him. I've sold my soul to the Devil for this chance, so like he said, I better not blow it, if I want to blow Adam! I said in my head. "Uh just caught up in the atmosphere of Halloween I guess; thought there was someone behind me," I replied to cover up my strange behavior. It's not like I could tell him the Devil was just whispering in my ear!

Adam laughed. "Yeah, Halloween can play some weird tricks on the imagination." I just smiled and nodded, even though I knew that it was not just my imagination. "Hey, you wanna dance?" Adam asked.

"Well I don't really dance, but I see the pool table is free. You want to play a round?"

"Sure," Adam agreed.

"And maybe after that, we can find some other way to play around," I punned. God, did I really just say that to Adam? I had! Not only was I no longer tongue-tied around him, but I was also flirting with him.

Adam laughed. "Let's see how well you handle your stick first and then we'll decide on that."

So we headed over and played a game. Adam won and so I offered to buy him a drink for winning the game. The conversation flowed freely now, and after downing a few drinks each Adam looked at his watch and said that he had to be going.

"Do you have to?" I blurted.

"Yeah, I came with my friend and he told me he had to leave by a certain time, and he's my ride." Adam excused himself to go and find his friend, and as he walked away I cursed the Devil for playing his evil games on me.

Adam came back about five minutes later. "I couldn't find him anywhere. I guess he found some action," Adam said with a disgruntled look.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked.

Adam looked at me, smiling and furrowing his brow. "How can getting some action not be a good thing?"

"It's just that you looked bummed out when you said it, that's all. I thought that since you came with him, maybe by 'friend' you meant he was your boyfriend or a friend with benefits or something."

"Nah, Jay isn't my boyfriend. We've never had sex, either; we're just friends, that's all. If I looked bummed when I said that it's because he was my ride home and now I'll have to take the bus."

What luck! Now I could offer to give Adam a ride home. Or was it luck? Maybe Adam's ride disappearing was arranged by the Devil. I quickly offered to drive Adam home and he accepted my offer just as quickly.

When we got to his place, Adam looked at me and said, "You want to come in for a bit?"

I looked at him and Adam was smiling at me, and when my eyes met his, his eyes dropped to my crotch. It was my dream come true, what I had been wishing and hoping for, but when I finally heard those words come out of his mouth I became extremely nervous.

Any other time I would have been tongue-tied for sure, made a fool of myself, and would have ended up going home and having to use my own hand, but the price I'd paid here was too damned high for that! I had to get what I had always wanted, get what I had sold my soul for, be a man and not a pathetic tongue-tied wimp, so I took a deep breath and said, "I'd love to!"

"My place is on the second floor," Adam said, and I followed him, my heart pounding. My dream, my wish, god, it was finally coming true!

I stepped through the door behind Adam and closed it behind me. As soon as I turned around, Adam lunged at me. Those beautiful arms went around me, those majestic lips sought out mine and those eyes were burning into me. I was rock hard in an instant and my dick was throbbing and already tingling in that way it does when you are about to... Oh god, I'm going to cream in my shorts! I thought.

I fought it off, and as my lips struggled with Adam's, my hands were touching him, touching him everywhere I could. I felt out the body that had haunted my dreams and it was so firm and hard, so muscular, and it was going to be mine, all mine, finally!

Adam's hands found my ass and he grunted as he pulled my hips roughly up against his and he rutted against my crotch, with the hard cup of his jockstrap pressing and rubbing against my leg.

My fingers were trembling as I pulled on the hem of his football jersey. Adam lifted his arms and I pulled the jersey up over his head and tossed it to the floor. He instantly lifted the large shoulder pad gear over his head and let it drop to the floor. His upper body was now exposed to me, all golden and gleaming.

As he kicked off his shoes, I knelt at the altar of his body and I kissed that small indentation at the bottom of his ribcage and just above the muscles of his abdomen. Then, I reached up and began to pull on the laces of his football pants. When I did that, Adam's eyes closed and he moaned quietly.

Adam bent over me as I continued to undo the laces, grabbing my own top, a pullover, and he shucked it from me and I was now as bare from the waist up as he was. His hands caught me under my armpits and he tugged and I rose again and his hands began to unfasten my belt and then fumble with the button and the zipper of my pants. I kicked off my own shoes, and my pants fell to my knees as his hands slipped into the back of my underwear and began to fondle my butt cheeks.

Adam's hands were smooth as they moved all over my bare ass, and then he removed them, pulled on the front of my briefs, and looked inside. My cock was not huge by any means, it was slightly above average, and kind of on the thin side, and when he saw it he nodded, which I assumed was his approval of its size, and then he looked up at me, smiled, and then shoved my underwear down.

I followed by tugging on either side of his football pants, spreading the laces I had previously unlaced, and then giving them a yank, sending them to his ankles.

There we stood, me naked, save for my socks, and he in nothing but his socks and that jockstrap, that jockstrap that had a cup in the pouch hiding from me any detail of what was inside, doing its job, protecting his pride and joy. It was time to relieve that jockstrap of its duties, for I was there now, and I wanted to be the one to protect Adam's balls with my hands and mouth and his cock with the warm folds of my mouth and the darkness and warmth of my asshole. It would be just as safe in me as it would be in that cup. I grabbed the elastic waistband and pulled it forward and then down.

Like mine, his cock was already hard, and it was magnificent - Larger than my own by about an inch, and a lot thicker too. Now, wearing only socks, we stepped away from our clothing and went to the bed. Adam sat down on it and held up his arms toward me, his cock a hard pillar beckoning me toward it.

Adam meant for me to go into his arms, but I couldn't resist that marvelous tower of manhood before me. I knelt instead and my mouth sunk over his cockhead and down his shaft.

"Oh, god, Scott, oh, oh fuck!" Adam moaned as I pulled back up again and was rewarded by a pearl of pre-cum upon my tongue. "Oh, shit, oh, fuck, mmm!" And now my mouth was sliding easily; his cock fit so well, so perfectly, as though it belonged there, and had all along.

"Scott, please, get up here with me," Adam groaned after a minute or so of this. I was blissfully sucking on him and his moan caused me to look up. "Come on, get up on the bed so I can give you a little of what you're giving me!"

My stomach was performing flip-flops as I complied, getting on the bed with my head toward the foot of the bed, and Adam moved his position so his head was at the top of the bed and scooted down to place his face at my crotch and put his own legs nearly all off the bottom of the bed. He got his hard-as-steel dick back to my level, and as I happily crammed it back inside my mouth I felt the warm moisture of his mouth encircle my cock and coat it with his hot saliva.

Adam's actions on my prick after that can only be described as ravenous; he was sucking me with a frantic edge that sent me reeling. Shit, I was close to creaming again. "Adam, Adam, stop, please stop!" I begged him.

Adam reluctantly released my cock. "Why?" he whined. "I've been waiting for this for so long, Scott. I always tried to talk to you, tried to get something going, but you would never talk to me, just mumble and look away, so I thought you weren't interested. When you agreed to come up here, I thought, wow, I'm finally going to get to sleep with him, and now that it is actually happening, you're asking me to stop? Why, am I not doing a good job? Doesn't it feel good?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Adam had wanted me the entire time I had wanted him? This must be true; it couldn't have been the Devil making him say that, for I could tell his words were sincere, that there had been a real longing there, just as I had longed for him; I could see it in his eyes. "It feels so good, and I have wanted this for a very long time, too," I hastily assured him. "I only asked you to stop because… well… it's just that... I want you to fuck me, Adam. Please fuck me."

"But I was going to get you to fuck me," Adam protested.

"Later," I promised him. "But for now, please, I've got to have this inside me," I said gazing at his hard cock and squeezing it gently. "I'm on the edge, and I'd never last if I was to put my cock in your ass right now." My cock jerked angrily at even the mention of the possibility.

"Okay," Adam panted. "But I'm not going to last very long either!"

"That's okay, just put it in me," I groaned. "That's all I need. Please!"

Adam nodded and grabbed a bottle of lube from his bedside table. He squeezed some on his cock and then handed the bottle to me. He spread the lube on his cock as he watched me lube my hole for him.

As soon as we were both lubed up, he got my legs up and got in between them and he pressed his cock against my asshole. "Oh fuck, push it in, push it in!" I moaned.

"I'm about to cum!" Adam warned me, his face flushed with desire, eyes glazed, mouth open, skin twinkling with sweat.

"I don't care, push it in, cream in me even if you don't thrust it in and out first! Please, Adam, please!"

 "Ohhhhh fuuuuuck! So tight! Oh, shit, I'm... uhh, uhh, uhh, AH-GAH-AH-HAHHH-GAHHH!" Adam's cock exploded inside of me as soon as it entered me, just as he had feared it would. I could feel the hot spunk as it shot deep into my ass. Adam hadn't even fucked me, just stuck it in and came right away, but I didn't care - I had Adam's cock, and his load, deep inside me and that's all that mattered.

"GUH-GUH-HUUNNNH-KUHHHH!" I moaned right after I felt his load flow inside me and I began squirting both of us with a heavy flood of cum, a load that had been building up ever since I'd first met Adam over a year ago. A year's worth of desire and need and yearning, it all blasted out of me and coated both of our stomachs with my jizz.

When I was done, Adam lay down on me, his cock still in my ass, and my cum glued us together as one. We were one, and this was all I'd ever wanted - Adam was in my arms and his cock was in my ass and my life was complete and my soul was... no longer mine to give to him!

We lay like that for just a few brief moments, and then Adam rolled off me, still panting hard, and said, "I told you I wouldn't last."

"It's okay," I chuckled ruefully. "I didn't either, you may have noticed."

Adam's fingers went to his stomach and I watched his fingertips play with the slick cum I'd layered onto him. "I noticed," he grinned.

"Sorry about that. I wanted to last, I wanted to fuck you, too."

"I wanted that too," Adam said. "And you will; I figure you and I rest for a couple of hours and then we can go at it again. I mean, if you don't mind spending the night," he said with a grin.

"I don't mind at all," I beamed at him.

Adam and I fucked twice more that night, the first time with me fucking him and the second with him giving me a proper fucking this time around.

When I woke up later, it was getting light outside. I went to the bathroom quietly, and then I leaned against the doorway wearing only my briefs, looking at Adam lying on the bed, the sheets all rumpled and his hair in disarray. His face bore a smile even in slumber.

I decided I'd check out his kitchen and see if I could make him a bit of breakfast without making a racket or a mess.

The man of the night before was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of food in front of him and a newspaper before him. "Ah, there you are," he said to me. "I was wondering if I'd have to come get you."

"Already?" I gulped.

"But of course," the man said, putting the paper aside as casually as if he were a businessman about to leave for work. "Now, if you're ready to fulfill your part of the bargain..."

"I guess so," I said. "But I had hoped to have some more time with Adam."

"And why wouldn't you have more time with Adam?"

I looked at him. His hair, it wasn't black; it was more of a brown, a brown that lightened by the minute, it seemed. His skin, too, was lighter-toned. Well, the Devil can look like anything he wants to. "I assumed you were coming to take me to Hell," I admitted.

"Hell? Oh, I don't have anything to do with Hell. Nasty place, I assure you; you don't want to go there."

"But... but you bought my soul."

"In exchange for giving you a chance with the love of your life," the man agreed. Now his hair was very light brown, and his skin was totally Caucasian pale. "Now, I ask you, what would the Devil know about love? Ask him to give you power or cause trouble for someone, he's the go-to guy, I admit. But love? He couldn't make a boy pigeon fall in love with a girl pigeon much less, people."

"So… who are you, then?"

"Who am I?" The hair was now completely blond, even blonder than Adam's. "I'm the poor angel assigned to you, who's been trying to do his job right for the longest time. But you've been too busy wetting your pants every time Adam came by to give me the slightest chance to put the two of you together."

"You're my guardian angel?"

"In the flesh," the man agreed. "I kept pushing Adam your way, the perfect man for you, and every time he got near enough to see you, you blew it. So when you made that offer of your soul for the chance with him, I grabbed it. I agree that's more a tactic used by the other side, but since it worked, I'm not complaining."

"Me, neither," I agreed, with a great deal of relief. "So... now what?"

"Now what? I own you, Scott," the man said. "You have to do exactly what I tell you from now on. I bought your soul at a fair price, remember?"

Uh-oh. This didn't sound good. Was my guardian angel about to join the forces of Darkness? "So what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go back to Adam and love him," my angel said. "I want you to love him for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others until death do you part, that's what I want. You think you can manage that?"

I had to smile at that. "I sure hope so," I agreed. "I'll try my best."

"Good, then that's settled," the angel said. "Now get hopping. I've got a busy and very happy life planned for you, and since I own you now, you'd better get started on it. Why don't you take Adam out for breakfast instead of breaking eggs and burning toast for him like you usually do when you try to cook? And on Monday, we're signing you up for a couple of cooking classes so you can fix breakfast in bed for him from time to time."

"Yes Master," I said playfully and went off to wake Adam to make the suggestion.

I had sold my soul for love. And from the look of things, I had just made the best bargain of my life!

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All Male Fiction: On the Mat

By: Unknown Author & Ryan Michaels

It was a grueling practice. The coach had worked us hard, trying to get us ready for the meet that was coming up against our rival school. Their wrestling team always beat us, but this year Coach was determined that we would win. So he was always on our butts, pushing us harder and harder, regularly keeping one of us after practice for extra coaching. A lot of guys on the team would grumble in the locker room about how hard the coach would work us during practice, but not me. I enjoyed the hard, sweaty workouts with the team. It gave us some team spirit, not to mention a common "enemy" - Coach Meyer.

One thing you gotta say for Coach, he knew his business. He was the top in his weight class in college, and here he was, not two years later, coaching our team. He kept himself in great shape, too, always working out in the weight room, keeping his body hard and tight, never deviating much from his 177lb wrestling weight. Broad, muscular shoulders, defined pecs, narrow waist and hips - a great body for a wrestler.

We were in the same weight class, and my body was pretty good, too. I worked out for it, trying to keep up with Coach, and did pretty well, too. I was just a bit smaller in the shoulders, but otherwise we were pretty evenly matched, body wise.

Not to say that any of us on the team were slackers. We all kept up as best we could with Coach. Kind of a pride thing. First thing we did before practice was meet in the weight room for a workout. Coach was always in there before us, and worked with us almost like a personal trainer, pushing us to go harder. Then we'd go into the wrestling room, pairing up and testing each other, trying new holds, sweating up a storm.

This day, all the guys were exhausted after practice. We all hit the showers, but there was none of the usual horsing around. We all just wanted to get out of the gym to nurse our sore muscles.

And most of us did. I wasn't so lucky. I was one of the last in the showers, and so was one of the last to be in the locker room, drying off, when Coach walked in.

"Tim," he said, "I'm not happy with your workout today. You weren't taking care of business out there. Get back into your singlet. We've got some work to do."

"Ok, Coach," I said. But it wasn't ok. I had just showered, and now had to get back into my sweaty uniform, not to mention my only jock, which was also damp with sweat, only to have to shower again later. But Coach seemed pretty insistent, and I was the only one left who had yet to go through some additional one-on-one coaching after practice, so I didn't really have much of a choice.

When I came out of the locker room, I found Coach standing on the mat, waiting for me, his hands on his hips, still in his singlet.

"You ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be," I answered. "What was I doing wrong?"

"You weren't pushing for the pin like I told you. The only way you're gonna win at wrestling is to go for the pin, all else be damned."

"Yeah, but Coach..."

"No buts, Tim. Let me show you how to do it."

He hunkered down in wrestling position, ready to lock up with me. I did the same. We approached each other, got our hands on each other's shoulders, he slipped his hand behind my neck, and we started to circle each other. He shot his hand out, catching me behind my knee, and pulled up, toppling me back. He landed on top of me, swung around, catching me in a deep crotch hold, trying to cradle me up into a fast pin. But I managed to bridge back, preventing him from getting my shoulders down. As I did this, I felt his hand slip through my legs, until it rested on the pouch of my singlet. I thought I felt his hand give it a slight squeeze, but I was sure I was mistaken.

I got my arm around his neck, slipped my arm through his legs, and rolled him over on his back. Now I was close to pinning him, but he rolled through, and away from me. He stood up, ready to lock up again.

This time, I managed to get my arms around his chest in a bear hug, lifting him off the mat, and slamming him down, with me on top. He wrapped his legs around me in a body scissors and held me there. We were chest to chest, crotch to crotch. I grabbed his wrists to pin them over his head, when he broke his scissors, and bridged up. I was on top of him, feeling the pressure of my dick pushing down on his, and noticed that he had thrown a rod. The feeling of his dick against mine caused a reaction in my own crotch, and I started to get boned up, too.

We wrestled like that for about fifteen minutes. I could partially see some of his cock outlined as it stretched the material of his singlet. My full-on hard-on was even more obvious in my singlet, but that didn't stop us. Guys always get hard-ons when they wrestle, it's natural.

Finally we broke off for a short rest. We were both soaked with sweat and panting from the exertion. We both lay on our backs, trying to get some air into our lungs, when Coach turned to me. "Not bad, Tim," he said. "I knew if I pushed you, you'd do ok."

"Thanks, Coach. You do pretty well yourself."

He laughed, and punched me in the arm. I did the same to him. He hit me again. Pretty soon, we were rolling around with each other, play-wrestling. He landed on top of me, getting me in a tight bear hug, trying to pin me down. Suddenly we both stopped, realizing that our crotches were mashed together. Coach rolled off me and stood up.

"This singlet is too wet to wrestle in," Coach said and then began to peel himself out of it. "Yours is soaked with sweat, too. Strip it off, Tim," Coach Meyer said as he tossed his singlet to the floor and stood looking down at me, hands on hips, in just his jockstrap.

All Male Fiction: I Spy (Part 2)

By: Unknown Author

Read Part 1

Eric stumbled out of Coach Anson's equipment locker, nearly falling on the cement floor before his arms grabbed Coach Anson's desk chair. Alex and Coach Anson looked over in disbelief. Alex turned around so that his ass was against the Coach's desk, as he groped quickly for his pants and belt. Coach Anson slid his track pants quickly up to his waist and turned toward Eric.

For at least two seconds, no one said a word. Eric's heart was racing as Coach Anson finally spoke. "Eric Larson, what the hell are you doing in here?"

Coach Anson stared at Eric, who began to tremble. Eric backed up toward the Coach's equipment locker, hoping he could simply crawl back inside. Alex rushed toward Eric, but Coach Anson stopped him from grabbing Eric's shirt.

"All right, Diego. I've had my fill of you today. Get outta here. I'll handle this," Coach Anson ordered.

Alex stared Eric down before turning to exit the Coach's office. Eric couldn't help but stare at Alex's muscled ass, crisply defined by his slacks, as Alex walked through the door.

Coach Anson caught Eric staring. "So, Eric, you get your little stiffy all worked up watching grown men play?"

Eric remained silent, his mind trying to think of a good explanation, and a way to get out of the locker room in one piece. Coach Anson became even more ticked off and approached Eric for an answer. Coach Anson swaggered closer to Eric - so close that Eric could feel his hot breath on his shoulder and the Coach's thick, meaty legs pushed up against Eric's inner thighs.

Coach Anson again questioned, "So, you think you know what you saw. But there are still a couple of things you should know. You should know that no one will believe you. And you should know that you will have to pay a price to keep this piece of information."

Eric finally found a voice to reply. "What are you talking about? I'm not going to tell anyone."

Coach Anson got closer to Eric's face, so close the Coach could've kissed him. "Oh, I know you won't tell anyone what you saw, but I have to think of a way to guarantee it... to my satisfaction."

All Male Fiction: Spokes & Strokes

By: Unknown Author

 

 

 

One by one, my four buddies dropped out. Other commitments, they claimed. One couldn't get time off from work. One had a family emergency, one just wimped out, and one decided he'd rather spend Saturday night judging a drag competition.

So, that left me alone with four thousand other bikers, facing a two-day, one hundred and fifty-mile cycling trip, not knowing a soul. But hell, I'd paid my registration fee and looked forward to this outing all summer. With or without my buddies, I was going.

They let us through the starting gate in groups of one hundred at 6:30am. I was in the third group. The sun was just creeping over the horizon as we lined up our bikes. I ran a quick, last-minute check over my new black Fuji and made sure my pair of water bottles were full, and then scanned my fellow bikers.

Let me tell you, there was some prime meat there, and all of it stuffed into tight Spandex. It's hard to hide your equipment in biker shorts. Serious cyclists are almost always in such great shape, too; great leg muscles, hard rounded asses and flat bellies. I felt my cock begin to stiffen as I looked around.

Down boy, I thought as I looked down at my crotch. It's probably all straight meat.

I was waiting impatiently for the go flag when I spied him. He was about three bikes further back in the pack, standing with a big silver Cannondale between his legs, looking really relaxed. He hadn't put his helmet on yet, and the wind stirred his thick black hair. There was a hard, handsome angle to his sun-bronzed face, and he had the kind of piercing blue eyes you only read about in books. His short-sleeved jersey was zipped to the neck, but I could see the clear outline of his well-developed pectorals underneath and the clean definition of his biceps and forearms.

Suddenly, he looked my way, and I turned around quickly and pretended to adjust the strap on the back of one of my gloves. I didn't want him to think I was staring. Slowly, though, I turned around again. He was drinking from his water bottle with his head tipped back, his throat muscles working as he swallowed.

The flag came down. The pack surged forward, a rippling sea of colorful helmets and jerseys and bikes as the riders stepped onto their pedals and took off. There was a big archway of bright balloons to pass under, and the families and friends of all the riders stood at the sides applauding and yelling.

My heart hammered with excitement. I'd done these rides before, though never without at least one partner. We turned out onto Highway 50, one lane of which had been marked and set aside for the tour riders. I shifted up onto the big wheel immediately and tore down the pavement. Riding in a pack can be dangerous if a lot of bikes are too close together, so I always like to get up front and away from the others as fast as possible.

Cars whisked by in the left-hand lane. Little kids pressed their faces to windows, wide-eyed and excited by all the bikes. Drivers waved to us out of rolled-down windows, just as excited, but with a more adult demeanor. Some cars pulled off onto the shoulder and parked to watch us go by.

One had a sign taped to the back bumper that said, "Go all the way, Becky!"

Yeah, there were a few women on this ride, too. Becky's friends stood by their car with cameras and camcorders, screaming and yelling.

I'd had a new aero-bar installed on my handlebars. That's a kind of sharply bent, U-shaped bar that extends out in front of your normal bars. You can lie down almost flat, reach out, and really pedal like hell. It cuts down on wind drag, too, so I was going all out.

Ten miles down the highway, I braked and pulled into the first rest stop. Depending on the terrain, there were rest stops positioned every six to ten miles on the tour. I parked my Fuji, took off my gloves, walked over to several tables under a big tent, and helped myself to an orange wedge.

There were lots of bikers gathered around from the first two packs, riders who hadn't pushed on yet. From this point on, the packs would begin to string out and mingle into one long line of bikers.

As I swallowed a bite of orange, he pulled in. His face gleamed with sweat. Beads of it rolled off the tip of his nose as he unstrapped his helmet and leaned back on his bike seat. Slowly, he got off, peeled off his jersey, stuffed it into a tiny ball, and shoved it into the small pack under his seat.

I just about choked on my orange. His nipples were brown and erect, large as half-dollars. His chest was absolutely smooth, his belly ridged with hard muscle. A tiny patch of black hair extended from just below his navel down into the top of his black biker shorts.

He pulled his water bottle from its rack and poured it over his head. The water ran in streams through his hair, down his face, in beads over that chest and into his shorts. Then he carried the empty bottle over to one of several tanks and proceeded to refill it.

"Good ride isn't it?" he said to me as he passed by on his way back to his Cannondale.

I was too startled to answer immediately.

"It gets harder from here on out," I answered, but he was already gone, astride his bike, where he busied himself over his cyclometer.

The sun was moving higher into the sky now, and the morning was getting warm. With two water bottles on my bike, I had enough to get me to the next rest stop, so I hopped back into the saddle and took off.

We were on country roads now, and the pavement rolled along through farm country over gentle, sloping hills. Volunteers with orange flags waved us in the proper direction at intersections, and farmers and their families sat out on their porches to watch us go by.

I glanced over my shoulder to measure my progress against the other riders. My bare-chested friend was right behind me, pedaling with efficient, relaxed energy. I bent down on my aero-bar again and rushed ahead. Though I loved passing people, I hated to be passed, even by bare-chested, dark-haired hunks like the one who was riding my ass.

I reached the second rest stop about four minutes before he did, and took the time to down a full bottle of water. There was cherry yogurt to eat this time, as well as orange wedges and peanut butter sandwiches. I scooped the yogurt down, refilled my water bottle, and headed back to my bike. Before I took off, I looked around.

He was leaning against a tree, enjoying some shade while he ate his own cup of yogurt. Our gazes met briefly, and I swallowed. In his Spandex shorts, I could see the outline of his thick, soft cock.

I shot off like a rocket down the highway, putting that image out of my mind. This was a bike tour, not a cruise.

Concentrate on your time and speed, and on the distance. There's a long way to go, I silently told myself.

My jersey was soaked with sweat by now. Without slowing, I grabbed one of my water bottles and took a drink. Then I gave myself a squirt in the face to cool myself off. As I pushed the bottle back into its rack, I glanced back. My dark-haired friend was just coming over the summit of a hill about an eighth of a mile back, coming hard.

Well, he wasn't going to catch me. No way. I bent low and settled in for some serious pedaling. The road swept by in a blur beneath my wheels. The wind sang in my ears. I laughed a little because I loved it so much. My body felt like a perfectly functioning machine. I'd trained hard for this ride, honed my muscles, and this was the payoff. This thrill! So what if my buddies had chickened out, who needed them?

I was closing on a pair of riders ahead of me. One of them had a really nice ass wrapped in bright blue Spandex and all stuck up in the air as he worked his pedals. One thing you had to say about these country rides: the scenery was always fantastic. He was obviously in the wrong gear, though, not getting the most reward for his effort, as I surged past, my eye on another string of riders ahead.

Looking down at the cyclometer on my handlebars, I saw I'd come twenty-three miles in well under an hour, which made me feel pretty good.

Then disaster struck. The last rider in the string ahead lost control of his bike and slid sideways. He rolled into the left lane while his fallen bike blocked the right. There was no way I could slow down in time, so I steered desperately for the narrow grassy shoulder. There was about a four-inch drop-off between the pavement and the grass and then a steep ditch. My Fuji pitched forward, and I flew over the handlebars.

A sharp pain exploded in the front of my left shin, and then I hit the ground, the wind knocked out of me, stars bursting inside my skull. The Fuji skidded around and fell beside me in the ditch. Instead of biker gear, the kid who had fallen off his bike wore cutoffs and tennis shoes. A damned beginner and he didn't even seem to be scratched. He stood above me on the pavement, hands on his knees as he stared down at me wide-eyed.

"Hey, you all right, man?" he called. "I hit some gravel and just lost it."

I couldn't answer right away. The wind was still knocked out of me. A lot of bikers were slowing down or pulling over to see what had happened. Then my dark-haired friend pulled up. He parked his Cannondale, whipped off his helmet, threw it down by his bike, and then scrambled down the grassy embankment.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a concerned voice. "I'm a doctor."

All Male Fiction: The Wrestler

By: MrCreamJeans & Ryan Michaels

 

Rich was at that age. His biological clock had reached the time in a guy's life when his cock stands to attention at the least provocation. He had never paid much attention to his cock before, except to notice in the school locker room that the other guys had all sprouted hair long before he finally did. His health class textbooks called him a "late bloomer" and tried to reassure him on things about which no boy his age is ever sure.

But one thing he was sure of, his cock had a mind of its own when it came to getting hard. All his life he had dressed UP, that is, he wore his cock pointing up inside his briefs. It never bothered him before, but now, with his prick's newfound sensitivity, it was a cause of some real problems. It was a vicious cycle - His cock would get hard, swelling his fly and poking against his underwear, then as it would (finally!) go soft, its extra weight would cause it to fall off to one side as he walked. It would get caught in his shorts, and he would reach down and give it the quick tug it needed to bring it upright.

But even that little extra stimulation would make it get hard again. As a result, he spent a lot of time adjusting his crotch and walking around school with a tent in his pants. And what a tent! His hard-on was exceptionally large for a guy his age, and made quite a bulge.

His buddies, most of who had already outgrown this stage, took the opportunity to poke fun at Rich quite frequently. They eventually came to know that even if Rich didn't have a boner, if they started talking to him about it, he would soon get one. Then they could laugh and point at the embarrassed Rich as he tried (usually in vain) to conceal his big, throbbing hard-on from their gaze. Of course, some of them would occasionally "lose control" and get hard, too, despite themselves. They were usually the ones making the most noise about Rich. Only one, Johnny, was ever caught, much to Rich's relief at the time.

But there didn't seem to be any long-term relief in sight for Rich. Part of the problem was his parents - strict religious types who warned him about the dangers of "touching yourself down there," and who forced him to sleep with his bedroom door open. Frightened by their tales of what happened to wicked boys, Rich had never jacked off, and his only relief was through wet dreams. Rich loved the feeling of waking up with his hips grinding into the bed and feeling his hot semen running and gushing into his briefs. He would always clean up very thoroughly afterward and hope his mom didn't spot the stains on his briefs. However, he always relished the relief he felt afterward, even if he wasn't fully sure why.

Rich had joined the wrestling team before this problem started. Several of the guys on the team were now his chief tormentors, and among them was Johnny.

Johnny wasn't particularly large or strong, but he was very good-looking and was known for his pranks and his way with the girls. It was Johnny who once announced to the other team members in the locker room that Rich had worn his jock all day in an attempt to restrain his boner. (Johnny had also done that but would never admit it, of course.) It was the last time Rich would try that.

And on this day, it was Johnny that the coach picked to wrestle against Rich in practice. The other boys on the team were paired off and the coach signaled them to take their positions. Rich went down on all fours at once, tacitly recognizing Johnny's dominant role, knowing it would end up this way even if he protested.

Johnny reached around Rich's waist and asked him, in a mocking tone, "You gonna pop a rod while we're wrestling, Richie?"

Rich's only response was, "Shut up," but just the question began his heart thumping. A tremor of near panic swept through him - wrestling class was the one place he had never gotten hard. Now that the thought had been planted, would he be able to restrain himself? He winced as, seconds before the coach blew his whistle for them to begin wrestling, his cock began to tingle. No, not NOW! he thought. He knew his wrestling tights would conceal nothing if he lost control.

"Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeee," the coach's whistle blew.

Before Rich knew what hit him, Johnny had flipped him over on his back. But rather than trying to pin his shoulders, which he should have been doing, Johnny had one leg planted between Rich's legs with his thigh pressing right into his dick.

"Ummmph," Rich grunted as he wriggled out of the ineffective hold. It may have been ineffective as a wrestling hold, but it was having another kind of effect that Rich definitely wanted to avoid. Seconds later, however, Johnny had him in another hold, this one a bit trickier to get out of, and one which allowed Johnny to grab Rich's balls from behind. Rich realized that Johnny was being very careful not to hurt him, and also suddenly realized that his cock was undeniably growing hard in his jock!

Rich quickly broke free and managed to flip Johnny over and loop one arm behind Johnny's knee. The position had Rich laying with his pelvis on the mat, and as Johnny struggled, the shifting weight of Rich's body massaged his rapidly stiffening prick into the mat. Johnny broke free, and during the ensuing struggles, he managed to plant a hand firmly in Rich's crotch. His hard-on had been discovered!

Both boys froze. Rich looked into Johnny's face and saw a smirk of recognition. Johnny wrapped his hand around Rich's boner and gave it a squeeze. Rich's heart sank, expecting his partner to stand up and announce his condition. Instead, Johnny went back to wrestling. Rich, not knowing what to expect anymore, followed suit.

Johnny's strategy soon became clear, however. He was rubbing Rich's cock at every opportunity. His holds always seemed to include some sort of pressure against the trapped, throbbing boner Rich so fervently wished would subside.

But soon, Rich was wishing for even more self-control as a certain tingle warned him of something potentially more embarrassing than just getting a hard-on. That feeling he got when he was lucky enough to wake up from a wet dream just before he began to shoot, that feeling of his balls contracting, his prick jumping, the tightness in his lower abdomen, all that was starting to happen.

Now Rich was wrestling with a new strategy, to keep his cock out of the reach of Johnny. He flipped over on his stomach but immediately regretted the move. Johnny pounced on him, looping one arm under his, and the other in between his legs. Rich expected to be flipped over from this hold, but instead, Johnny was holding him on his stomach and grabbing his balls.

Rich was in a panic. He didn't want to have an accident right there on the mat, but his ability to hold back his semen was weakening. He suddenly remembered that his last wet dream had been several weeks ago.

He managed to grunt through clenched teeth, "Cut it out!"

Johnny paid no attention. Rich held himself stock-still, realizing that it would only take one move to trigger the explosion waiting to take place in his balls.

Just then, the coach blew his whistle, yelled, "Hit the showers!" and walked out of the gym.

Rich breathed a sigh of relief as he felt Johnny remove his hand and start to rise. His first priority was to get the pressure off his bucking hard-on. He tentatively lifted his body onto all fours, as in the original wrestling position. He was keenly aware of the feeling of his jock pouch straining to hold back his throbbing hard-on. While he debated with himself about standing up with a terribly obvious lump in his wrestling tights, suddenly Johnny was back on top of him, assuming the referee's wrestling position! But there was a difference. The arm wrapped around Rich's waist reached all the way around to his cock!

Johnny stroked the boner a couple of times and breathed in Rich's ear, "Ready to go again, Richie?" Then he laughed and stood up.

For Rich, it was all over. When Johnny stroked his cock, the first squirt of sperm came shooting out of his cockhead, right into his jock and tight wrestling gear. Unable to restrain himself, he emitted soft sobbing noises as his overheated rod released huge globs of jism. The hot white goo was shooting out in such copious amounts that it was soaking through the pouch of Rich's jock, through the spandex of his wrestling tights, and was dripping down onto the mat, making a milky puddle.

Johnny watched in amazement. He shouted, "Hey guys! Check this out! Rich is creaming in his gear!"

Soon he was surrounded by the whole team. They taunted Rich as they watched him, down on all fours, with cum dripping on the mat underneath him.