Best Gay Erotica 2014 (13 page)

“You like it?” RC asked.

My mind whirled out in a blind rush.
Oh, god. Oh, my god. They aren't…they won't…please please please yes
.

In a seductive purr, Mr. Pierce admitted, “I love it.”

My hand tightened around my aching dick.
Yes, yes, yes
.

In one fluid motion RC stood, hands opening his fly as he turned and shucked down his jeans. He bent over slightly, mooning Mr. Pierce and giving me a good look at those plump, dimpled cheeks. His ass was smooth and tanned, with a hint of
dark hair curving beneath each buttock to trail into the crack between them. A mole sat like a beauty mark just below the tail-bone on his right buttock, one single imperfection on an otherwise flawless canvas. “If you love it so much,” RC joked, “why don't you kiss it?”

My whole body throbbed with need.
Yes
.

When Mr. Pierce leaned forward, his stiff cock poked his belly, the damp tip smearing the trail of hair below his navel. His large hands caught RC's hips, pulling the younger man closer; his lips puckered, straining forward as he aimed for RC's ass. His mouth closed over that small mole with a loud
smack!
I could hear from where I sat. My fingers flew along my dick, jerking it sore, seeking release as I panted, watching, wanting more.

As if he heard my silent plea, Mr. Pierce obliged. Spreading RC's buttocks apart, he licked out to taste the dark skin hidden between them. In fascination I watched that tongue wet a path down,
down
—I could almost feel it on my own ass, which trembled for such a touch. It'd be warm, and softer than a man had a right to be, the saliva cooling along my flesh almost instantly. Mr. Pierce buried his nose between those ripe mounds, his jaw widening as his tongue angled down between them. I saw that tongue flick in and out beneath RC's left cheek and could only imagine just where it tickled when out of sight.

All coyness had left RC's face. He now leaned heavily against the dining room table, both palms flat on cards and poker chips alike. His head was thrown back, a look of sheer ecstasy written on his features. “Yes,” he panted, arching his butt into Mr. Pierce's face. His feet slid apart as he tried to spread his legs wider. “God, yes. Right there, Hank. That's it. That's the spot.
Jesus
. Right
there
!”

He leaned forward, forearms on the table now, standing
on tiptoes as he presented himself to Mr. Pierce. With expert deftness, Mr. Pierce lifted RC's buttocks and separated them, allowing me a glimpse of the puckered hole like a delicious treat at his center. I could see the muscles flex, could feel the tongue rimming the tight bud as if it were
my
ass upon which Mr. Pierce gorged. Softly I mimicked RC's desire-filled cries as I pulled my cock toward release. “Yes,
yes
.” When the tip of his tongue disappeared into RC's hole, I whispered Mr. Pierce's real name, “Hank.”

A thrill went through me. It felt so wicked, and as a result the first dribble of precum slicked my hand.

From my angle, I couldn't see RC's cock. As Mr. Pierce explored his anus with lips and tongue, RC raised one leg and set his foot on the bench where he had sat earlier. His jeans, bunched at his knees, were now pulled taut between his legs. He pushed them down, out of the way, his boxers following suit, and I finally saw the long, hard dick standing up from the dusky patch of hair at his crotch. An easy ten inches, thin, it curved to the right and made me feel impossibly inadequate. With one hand, he reached down and tugged it toward the center of his frame as if trying to corral it into place, but it had a mind of its own and continued to pull to one side. I wondered what that felt like during sex—if he fucked me, would I feel it angling one way or the other inside my ass, or would my own body be enough to tame it straight? God, I wanted to know. I wanted to crawl into the dining room, hide beneath the table, and let RC shove that thick length into my tender hole as far as it would go while Mr. Pierce took RC from behind.

I would have given anything to be brave enough to join in.

Instead I continued to watch, biting the inside of my cheek as I pleasured myself. “Hank,” RC sighed, over and over again. “God,” and “yes,” and “Hank,
Jesus
,” as if this were a religious
experience for him. I knew I was close to coming, and I wasn't the one on the receiving end of Mr. Pierce's relentless ministrations. How RC didn't shoot a load, how he even managed to
stand
when my own knees wanted to buckle, was beyond me.

Finally, RC gasped, “Hank!” Louder this time, almost a command, his voice breathless. “Enough already. Just fuck me, will you?”

With a last kiss on the mole that started it all, Mr. Pierce joked, “Oh, so
now
you're ready to pay the piper.”

“I want your cock,” RC said, his vulgar words enflaming my blood, “in my ass, in
two
seconds, or I'm going to spaz all over the table here and you can explain to the guys next time they're over why your cards are covered in my cum.”

That earned him a smack across the ass, a sound that reverberated through me and left a red mark in the shape of Mr. Pierce's hand on one round cheek. “They won't know it's yours,” he muttered. He stood, unzipping his pants farther and hitching them low on his hips. His dick was still ramrod hard, but he stroked it lazily as he rubbed the fat tip up and down the cleft between RC's buttocks. “Did you bring a rubber, or do you want to ride bareback this time?”

RC straightened as he reached into the front pocket of his jeans. “What happened to your supply?”

Mr. Pierce shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe the kid got into them, who knows? Maybe we used them all up last time.”

“Maybe you used them on someone else,” RC teased. Extracting his hand from his pocket, he tossed a couple of coin-shaped condom packets onto the table.

Mr. Pierce reached around RC, a hand sliding under RC's shirt to smooth across his belly. His cock pressed against RC's ass, pinned between them, as Mr. Pierce leaned over the younger
man. With his mouth on RC's neck, he murmured something I strained to hear. “There's no one else but you.”

God. Oh, god
. That phrase alone would fuel many fantasies in the days to come.

I leaned forward, my face against the louvers now, my breath hot and damp where it blew back in my face. I wanted to see everything in excruciating detail but Mr. Pierce was quick—in seconds he had the condom open and rolled onto his dick. Frustration welled in me; I wanted to replay the scene, watch it again in slow motion, see play-by-play how the lubricated condom encased his sausage-like dick. I wanted to savor the foreplay—the ease of that thick shaft between RC's tight buttocks, the filling press of cockhead to anus, the sweet pain as RC took Mr. Pierce in inch by glorious inch.

But I blinked and missed it. I saw discomfort flit over RC's features, but by the time my gaze traveled down to where their bodies melded, Mr. Pierce was already inside, his hips thrust forward, his balls hanging over the waistband of his briefs. RC's ass dimpled as he flexed, guiding Mr. Pierce deeper. Then he leaned the top half of his body down on the table, ass in the air, as Mr. Pierce found a slow, steady rhythm between them.

I renewed masturbating, timing my strokes with Mr. Pierce's. I tried to get a better look—I wanted every single moment of this night etched in my memory. I needed it, needed this, and already treasured these few stolen minutes when I was witness to something transpiring between two men that was worlds more beautiful than I had ever dared hope. I scooted closer, wanting more.

The edge of my foot struck the louvered door.

For one heart-stopping moment, Mr. Pierce seemed to freeze. RC's head was on the table now, his cheek pressed to the poker cards still lying there, and I saw his eyes swivel toward my
hiding place. Every ounce of my body screamed at me to run but I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't
think
. They knew. Oh, god, they knew.

Oh, shit
.

But Mr. Pierce had transcended reality—all that existed for him was his lover, the muscle encircling his cock and whatever myriad of emotions had swept him away. His movements were steady, a constant rocking that drove him into RC's ass with a gentle pounding and a faint “
Uh uh uh
,” that escaped his parted lips. So that's why Mikey made that same funny little sound when I'd heard him jerking off under the covers. Mr. Pierce leaned over RC, hands flat on the table on either side of RC's body, pushing his hips against RC's padded ass. His eyes were shut, his cheeks slack, and he was fucking not only with his dick but with every fiber of his being, giving himself wholly to the moment and the man beneath him.

After a breathless second when I was sure RC had seen me through the partially closed slats, he too gave in to their coupling. His eyes glazed over and rolled back as he moaned in pleasure. I picked up my own rhythm again, matching Mr. Pierce's, tugging myself to release not once, not twice, but three exhilarating times, each orgasm racking me silently. They felt like a strand of pearls, each one precious, pulled from me in rapid succession. My palm filled with jism; I smeared it along my length, coaxing a second ejaculation from me, and a third.

Suddenly the scene before me seemed private, too intimate, and I felt ashamed for watching. Mr. Pierce leaned over RC almost protectively, grinding his hips into his lover. RC fucked into his own hand, fondling his balls, reaching down farther to toy with Mr. Pierce's behind him as well. Together they moved toward ecstasy, each guiding the other to a climax I knew would be as mind-shattering as my own.

I leaned back against the counter to catch my breath, my sore dick now limp between my legs, my feet and legs numb from the position I'd been in for so long. Rolling my head to one side, I saw the edge of a dishtowel hanging over the counter above. I reached up, stretching, and snagged it down. The faint smell of Dawn soap wafted up from the still-damp rag, which I used to gingerly clean myself off.

In the dining room, RC's breath grew ragged. “Yes, yes,” he moaned. Then, raising his voice, he cried out, “Yes! God, Hank, harder, fuck me,
harder
.”

Between clenched teeth, Mr. Pierce warned, “Shh. My son's upstairs.”

“Harder,” RC whispered. He pushed back against Mr. Pierce, eager to get off. “Harder,
harder
. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Yes, yes,
yes
.”

I saw Mr. Pierce's buttocks tighten inside his briefs. He thrust forward one last time, up on tiptoe now, and held that position as he threw back his head, a guttural moan rising from the back of his throat when he finally came deep within RC's ass. Mr. Pierce's orgasm triggered RC's own, and I saw a few white drops trickle down RC's wrist as he closed his hand into a fist to keep from dripping onto the floor. “God!”

Then Mr. Pierce collapsed onto RC's back. “God,” he said again, his voice scratchy and hoarse with exhaustion. “You're something else, you know that? You're damn good.”

RC turned his head slightly, lips pursed. “You ain't bad yourself, old man. Kiss me.”

Without comment, Mr. Pierce did just that.

I blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream. A satisfying wet dream that had left me spent. I felt warm and relaxed, and if I had access to one of those packs of cigarettes left discarded on the dining room table, I would've lit up even though I'd never
smoked a cigarette in my life. But I wanted to breathe in deep, hold in the moment; let it percolate within me, sear my lungs; then exhale slowly, sated. I felt as though
I
had just been the one in there, fucking, fucked. I had never found such release in masturbation before and knew, sadly, I probably never would again.

But now I knew how it could be between men, how wonderful and amazing it could be, and I looked forward to college more than ever. I wanted what I'd seen tonight, a man of my own, those kisses and that hard dick in my ass, that tight muscle encircling my cock. And I'd have it. The rest of my life spread out before me like a promise I planned to keep to myself.

All that and more
.

Dazed, I pushed myself up off the floor and deposited the soiled dishcloth on the counter. With gentle fingers I tucked my now wilted member into the confines of my briefs, clammy from my own juices. I zipped up my jeans, careful to be quiet.

Hurrying to the fridge, I grabbed two bottles by their necks, then shut the door and hurried around the corner. I took the steps two at a time back to Mikey's room.

Outside Mikey's door I shifted the beers into both hands again and tapped the bottom of one bottle gently against the door. Pressing my face to the jamb, I whispered, “Mikey, it's me. I got the booze. Open up.”

STEAM PUNK

Eric Del Carlo

Gay bathhouses offer anonymity, and that's why they're so popular. You don't even have to talk to anyone. You can just enjoy the bodies of men.

But a bathhouse, I've always found, is also a place of raw honesty. You are literally exposed, with nothing to hide behind except those skimpy white towels that most of the men quickly toss aside. Every inch of you will be inspected by ravenous eyes as you move from pool to steam-filled room.

The place I went to was in an old industrial building in the city's warehouse district. You wouldn't know it was a business just by looking at the grimy, stony exterior. But inside it was always jumping, every night. It was almost like a maze, with tiled passageways branching off every which way.