All Male Fiction: Humiliation Games [Audio Story]

 

Rate this story:

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

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 Butthole Patrol

By: Ben G.

 

 

My buddies Mac and Jerry got started on this little kick as a lark one Saturday night after we'd had a few beers. We were feeling pretty raunchy, so when the driver of a little red sports car cut us off on the highway just out of town, we punched the pedal to the metal and took off after him, figuring on passing out a little vigilante justice on lousy drivers.

We chased the fucker for about ten miles before we finally cut him off on a curve and forced him into a freshly plowed field. Jerry cut off the engine and the three of us jumped out of the pickup and ambled over to the car. The driver was sitting behind the wheel, cussing a blue streak when we got there, glowering at us like he'd just as soon shoot us as look at us.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he shrieked, pounding on the steering wheel in a fury. "You could've killed me!"

"Well," Jerry drawled, leaning on the top of the car, "me and my buddies was thinking pretty much the same thing when you cut us off back there on the highway. We don't like havin' to pick our teeth out of the dashboard any better'n you do."

"When I get back to town, I'm going to have you goddamned pricks arrested!" the guy blustered, the veins in his forehead swelling up like little cables. "I don't need some ignorant rednecks telling me how to drive my car!"

"I figure you need somebody to teach you some manners," I said, opening the guy's door and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you just step out here and we'll continue this conversation."

"Fuck you!" he snapped.

I tightened my grip on him and jerked him out of the car. He came up to about my shoulder and he was a cute little piece, even if he was steaming mad. He was wearing stylish slacks that showed off his narrow waist and bubble butt, and a pullover shirt that clung to his tight torso like wet paint. The little fucker hauled off and pasted me one in the gut while I was looking him over. I just grunted and shook him 'till his teeth rattled.

"This one really needs to be taken down a peg or two," Mac opined, shaking his head and spitting at the dude's feet. "When I cut up like this as a kid, I always got my ass whipped by my old man."

"Not a bad idea," Jerry seconded. "From what I can see, there's a pretty nice target for us to aim at." He reached out and grabbed a handful of the dude's tight ass, making him squirm in my grip. "Real nice."

"Let's take him over there in the woods and teach him a little lesson," Mac said. "Come on, boys. Let's go."

All Male Fiction: An Unwilling Cocksucker (Part 1)

"Jacked"

By: Ryan Michaels
ryanxxx@hotmail.com

 

 

 

It was around midnight when Ryan finally left the office to head home. He was up for a big promotion, one that hinged on how well his presentation went the next day, which was what had kept him there so late. Tired, he was eager to get home to his wife and to get some long-overdue rest.

As he stood fumbling with his keys in the underground parking garage of his office complex, he didn't even notice anyone coming up behind him until he heard someone say, "Hey you!"

Turning around, he was faced with three teenage boys of about eighteen, one of them holding a gun, which was pointed right at him.

"Give us all your money!" the one holding the gun demanded.

There were security cameras, but the garage was only used for the office complex, and there was no security on duty at that time of night. So, with a gun in his face and no chance of intervention, Ryan complied and handed over his wallet.

"Now your cell phone!" he ordered.

Ryan complied again.

"Now hand over the keys!" he demanded, putting his hand out.

Giving over his cell phone and wallet was one thing, he only had about thirty dollars in his wallet, and credit cards could be replaced, so could his cell phone, but his car? He'd just bought it, his very first new car. He was still paying for it.

Ryan looked the three boys over. Despite being teenagers, all three had fairly muscular builds. The twenty-eight-year-old was in good shape himself, hitting the gym several times a week, and thought that he could distract them and take control of the situation.

"Here, take them," Ryan said and extended his hand to offer up his keys. When the guy with the gun went to take them, Ryan let them drop to the ground.

"Pick them up!" the thug demanded.

Ryan bent down to pick them up, and, as he began to straighten back up, he grabbed for the gun. A struggle ensued and then Ryan felt the gun crack him in the head, causing him to fall to his knees, stunned and gasping for air.

Disoriented and with his head hung, he felt a hand latch firmly onto his arm and another grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling his head up. The one with the gun was standing in front of him, still pointing the deadly weapon at him. He smirked at Ryan, and Ryan felt that he was about to die.

"Please, just take my car and let me go!" he pleaded. "I won't tell anyone about this, I promise!"

The gunman smiled at him. "No, I think you still have more to give us," he said lowering the gun.

Ryan didn't understand. They had his money, his cell phone, and his car, he had nothing else to give them. However, just seconds later he fully understood what else they wanted as he watched in horror as the teen thug with the gun unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock.

All Male Fiction: The Ping-Pong Club

By: Unknown Author & Ryan Michaels

 

 

 

Peter was a college freshman, and while he never had a problem with the ladies, he always found it hard to make new friends with other guys. He didn't know anyone at college, that is, until Sean, a sophomore, had approached Peter and welcomed him to the college. Sean was really nice to Peter, offering to show him around campus, and soon the two became best friends.

When Sean asked Peter to join his Ping-Pong club, the college freshman was thrilled. Thrilled that Sean wanted him to be a part of a club that he belonged to, and also thrilled at the prospect of making some new friends. But, at the same time, he was a little surprised that he would ask him, of all people, to join such a club.

"Sean," Peter said, "we've never even played the game together. How do you even know I'd be any good?"

"Look," Sean said, "the club lost its fourth member and we need a replacement. Come on. You'll like Bobby and David. They're fun."

"But," Peter protested, "I don't play Ping-Pong."

"That's okay," his friend said. "It's not like it's a team or anything. We're just playing for fun. And anyway," Sean said in an enigmatic way, "sometimes losing is even better than winning."

"What does that mean?" Peter asked.

Sean winked. "You'll find out if you join the club."

So, Peter agreed.

The boys met for breakfast at the dining hall on Saturday and then left for the club's meeting, which was being held off-campus at Sean's friends' place. Because Bobby's parents were wealthy, he and David were able to afford a little one-story home with a small basement.

Peter and Sean drove to the house at the appointed time, and when the other boys let them in, introductions were made, and then the four adjourned to the lower floor. There was a couch, TV, a little bar, a small refrigerator, a portable CD player, a little bathroom off to one side, and, in the center of the room, a large Ping-Pong table.

While Bobby and David went off to get a few beers, Sean whispered to his friend, "Whatever happens, you've got to promise not to object. Okay?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Never mind, just promise."

"Sean…"

"Hurry up, they're coming back. Do this for me, okay? Just promise, don't make me look bad in front of my friends."

"Okay, I promise. But what…"

At that moment, their hosts returned, passing out the beers.

The game started a few minutes later with Bobby and David teamed against Peter and Sean. Within minutes, Peter knew they were going to lose, and lose badly.

It didn't take long.

Volley after volley whizzed by Peter's shoulder as he frantically tried to lob them back, his face reddening in embarrassment and his armpits becoming soaked with nervous shame. David and Bobby, sensing immediately that Peter was the weak member of his team, aimed the ball at him without mercy, and their deliberate assault was as obvious to Peter as it was humiliating. Worse, Peter knew he was making an ass of himself in front of Sean, the one person in his life he most wanted to impress.

When the game was finished, Peter nervously apologized for his lousy playing. Sean, though, just grinned. He seemed strangely happy to have lost. While Peter was trying to figure out why Bobby and David came over and stood in front of Sean and locked eyes with him.

Bobby spoke. "You ready?"

Sean nodded.

The other boys swiftly removed the net from the table, then returned and picked Sean up by the arms, pulling him over to the long side of the table. Sean lay flat, his legs spread wide, feet planted on the floor and his belly pressed to the tabletop as Peter stared in confusion. What the hell was going on?

All Male Fiction: Civil Lessons

By: Unknown Author

  

 

Okay, I'll admit it—I was acting like a damned kid. There was no reason for a twenty-year-old man to behave like such a jerk to his sister and her new boyfriend. Still, I'd had a bad time at college the past couple of months, and I wasn't too happy about coming home on break and finding that I'd been ousted from my room by one of Susan's prospective husbands. Hell, she'd been engaged more times than I could count, for fucks sakes!
 
So I wasn't very nice to her—or to him, for that matter. Pete wasn't bad, but he had a shitty haircut and lousy taste in clothes. I was the big, bad college sophisticate, don't you know, so I was very concerned about things like that. I made some remarks and reduced my sister to tears more than once. Pete hadn't said much at the time, but I could tell that he was doing a slow burn. What I didn't suspect was what he was going to do about it.
 
The evening of the third day I'd been at home, Mom and Susan went out shopping. Dad was working late, so it was just Pete and me, all alone in the house. He tried to talk to me, but I made some crack and walked off. I went on up to the bathroom to take a shower, planning to go out and get away from the zoo my home had become.
 
I had just gotten all soaped up when the bathroom door flew open. Pete reached in and turned off the hot water, then blocked my escape until I was fucking freezing. I got really pissed and grabbed at him. I missed, coming away with nothing but a handful of his shirt. Then he yanked the shower curtain aside, grabbed me, and pulled me kicking and screaming down the hall.

All Male Fiction: Fucking Breeders!

By: Unknown Author

 

 

 

Sex is my hobby. I love fucking the way some people love sports, and I play hardball with hard guys anywhere I travel.

Me, I'm only twenty-five years old, big in every way. Anywhere I travel in this US of A, there's nothing I like better than to waggle my long dickbait at some big-mouthed cockgobbler. I'm young, tall, good-looking, in shape, and HUNG, so I have my pick of anyone I might want to seduce. I love seducing and screwing straight guys, and I usually don't have a problem getting them in the sack.

I operate on the premise that all those hicks in the sticks don't have many options and it doesn't take much to convince them to go for it. Once that sucker's hooked, I reel him into my crotch for a marathon suck job. A man from every state in the union has squirmed down there on the end of my cock at one time or another.

Of all the straight men I screw, married guys are best. Those wide-eyed former high school quarterbacks trapped by the prom queen for a breeding life in the suburbs and nine-to-five tedium Assistant Managing at the Piggly-Wiggly.

The married ones are always looking for something to spice up their sex lives. They're itching to run home-with their freshly-fucked asses still oozing my jizz, and fuck their wives with their pathetic hard-ons. And they'll cum thinking about my juice-filled cock-sausage as they feel their holes still gaping open.

See, married guys don't take this big cock of mine for granted. Those housebound bucks are always feeling frisky. A married guy is always the most helpless when you get him alone, face-to-crotch with his sexuality. He doesn't know why he's naked on his knees. He doesn't know why he's sucking on my cock like some desperate whore. His dick gets hard at the taste of my big, flopping balls filling his cheeks like a chipmunk, and he doesn't know why. All he knows is that he's just got to have it.

I like 'em even better when they put up a fuss. Like they can't believe they're going to get fucked. One farm boy from Iowa was still protesting about how much he loved chicks, even as my hot cock snuck right up his hole!

All Male Fiction: Whipped Into Shape

By: Unknown Author

 

 

Jim Spencer was a bright, athletic and good-looking kid who should've been at the top of his class. Unfortunately, he was totally out of control, and all of the teachers were really fed up with his classroom antics. As the principal of the high school he attended, I was responsible for discipline, and so I saw Jim in my office at least once a week. He was on his way in again, and I sat behind my desk, wondering how to get through to him.

"Come in," I said gruffly in response to a knock on my door.

Jim opened the door and stepped inside, a smug little smirk on his face. He was wearing his gym clothes, which meant he'd gotten Coach Peterman's goat, which wasn't easy. I shook my head in disgust and stared up at him.

Jim was easy to look at. His bare legs were sleek, with a runner's finely tuned muscles, and his stretched-out tank-top wasn't doing much to hide his muscular torso. At eighteen, Jim's body was in fine shape; pecs, lats, deltoids, you name it, all emerging from gawky boyhood to the first glow of his young manhood. As I looked at him, he reached down and idly scratched his balls.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Jordan?" he asked insolently. "You know how much I always enjoy our little visits."

"I'd like you to behave like a man instead of a jerk," I snapped angrily, rising out of my chair and striding around to the front of my desk. "What was it this time?"

"I got in a little shoving match with Mark Jamison. Coach took Mark's side, of course."

Jamison was a sniveling little tattletale, a type I couldn't abide. I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather shove myself, although I couldn't let Jim know that.

"I told Coach to stuff it up his butt, so he sent me to see our beloved principal. Nice tie, man," he concluded, flicking the end of my tie, his hand skimming by my face, missing my nose by less than an inch.

"Careful, Spencer," I growled, my face going scarlet. "You're stepping over the line, son." I was within a heartbeat of decking the young fool. I took a deep breath and tried to control my temper.

"What're you going to do about it, Jordan? Spank me?" His tone was maddening. "Come on, wimp. Why don't you try to do something?"

All Male Fiction: The Initiation

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.