Forbidden Desire Deep Dive

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All Male Fiction: Forbidden Desire

By: Ryan Michaels

ryanxxx@hotmail.com

 

The morning sun hit the brick facade of the two-story apartment complex, casting long shadows across the central courtyard. It was a well-maintained property, quiet and private, designed with all the units facing inward toward an inground pool.

Ryan stood leaning in the doorway of his apartment, looking out over the courtyard with a mug of coffee in hand. At forty-eight, Ryan was in great shape, possessing a lean, athletic build that made him look easily a decade younger than his actual years. He wasn’t just a resident here; he owned the entire building.

When he purchased the complex, he had recognized the potential in the layout and immediately renovated the apartment right above his. By installing a staircase, he converted his unit into a unique, spacious two-story apartment. The main floor housed the open-concept living room, a kitchen, dining area, den (originally the bedroom for the one-bedroom unit), a four-piece bathroom, and a French door leading to a backyard patio. The renovated second floor now contained a large master bedroom with an ensuite, a large second bedroom, a four-piece bathroom, and a hallway.

From the kitchen behind him, the heavy, familiar tread of combat boots signaled that his husband was getting ready for a shift. Chad was a firefighter, younger than Ryan at thirty-four, with the broad shoulders and rugged stamina that the job demanded. Their marriage was grounded in a deep, mutual respect, though Chad’s demanding schedule at the station often left Ryan holding down the fort at home during long twenty-four-hour shifts.

Living with them was Jake, Ryan’s twenty-two-year-old son. Ryan was a friend of Jake's mother, who wanted a child, and he had agreed to help her out, via artificial insemination – Ryan has never had sex with a woman. When Jake's mother died when Jake was twelve, Jake came to live with Ryan. 

Ryan and Jake are extremely close, father and son, yes, but also really good friends. They could talk about anything with each other, just like two guy friends would, and once Jake was old enough, that included intimate things. For example, Jake knows his dad is an insatiable bottom, that he is submissive with men, loves to be called names by men, one in particular, and has even heard some of the dirty details of Ryan's sex life. It wasn't a one-sided situation either; Jake, too, would share intimate things with his dad, such as telling his dad when he lost his virginity and all the details.

When Jake was nineteen, he came out as bisexual. A good kid, he was navigating his twenties with a solid circle of friends, the most frequent of whom was Ben, his best friend since high school.

Ben was also twenty-two, straight, with an easygoing charm and an athletic build that fit right in with the family. But recently, there was a distinct shift in the air whenever Jake wasn't around. Ben’s posture would change. The casual, respectful friend vanished, replaced by a guy who dropped heavy innuendos, lingered too close, and locked eyes with Ryan in a way that made Ryan’s chest tighten. It was a subtle game of lingering glances and loaded compliments that Ryan never brought up to his son or his husband, but one that added a quiet, underlying tension to the humid summer days around the complex.

With Chad pulling frequent twenty-four-hour shifts at the fire station and Jake often out, the sprawling two-story apartment often grew quiet. It was during these precise windows of time that Ben would find reasons to drop by, supposedly to wait for Jake, though he never seemed disappointed when only Ryan was home.

Without the buffer of his best friend in the room, Ben’s casual demeanor shifted into something much more deliberate, using his presence and a steady stream of sexual innuendo to test Ryan’s boundaries.

On this day, the wi-fi had been acting up. Ryan was down on his knees, ass in the air, checking the cables and adjusting the antennas for the router that sat on the lower shelf of the hallway – resetting it hadn't helped. Ben knelt right next to him, his shoulder firmly pressing against Ryan’s as he pretended to look at the blinking lights.

"Looks like the problem is a lack of penetration. If you need some help penetrating your walls, I'm your man."

Ryan would usually offer a disciplined, knowing chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension without explicitly shutting it down, but the air in the apartment remained thick with the unspoken knowledge that Ben was pushing the game further and further each time.

A couple of days later, while Chad was away, Ryan was prepping the grill, rubbing spices into a few racks of ribs. Ben had shown up under the guise of waiting for Jake to get home and was leaning against the patio table, watching the fluid motions of Ryan’s hands.

"Man, you really know how to handle your meat, Ryan," Ben said.

Ryan let out his usual disciplined chuckle.

"But I guess with Chad away so much on those twenty-four-hour shifts, you're used to handling your meat, huh, Ryan?" Ben chuckled.

Ryan didn't respond to the innuendo.

Ben looked around and then moved right up behind Ryan. He put his head over Ryan's shoulder, and let his crotch lightly brush Ryan's ass, and said into Ryan's ear, "How'd you like to handle my meat, Ryan?" and then gave his crotch a firm press against Ryan's ass.

Ben had just gotten way more aggressive with his flirting; he had taken the game too far, and Ryan couldn't take it anymore.

​Ryan confronted Jake about it as soon as Ben had gone home, telling his son how Ben was always flirting with him when Jake wasn't around.

Jake laughed it off. "Dad, come on," he said, shaking his head. "Ben is straight. He’s just a flirty guy. He knows you're gay and is just having fun with you. You're misreading it."

Ryan shook his head. "No, I'm not. I don't want him coming over here anymore."

"C'mon, Dad. I've known him since high school. He's my best friend. He's always over here. He's like family. What am I supposed to tell him?"

"I don't know. Make something up or tell him the truth. I don't care."

"Right, Dad. I'm gonna tell him my dad thinks he wants to have sex with him."

​Frustrated and unable to convince his son, Ryan compromised. "Fine. He can still come over, but only if you’re here, and when you are, you don't leave him alone with me."

​The rule worked... until the night Ben stayed over.

All Male True Experience: Paying Rent

By: Unknown Author

 

In my early twenties, I finished college and was now renting my first apartment. After a few months, I was behind with rent and ended up with my fifty-something landlord telling me I could be "his personal fuck toy" or move out.

I really didn't want to suck off and get fucked by my landlord. I mean, I was in my twenties, and he was in his fifties, my dad's age, but I really had no other choice but to comply, or else I would have been on the streets. (Moving back home was not an option.)

To be clear, he knew I was gay, and I wasn't servicing him instead of paying rent; I was servicing his needs in exchange for his allowing me to pay off owed rent over time.

He had a fat seven-inch cock and liked to use me roughly, call me names, and generally degrade and humiliate me. Although initially almost disgusted by the idea, I have to admit that once I started servicing his cock, I really enjoyed it, in part because he was 'making me' do it.

He would come around at least three times a week, some weeks every day, but my favorite was one particular Friday night, when he turned up at 2 am with a friend.

My landlord and his friend, also in his fifties, shot the shit while watching me as I stripped off my clothes – my landlord told me on day one that his fuck toy needs to be naked when servicing him.

I was rock hard when I slipped my underwear down and off, so turned on by the fact that my landlord was not only going to have me service him in front of his friend but make me service his friend, too, a total stranger.

Once naked, I got onto my knees and fished my landlord's cock out of his pants and began sucking on it. His friend quickly had his cock out and was stroking it as he encouraged me to suck his friend's dick, calling me names, such as cocksucker and faggot, just like my landlord did.

Soon, I heard my landlord's friend say, "Let me have some of that," and then my landlord was pulling my head off of his cock and directing it towards his buddy's. His buddy took over, grabbing my head now and pulling it down onto his cock. He groaned and said, "Yeah, suck that dick, bitch!"

I bobbed up and down on my landlord's friend's slightly smaller (about six inches) but also thick cock, making lots of slurping sounds.

The next thing I knew, my landlord had moved over next to his buddy and had angled his body so that his cock was touching his friend's. I knew what he wanted, and I did my best at trying to fit the two cocks in my mouth at the same time, but they were both so thick that I couldn't really do it. So instead, I went back and forth between them, literally making a popping sound, and I repeatedly popped my mouth on and off each of their cockheads.

I was so turned on feasting on these two hard cocks that I could've spent all night sucking them, and I actually cried out around my landlord's cock when his buddy pulled himself away from the action. However, a hard slap to my bare butt quickly told me why he had done so.

I moaned loudly around my landlord's cock as his buddy started stroking and then poking my hole with his fingers. Soon I felt the coldness of lube being pushed into my ass via a finger-banging, and then my back arched as I let out another loud moan around my landlord's cock as his buddy pushed his fat six-inch cock balls deep into my ass.

My landlord started to fuck in and out of my mouth as his buddy fucked in and out of my ass, and with both my holes being pounded at the same time, I lost it pretty quickly and started to cum, shooting my load without even touching my dick.

As I came, my ass muscles milked the cock in my ass, and I felt it throb, and then erupt inside me. My landlord's friend shot a huge load. It flooded my hole, leaking out and dripping down my legs.

Once he had come down, he slapped my ass and pulled out. He and my landlord switched places, and while he ordered me to lick his cum-slicked cock clean, my landlord took his place behind me, fucking me deep and hard, using his buddy's cum as lube while fucking it deeper into me at the same time.  

When his buddy withdrew his now soft cock from my mouth, my landlord slapped my ass, pulled me backwards on the floor, and pushed my head down, ordering me to lick my own load of cum up off the floor.

Once I had completed that task, he yanked his cock out of my ass, grabbed me under the arms, and simultaneously pulled me up onto my knees while turning me to face him. He then rammed his cock down my throat and blasted his load down it. 

Afterward, my landlord and his buddy lounged on the couch, talking about how they had just used my holes, referring to me as a faggot, while I fetched them a couple of cold beers.

My landlord, who I mentioned liked to humiliate me, made me remain naked and lie on the floor under my coffee table while they drank their beers and shot the shit.

A while later, my landlord's buddy wanted another blowjob, and my landlord snapped his fingers at me and said, "You heard him, suck his cock, bitch!" And, of course, I did.

He brought that friend over again about a month later for a repeat performance, and another time, he sent his friend to my door to use my holes one-on-one. After that, it was just my landlord who used my mouth and ass to drain his nuts.

This went on for the year that I lived there, and I definitely hated having to leave that apartment, but a job opportunity left me no other choice.

It's weird, in the time since I left that apartment, I not only find myself seeking out older men to have sex with now, but have also lost interest in having sex with guys my own age.

Recently, I went to a bathhouse and got used by a daddy while other guys, mostly younger guys, stood around and watched with their dicks in their hands. It was hot!

But that's a story for another time!

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All Male Fiction: A Real Man

 By: Tommyhawk1

 

"Where the fuck were you?" Gordon asked gruffly as I hurried into the warehouse at ten thirty at night. He was a beefy, large man with a battered face and a ready vocabulary of foul language. Just the sort you’d expect to find working in a warehouse - hard work attracts hard people.

"I'm sorry," I responded sincerely. "I missed my bus." I took my bag from "A Different Light" and hurriedly stuffed it between two pallets of boxes in the warehouse. It would be safe there until I had a chance to sneak them to a better hiding spot, but I couldn't do that now. And showing them to Gordon was out of the question. Half his curse words were "pansy" or worse when he was searching for derogatory remarks to make about someone; "faggot" to him was worse than calling someone a "motherfucker," so I stayed firmly in the closet while at work.

"What you got over there?" he asked as I lifted my hand back. His huge biceps glinted with white crescents from the sheen of his sweat and the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights. His voice was like a god's, the heavy echoes of the cavernous warehouse reverberated back every syllable a dozen-fold.

"Oh, nothing," I said.

"Then haul your pansy ass over here and help me load this truck, motherfucker," he said.

He didn't know I was gay; he talked like that to and about almost everybody. I didn't dare let him see the "A Different Light" book bag, not as big and brawny as this guy was; he could snap me in two without thinking about it.

Taking a gay book and magazines to a job where you're closeted was stupid, I knew that, I knew I should have waited, but the bookstore was right on my way to work. Passing by "A Different Light" bookstore, I made the fatal mistake of peering inside to see what was displayed in the window. A look at my watch to verify I had a couple of spare minutes, and in I went, coming out much later than intended with not only the book but with two porno magazines. And, with my stash now tucked between a pallet of Tide and a pallet of Oxydol, it could wait until I could take it home and give it proper attention.

"Come on, move it, cocksucker," Gordon growled and I hastened over to him. He handed me half of a stack of lists and said, "We got three trucks to do tonight," and I groaned.

Our warehouse takes in the boxcars from individual factories, and from there we load the items ordered by individual supermarkets. We don't handle any of the chain stores, but there are a sizeable number of Mom-and-Pop places that need to furnish their customers with Pop-Tarts and Cheetos; I had plenty of work. In fact, with three trucks needing loading I had more work than I could handle.

Each store had a long page marked with the items and quantities they wanted. We tried to keep the supplies organized so we could go right down the list and grab in order, but in practice, it's never quite that easy. So, you run around until you get all the stuff for one store loaded, then you load that into a larger, plastic shipping box which is then driven over by a forklift and placed into the truck. Gordon drove the little forklift, which was about the size of a Volkswagen, but with only the two of us, he had to jump down from the forklift and trundle a trolley like mine, too.

Once we had the truck filled with the boxes, which contained boxes that contained boxes that contained the essential items for life, we'd move on to the next sheaf of orders. When we finished a truck, we could take a short break, then move the loaded truck out (Gordon did that as well. You have to have a special license and training to drive an eighteen-wheeler) and back another one in and we'd do it all over again. But a truck would take three to four hours to load. Three trucks meant overtime whether I wanted it or not.

So, I worked away on my list, fuming about the unfairness of it all. Damn it, I'd picked up a really butch issue of "Stroke" and couldn't wait to get home and do just what the magazine's title suggested. I had only glanced at the contents, seeing a heavily built, gruff man dominating a younger, more slender man - "Stroke's" favorite form of sex – and it caused my stomach to churn, imagining that big man dominating me, forcing me to take his cock into my mouth... okay, three boxes of salad dressing and I could take this trolley over to the shipping box.

Soon enough my mind was off of sex and back onto my job, because with nothing but cardboard boxes to select from you have to pay attention to what you're picking up. A store orders a box of Ronzoni spaghetti and if you give them American Beauty instead, they don't see it as being all right, you get a nasty restock order and three forms to fill out and sign and initial. One of those goes into your personnel file and they track your performance that way. Sucks. No wonder they had such a heavy turnover of workers on this shitty job.

So, I loaded up that shipping box and the next and the next, and time passed. Soon we'd be finished with the shipping boxes; we could then load the truck with them according to the driver's schedule, and then could take a half-hour break. Sitting and jawing with Gordon wasn't that bad if you let him call you names without flinching. He didn't really mean anything personal by it; it was just his way of talking.

I finished and looked over at Gordon's last box; it was only half-loaded. Hell, he was usually waiting on me, not the other way around. Maybe the guy was slowing down. I decided I could give him a couple of comments while I helped him finish his loading. A few of his choicer comments to me would work nicely, such as "They need to hire some real men to do this work instead of you faggots." I'd like to see his face when I used that one on him!

So, I went in search of him. The warehouse was big (it had to be) so it took some time for me to find him… right by the pallet of boxes of Tide! He had a big load of it on his trolley, and on top of the trolley was a big, white plastic bag… and my copy of "Stroke" was in his hands! And he was looking at the pictures!

Bisexual Fiction: Driven by Desire (Part 1)

By: chicagobasil & Ryan Michaels

During a company-wide computer upgrade, all employees were required to attend a full day training course. Since the work still had to get done, and with the massive number of employees within the company, obviously everyone could not attend all at once, so the course was held every day over the period of one month. Each employee was given a date and time to attend, with a half dozen or so people from each department sent each day.

Today was the day I had to attend the training session, and I was not looking forward to it at all. My outlook changed, however, as soon as I walked into the classroom and found I was lucky enough to be put into a class with a really hot guy who worked in my department. While we didn't really know each other, other than to say hi if we passed each other during the work day, I had always noticed Rob and thought he was really sexy!

Rob was six-foot-two, with blond hair and blue eyes, a great chest, muscular arms, and an amazing ass; the kind of ass that was just made for fucking! Out of all the guys in my department, he was the hottest! Unfortunately, he had a girlfriend and was always flirting with the younger women in the department; not that I ever would have had a chance with him anyway, even if he wasn't straight.

The classroom was set up with rectangular type tables, with two computers on each. Rob ended up sitting next to me, probably because the other four from our department, who were women, had already paired up at tables and I was the only other person in the group that he recognized.

As the session dragged on, I found myself sneaking quick glances at the nice sized bulge in Rob's pants. It took all of my will power not to just reach over and start massaging it. As I took yet another glance, with Rob totally unaware of my peeping, he leaned back in his chair and casually spread his legs a little wider and rested his hand next to that impressive bulge.

As I continued to check out his package from the corner of my eye, I saw Rob turn his head in my direction. I turned my head to look at him and he was looking right at me, smiling; his eyes then dropped to his crotch and he gave it a squeeze. He looked at me again, smiled, and then lowered his eyes to my crotch. This action totally took me by surprise, but it didn't prevent me from immediately pushing my chair back a bit further so that he could get a good look at my bulge. I started to get hard right away, just from knowing he was looking at my crotch.

As I stared at his crotch, my mouth literally watering, I could see his dick poking at the front of his pants as if it was trying to escape. He had the beginnings of a hard-on going on, and it looked like it was going to be a pretty impressive one! It was a good thing we were sitting in the back of the class!

I starting moving my legs back and forth, squeezing my hard dick between my thighs. As I continued to open and close my legs, I eventually let my left leg touch his. Surprisingly, he pressed his leg into mine, too, and then started to lightly rub his hard dick through his pants; seeing this, I quickly started doing the same. I figured he was just as bored out of his mind as I was with the course being taught and was just goofing around to pass the time, but I wanted so badly for us to be rubbing each other's bulges instead!

It seemed like forever, but finally we were given a thirty minute break and Rob motioned towards the door, indicating he wanted me to follow. He headed down the hall, looking back over his shoulder to see if I was following just as he approached the men's room door. Could it be? Am I really going to get to fool around with the hottest guy in my department, who also happens to be straight? I thought.

Unfortunately, Rob turned his head back around and kept walking. I stopped in the hall with disappointment, as some other people from the course passed me by and began going into the men's and women's washrooms.

Realizing why Rob had continued down the hall, I started walking again to see where he had gone. I rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of him standing at the exit to a stairwell, holding the door open with his hand. When he saw me, he went through it, and I kept following. Lagging behind him, I ended up following him up two flights of stairs, but when I entered the corridor where I had seen him exit the stairwell, Rob was nowhere in sight.

I walked along the empty hall trying to find Rob as people were busy working away in their work areas. Looking down a corridor I was passing, I noticed a sign protruding from the wall above a door saying "Men" and figured that must be where Rob had disappeared to.

As I walked into the washroom, I was correct in my assumption and found Rob standing by the sink area in this less busy washroom. He started rubbing his crotch as soon as he knew it was me who had entered. I walked up to him rubbing my own crotch as well, and when we were right in front of each other we both immediately put our hands on the other's throbbing bulge.

Within seconds we had our pants unzipped and were stroking each other's hard cocks. My own cock was a good size, measuring seven inches when erect, and was of average thickness and was circumcised. Rob's cock, however, had mine beat, and was everything I had hoped it to be from the size of that promising bulge, and more, looking to be about nine inches in length, fatter than my own, and uncut.

As soon as I saw that big, fat, juicy piece of meat, I couldn't help myself, and, forgetting my surroundings, I started to drop to my knees so I could take his beautiful hard cock into my mouth. He grabbed me by the arm, though, stopping my descent to my knees, and motioned towards one of the toilet stalls. Just as we started walking towards it, we heard the first of the two sets of doors to the washroom open.

I darted into the stall and shut the door, waiting for whomever had just come in to use the facilities to finish and leave so I could wrap my lips around Rob's massive man-meat; I was so excited that I was slowly stroking my cock the whole time the other guy was taking a piss.

The unwanted visitor finally left and I opened the stall door so Rob could join me; unfortunately I found that I was all alone in the room. I was disappointed and cursing whomever had come in there and stolen my opportunity, but I was so fucking horny now, not to mention hard as a rock, that I ended up closing the stall door again so I could give my aching cock some relief!

With neither the time nor the desire for a leisurely stroke-session, my hand was a blur on my dick, when someone came in. I looked through the crack in the stall door to see if it was Rob returning, but it wasn't. By that point, though, after all the buildup earlier, I was too worked up to even care that someone else was in the washroom and I just kept on furiously beating my meat.

As horny as I was, and working my cock the way I was, I was ready to cum in no time, and, when I shot my load, as hard as I tried to keep quiet, I couldn't, and a few low moans escaped my lips. I heard the other guy laugh under his breath as he washed his hands. I couldn't believe I'd just shot my load in the public washroom at my work with another guy in the room, and that he had heard me cumming, but it was also kind of hot! I just wish Rob had stuck around so that I could have been sucking on his cock while I was jerking off and dumping my load!

After cleaning up all the evidence and washing my hands, I returned to the classroom. Rob leaned over to me and whispered, "Sorry man, I freaked a bit when that guy came in and I just bolted." That was the first time either of us had actually used spoken words to communicate.

"No problem, I had my own fun anyway," I whispered back with a smile on my face.

Rob smiled too, and, after taking a quick glance around the room, he planted his hand in his crotch, gave it a firm squeeze and said, "I guess my fun will have to wait until later." Even though I had just dropped a load minutes earlier, my cock began to stir as I began to wonder what might be in store for after class!

As soon as the course was over, everyone, including Rob, scrambled to get out of there. After eight hours in a boring class I could understand his wanting to get the hell out of there, but I'd thought his comment after the break meant that he was interested in meeting up with me afterwards to get that blowjob I had tried to give him earlier. I guess he had actually just meant that he was going to have to wait until later to jerk off, like I had informed him I had done during the break. Still, I figured he'd at least say something to me, even 'see you later' or something, but he didn't say a word or even look at me before bolting from the room. Needless to say, I was disappointed that I wasn't going to get to suck his cock like I had hoped, but I took some solace in the fact that I had at least gotten to see it, and even touch it; that alone was more than I'd ever dreamed of.

As I grabbed my course materials from the tabletop, there was a small piece of blank paper sitting on top of my course folder. I picked it up, and when I turned it over it read: If you want to finish what you started, meet me at Miller Park by the old shed right now. I quickly finished gathering my papers and, with that feeling of disappointment now being replaced by great excitement, I left the room to head to the park.

All Male Fiction: I Spy (Part 3)

By: Unknown Author

Read Part 2 | Read Part 1

Several weeks later, Eric found himself in another predicament. Shortly after his steamy encounter with Andy in the coach's office, Coach Anson had been suspended by the school board on unspecified grounds. Everyone knew the reason though. Rumors had spread that school employees and students were fucking in the men's locker room. Charges were not laid, as there was no proof found, but even so, parents didn't want Coach Anson around their kids after that, and he was not expected to return to Southfield High.

Eric felt bad about the coach's situation and, given that Alex Diego, Andy Garner, the coach, and Eric were the only ones who knew what had been going on in the coach's office, he wanted to make sure the coach understood that he hadn't told anyone or started the rumor. He didn't think Coach Anson would agree to meet with him, though, so he decided he'd just drop by the coach's house and pay him a surprise visit instead.

The coach lived in a small ranch-style house on the far edge of town. Friday night, after Eric's parents were asleep, he rode his bike out to Coach Anson's house. Eric knocked on the front door, but no one answered. As he went to leave, he saw that there was a light on in a room on the side of the house. He wondered if that was Coach Anson's bedroom and if he might be undressing. He couldn't help himself and, after hiding his bike behind some bushes, crept around to the side of the building.

The small window was a couple of feet above Eric's eye level, but he stood on the air-conditioning unit and stared inside. Eric saw a bachelor's bedroom - a few pieces of furniture, a king-size bed with white sheets, and a closet with athletic clothes stuffed in at all angles. The light came from a lamp next to the bed. No one was in the room.

Just then, Eric saw Coach Anson strut into the bedroom from the hallway, and he was fully naked, with a towel slung over his shoulder. He was dry, so Eric figured he was only just about to take a shower. He watched the coach's big cock sway between his muscular thighs, as he walked over and took something from the dresser drawer. Eric couldn't see what, as the coach's back was now to him, but he could see the coach's broad, muscular shoulders, his rippling back, and his tight, muscular ass. He took in the sight until Coach Anson walked back out of the bedroom.

Eric's curiosity to see Coach Anson in the shower overwhelmed him. He pushed up on the double-hung window and happily found that it wasn't latched. He quietly slid it open and stepped cautiously through. He quietly pushed the window closed again, before tiptoeing across the room to the open bedroom door.

The sound of Coach Anson's shower filled the hallway; wisps of steam escaped through the bathroom door that was slightly ajar. Eric crept over to the door, pushed it slowly, and peered in. Steam fogged up the bathroom mirror that ran the length of the room. The coach had various bathroom items along the wall near his sink – aftershave, shaving cream, cologne, workout supplements, and... What the fuck was that? Right next to the shower was an eight-inch, flesh-colored dildo standing on its base. Eric had never seen anything like it; he took in a quick breath to regain his composure.

Coach Anson stood in the shower, behind a clear, slightly opaque shower curtain. Due to the bathroom ceiling lights, Eric could make out the coach's silhouette - his meaty shoulders, his bulging pecs, his powerful back, his thick glutes, and his bulging prick. Eric watched in awe as Coach Anson soaped up his cock and massaged it in his soapy hands.

Eric's attention quickly returned to the eight-inch dildo standing erect outside the shower. As he nervously and boldly opened the door wider and took a few steps into the bathroom to get a better look at it, he slid on the bathroom tile floor. He caught himself, but not before his right foot smacked the underside of the sink with a loud slap.

Coach Anson was startled by the unexpected noise and dropped his soap on the tub floor. His hand brushed back the shower curtain to see his intruder standing in his bathroom. He stared at Eric, while Eric's eyes absorbed the sight of Coach Anson standing naked and wet. The coach's muscular 5'10", 190-pound frame glistened from the steamy hot shower, and his nipples became erect from the cold breeze of the bathroom. The coach's cock stood semi-erect below a dense bush of wet pubic hair, and was all covered in soap suds; his balls were shaved smooth.

Eric tried to turn and bolt, but Coach Anson stepped out of the shower and tackled him, knocking Eric to the floor, just outside the bathroom door. He then roughly flipped Eric over onto his back. "Eric Anderson! I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing here, breaking into my house in the middle of the night, but you're not going anywhere just yet!" Coach Anson bellowed with authority.

All Male Fiction: Fuck Stop

By: Roland G & Ryan Michaels

Ryan's sexual experience was limited: until recently he had been just another horny teenager, fantasizing constantly, and constantly masturbating. The erotic tensions contained in his powerfully developed young body usually shot out into his hand. But he wasn't a virgin.

His sex life had begun conventionally enough with a girl, a tramp who hung out with the athletes at the local high school and who had gone to bed with almost all of them at one time or another — and in various combinations.  Ryan had made a name for himself on the football team during his first year of high school so that even if he'd been unattractive, the girls would have flung themselves at him.

His first slut threw herself at him, indeed, one night in the bed of his pickup truck. He lost his cherry to her, (her cherry had vanished long before she spread her legs for Ryan) when he plunged his inexperienced dick in and out of her insatiable cunt until he came about thirty seconds later.

Several similar experiences, however, made it clear to Ryan that he really wasn't getting much out of fucking pussy, especially with fucking those sluts. At least, it didn't seem so wonderful to him, despite the fuss all his fellow jocks made about banging pussy. Oh, he lasted longer than he did that first time, but, to Ryan, it was just a way to get his rocks off — nothing more. He sometimes thought he preferred pumping his own cock over pumping his dick in and out of a slut's snatch.

Shortly after his eighteenth birthday he and some friends had gone into town, gotten their signals crossed, and the upshot was that Ryan had been left behind without a cent in his pockets. It was late at night and all he could do was hit the streets and try to hitch a ride back to the suburbs. Of course, like anyone, he knew that hitchhiking could be dangerous, but he was stranded and desperate. Besides, he was an athletic guy, a football player, and felt he could take care of himself.

After a long wait, Ryan was surprised to see a big rig slow down and then stop. The driver spoke through the open passenger window. "Where're you headed?"

Ryan told the man where he lived.

"I can drop you off there without going too far out of my way," the trucker said as he leaned over and opened the passenger door. "Hop in."

"Thanks," Ryan said as he gratefully climbed up to the cab and got in, settling on the cold leather seat beside the driver, who was a thick-set, muscular type of about thirty-five. He had a strong jaw, a tanned face, blue-gray eyes, and brown hair. He wore jeans — every bit as faded and tight fitting as Ryan's own — and a polo shirt, which wasn't exactly standard truck driver's attire, but which showed off his heavy chest and bulging biceps.

"Frank's the name," he volunteered.

"I'm Ryan."

"Kind of late for you to be out, isn't it kid?"

"I lost my ride home," Ryan explained.

They chatted for some time as the truck sped through the quiet, dark night. Then Frank said, "Look what I bought myself today." He pulled a thin brown paper bag out from under the seat and handed it to Ryan.

Ryan opened it automatically and pulled out the magazine he found inside. He had never seen anything quite like the unblushingly pornographic photographs the magazine contained. This was the seventies, long before the Internet. Such materials were not readily available to someone Ryan's age.

Each photo showed a man and a woman fucking in various positions. Then, several pages were devoted to a step-by-step photo essay showing the woman sucking the guy's cock. The final pictures showed him shooting his load, with cum blasting all over her face and dribbling down her panting, eager lips.

 
"Holy shit," Ryan muttered. "This is pretty hot stuff." He felt his dick beginning to harden inside his tight jeans as he examined the cocksucking sequence more closely the second time. He easily imagined himself in the man's place, with those willing lips wrapped snugly around his swelling cock.

"Have a drink," Frank offered, passing a bottle of bourbon to Ryan, who swallowed a big mouthful and passed it back. The driver eagerly closed his lips around the neck of the bottle and tipped it up. "That bitch looks like she knows how to give good head," he commented lewdly. "Hey, you ever had a blowjob?"

"Well… no," Ryan admitted. He didn't see any point in trying to impress Frank by lying about it. The various girls he had made it with, well those experiences were far from romantic. There had never been any blowjobs, hand jobs or even kissing. It was all about some slut who wanted nothing more than a quick fuck from a stiff dick.

"Yeah? That's hard to believe, a good-looking young guy like you. Some guys like a good suck-off better than pussy, you know. You feel somebody's smooth lips, nice and warm and wet, right down over your hard prick. Then you feel a tongue dig into the really sensitive spots, licking away, and, oh man! And once a cock slips deep down a tight hot throat, once a cock gets sucked on like there's no tomorrow, then shit, kid, I'm telling you there just ain't nothing like it in the world!"

"Sounds amazing!" Ryan replied, his cock now rock hard in his jeans.

Ryan saw Frank glance at his crotch. He felt embarrassed, his hard-on more than obvious, and then a small smile crept across Frank's face and he said, "So, kid, you want to see how it feels?"

Ryan knew he should get out of the truck, but he sat still and said nothing. Conflicting emotions welled up within him, and he quivered with excitement and nervousness at the prospect of letting Frank blow him. His dick pressed even harder against his jeans. He felt the truck make a turn; they were going off onto a dark side road. Then he felt a big, calloused hand push between his legs and cup itself nonchalantly around his meat. Frank began to exert a steady, confident pressure, gently kneading the hot meat imprisoned beneath the buttons of Ryan's fly.

"You like that, don't you?" Frank whispered heatedly, his breath rasping over the edges of his teeth. "I can tell you like it. Jesus, that's a big goddamned rod you've got inside those jeans. Spread your legs a little, let me get at it."

His hand felt so good and Ryan just opened his legs some more without stopping to think about it.

"That's right. I'm going to keep working your big hot dick, and your balls too until you can't stand it anymore. You're going to have to ram it down my throat. I won't hurt you, don't be nervous. In fact, Ryan, you're going to enjoy every second of this."

The truck rolled to a stop in the shadow of a huge tree at the edge of a deserted field.  Ryan remained motionless, wanting it and yet not wanting it, afraid but almost helpless with desire.

The hand so busy between his legs now climbed up to Ryan's belt buckle and began to loosen it. Ryan felt the hand undo the buttons of his jeans, one by one, spreading open his fly. He dared not look down. Then the fingers, alive and warm inside his pants, caressed and fondled his balls, then pulled out his hard cock.

Ryan looked down. His dick stood straight out from his jeans. Frank's big warm hand was wrapped around the lower part of it, squeezing the shaft with gentle firmness.

"You've got a really big one," Frank whispered. "There are damned few cocks like this baby around! You're not cut, either. Mint condition, I like that. Shit, look at all that foreskin, and that big fat head peeking through. Fuck man, I can't wait to taste you, Ryan!"

The trucker lowered his head into Ryan's lap. Ryan felt his dick, the shaft of which was still tightly clasped in the trucker's hand, being captured by something warm, wet, and very slippery. He gasped as the trucker's head began to move up and down. He had never dreamed anything could feel so fucking good on his cock! And Frank went on and on, as though he would be perfectly delighted to suck on Ryan's cock all night.

Hell, yes, Ryan thought, it did beat pussy — that hot, wet, tight, hard-moving mouth around his cock, like a whirlpool sucking in the body of a drowning man.

"Suck me!" Ryan finally dared to moan. "Suck my cock!"

His outburst seemed to inspire his cocksucker to even greater urgency. Within seconds, the pleasure became so intense it was unbearable. Ryan arched upward off the seat with all his strength, fucked his meat into the trucker's mouth, ramming it brutally down the man's engorged throat. Frank only ate it harder and faster, more eagerly. Suddenly Ryan groaned, fought back a shout, and fired his first thick wad of cream into the trucker's mouth. Massive wads of sperm followed one another, bursting from Ryan's arching, trembling body.

When it was all over, Ryan sank back against the leather seat, breathing hard. Frank curved his lips slowly up around Ryan's cock shaft and then pulled off it completely. He pulled Ryan's foreskin back as far as he could and licked the exposed, sensitive knob with his tongue, causing Ryan to shudder, before he finally sat back in his driver's seat.

"Di-did you swallow that stuff?" Ryan asked him in amazement.

"Sure! Are you that new to this scene?"

Ryan nodded.

"I remember the first time I got a knob job," Frank laughed.

As the trucker reminisced, Ryan relaxed and drank more whiskey when Frank offered it. Ryan felt ambivalent about taking part in a homosexual act, even as a passive recipient of oral gratification. The booze, however, helped him to overcome his shyness. And so, strangely enough, did the odor in the truck cab — the maleness of two aroused bodies, of crotch, jeans, sweat, cum, bourbon.

"Hold the bottle for me," Frank said.

Ryan took the bottle and watched as the trucker opened his fly and took out his cock. It wasn't remarkably long, but it was thick and getting thicker as the trucker worked it with his hand.

As it grew completely hard, Frank held it up like a mast and said, "Now, this baby has been around some. I like to suck, you know, feel all that hot cum blasting into my mouth and down my throat. But I like to get mine sucked off, too. How about it, kid? Think you could handle it?"

"I-I've never done it," Ryan said, staring at the trucker's hard dick staring back up at him, with an odd mixture of revulsion and lust.

"I'll tell you what, just put your hand around it. Just like it was a nice hot piece of pipe."

Ryan reached over and did it.

There, yeah, that feels good! Now, give it a little squeeze."

Ryan gave the cock a squeeze.

"Shit, that's great. Come on, Ryan. You're looking at it. You're feeling it. It looks good, right? And it feels good? Well? Come on. Go down on it, just a little."

Ryan looked down at the throbbing cock he was holding in his hand. He knew he shouldn't do it; he didn't want to become a cocksucker, but it was so tempting, and he let himself bend down to the trucker's lap and slowly let the truck driver's stiff meat slide into his mouth.

The cock seemed to swell even larger once it was between Ryan's lips. He felt that what he was doing was awful, criminal, immoral… but he knew, at the same time, that it was the right thing for him to be doing. Somehow, he was destined to have this hard cock in his mouth.

As he tried to suck it, it climbed deeper into his mouth, toward his throat. It tasted pungent. Ryan sat up again, gasping, shuddering. "I can't do it. I'm afraid I'll puke."

"That's okay, kid. Will you beat me off?"

Ryan still had the moist prick in his hand. He began to move his hand up and down on the thick piece of meat, smearing his saliva over it. Feeling horny again, he began to beat his own hard rod with his other hand.

"Yeah! Oh, yeah," the trucker sighed. "Harder, kid, harder. Yeah! Fuck! Flog that dick! Beat that mother fucker! Ahh shit, I'm cumming!"

A white blob of cream leaped upward and fell onto Ryan's pumping hand, followed by the thick cum which poured forth from the tip of the trucker's dick. Ryan beat his own meat more urgently, and in a few moments, he erupted a second load into his own hand. The heavy, funky man odor of jism filled the truck cab. Ryan was almost sickened by it but he also felt strangely relieved and calm.

Soon they were rolling again, and when Ryan got out of the truck a block from his house, the trucker leaned over toward him and said, "Hey, Ryan. You know the Genesee Truck Stop, near where I picked you up?"

"Sure." Ryan and his buddies had eaten at the combined gas station and diner several times; it was a popular hangout.

"I'll be there next Friday. Meet me in the parking lot, say around ten o'clock, and I'll show you where there's some real action; the places and the people who know what it's all about. We'll have ourselves a ball."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"You'll be there. Once a guy gets a taste of dick he always wants more. I'll be waiting," the trucker said and then he drove off.

**********

Throughout the following week, Ryan thought about it. His mood alternated between desire and disgust, between fear and fascination. And when Friday night rolled around, he got a ride into town and made his way to the truck stop, as he had known all along he would, as Frank knew he would.

All Male Fiction: The Work Boots

By: Tommyhawk1

 

 

I was glad when my next-door neighbors moved out. Noisy, drunken, abusive, and screaming at each other every Saturday night at 2am. (Sunday morning, that is).

The apartment was vacant for a month, and then suddenly it was occupied. I knew this when I walked by and saw that the windows, which had been shut with blinds closed, now stood with blinds open and things piled inside. Our two apartments shared an alcove and our doors faced each other. As I walked by, I craned my neck to look in the window when I nearly tripped over a pair of work boots.

My new neighbor had left his work boots on the mat at his front door. Large, round-toed, size-13 work boots, dark brown, badly scuffed, with a yellow rectangle that said "Caterpillar" on their outsides at the tops. I lurched, caught myself, put them back into their original side-by-side position, and went into my apartment. At the time I saw those boots, I was mostly annoyed. The alcove was small enough, and now I was in constant danger of tripping over his work boots. But they were gone in the morning when I got up to go to work, and so I figured I could live with it.

For days my neighbor was an enigma to me. I knew nothing about him besides the fact that he wore work boots to work. I could look out my window beside the door right into the window of his apartment (the usual scatter-brained design of such cheap buildings) but for the fact that the drawn blinds stayed drawn. I saw nothing of him other than an occasional shadow against the blinds at night; not that I was especially looking back then, mind you.

But the weather grew warmer rapidly, and the apartments had no air-conditioning. I knew he would eventually be forced to do what I had done, open the blinds and the window. First during the day only, but in the heat of July and August, you had to leave every window open at night or roast inside your own apartment.

It happened, first the window was opened, then after a few days of that, the blinds went up and I could, at night with both our lights on, see him just fine - god, it was the really hot guy that I had seen at the pool a couple of times. I thought he lived up on the second floor. I could see the shapeless masses that were his furniture, some sort of mattress, a beanbag chair, and a television set seeming to be his only possessions; my own weren't much more than that.

I had seen him at the pool, hair glistening from the recent dip, and him lying on the patio chair, his black hair lying neatly in place, his well-defined chest formed of his strong pecs, ovals topped by two off-centered brown nipples, then the lines of his abs down to his narrow waist, and the nice package that formed below. His legs were nicely shaped without bulging, with widened areas showing the muscles. His toes were...

"Like what you see, faggot?" was his sardonic comment when he spotted me looking at him. I turned and walked away, muttering, "jerk" under my breath, and after that, when he was at the pool, I stayed indoors, and vice versa.

Shit, now the guy was right next door to me. I thought about it and snapped off the lights in my apartment. If I hadn't known he was next door to me, odds were he didn't know the same about me. Hidden in the darkness of my apartment, I stood and watched him.

He was in that beanbag chair - I suppose it was - he had a Western-style throw over it, making it an undefined mass, but it let him slouch low and watch his television. I couldn't see all of him, but I saw he was bare above the waist, and that he was watching television, which was his only light source. It was spewing that off-brown color all over him in rippling movements that made it clear he was watching porn of some kind. His arms were down in such a way that I wondered if he was playing with himself! I leaned forward, but I couldn't tell; it seemed like it. Would he do that, whack off with the blinds open?

I thought about it and stealthily opened my door and went over to peek inside. Just a quick look to tell me if he was whacking off or not, and I would dart back inside before I could be spotted.

That was my plan, anyway. I tripped over those damned work boots of his again and darned near fell down. I cursed under my breath and went back indoors, and back to my window again. His arm was moving kind of funny. If only I could see just a little lower down. I got my old steamer trunk I had picked up at a garage sale and pulled it over to the window and got up on that; I could see.

Yes, he was whacking it! God, that hard cock of his was a monster! He was making long strokes up and down that shaft, which must have easily been ten inches! Watching the screen, whacking his meat, wearing only a pair of black baggy shorts that he had lowered to mid-thigh, stretched out, his window absent of its coverings, feeling secure enough to whack off like that, he was watching and he was stroking.

I reached into my own shorts and pulled out my dick and pumped it, intending to shoot when he did, if I could. But I had no more than gotten it out when, without any sort of movement from him, no thrashing or groaning I could spot, he suddenly shot his wad onto his stomach. It took me a moment to even spot the quick small jets as they arced over. And he was done and wiping his stomach with a corner of that Western-style throw. I wondered if it was thick and stiff with his loads; it seemed to be. He finished cleaning off, turned off the television with the remote, and was in darkness. Show over!

But I was left with a hard-on and nothing but a few brief memories. Damn, if those work boots hadn't been out there I would have gotten a good look at him! Those fucking boots had ruined my fun... or had they?

I pulled up my shorts over my hard dick and opened the door. They were out there, alright. I grabbed the right one and took it back to my place.

He must use the outdoors to air them out because they were pretty funky-smelling. I got a whiff of it - which was partly old leather but a lot of male sweat - and grinned evilly. Call me a faggot just for looking, who the fuck did he think he was? I'd show him, even if I hoped he'd never catch on.

I pumped my cock, turned on by the brief glimpses of the worked-out, big-dicked stud and the thought of what I was going to do to him. Turned on by the furtiveness, too, I got to the edge pretty quickly and I grabbed that boot in my free hand and I pumped my wad right inside that grungy work boot. Thick clumps of my jizz made it inside, along with a couple that only hit the outside of it, but when I caught my breath and looked, I had plenty of it inside there like I wanted, clustered around the heel.

I lifted it up and let the sperm flow down into the toe, and it did, like syrup, a clump on the outside falling in a splat on my floor. Then I carefully opened the door and set it back beside its mate. The sperm would dry before morning, and my nasty, hunky neighbor would go to work while walking on my dried cum. And he'd never even know it! Revenge is sweeter (and safer) when you take it anonymously.

But I decided the next day after I was sure he hadn't suspected a thing, that one load of jizz wasn't enough. I needed to put another load in that boot's mate. That would be it - he would know before much longer who his neighbor was and any suspicion about the stains in or on his boots would be a dead giveaway. Safety lay in knowing when to stop. A load in his other work boot and I would stop entirely.

I was confirmed in this decision when I arrived home from work that evening to see him just getting home as well, taking off his boots by his front door. He gave me a look – more of a snarl actually - as if he was wondering what the hell I was doing there, and then I heard the word "Shit!" and his door slam as he watched me enter my apartment. I peered through my window and saw the blinds had been drawn and the window closed.

I had never heard him go out in the evenings, not during the week anyway, so I decided to go ahead and get the rest of my revenge for his one-word insult at the pool, and put an end to it. I waited until it got dark and then I stepped out and grabbed his work boot, making sure this time I grabbed the left one and darted back inside.

This time, it was harder for me, without the stimulation of the recent sights and the lesser fear of danger. I beat my meat for a good long time before I managed to get off. Only the realization that if my neighbor noticed his boot was missing I'd be stuck with it and have to toss it someplace discreetly, gave me the impetus I needed to finish the job. This time I held the boot up to my crotch and shot the entire wad right inside it. I got a few globs on the inside of the tongue, but the rest spewed inside. I think I coated its insides thoroughly, from the drainage of the last slow spurts onto the tongue where it oozed down inside.

I was done and slipped the work boot back outside, leaving my own door open. No more reason to hide, my neighbor knew I was here.

His door opened about five minutes later and my heart jumped. He grabbed his work boots and I saw to my horror that he was about to put them on, bare-footed! Some quick trip to the store or something, I guessed. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Leather tends to soak stuff up in a hurry. Maybe...

"Ah, god damn it!" my neighbor yelled. "Shit! What is that? God damn!"

I settled myself in my chair and grabbed a book. He muttered some more and then I heard him walk over to my door - clomp, pat, clomp, pat, clomp, pat. One foot shod, one foot bare.

I looked up with what I hoped was innocence, seeing him standing there red-faced and angry, wearing those black shorts and a red pullover, wielding the left work boot.

"What the fuck did you do to my boot?" he demanded.