Best Gay Erotica 2014 (8 page)

“First lesson is to remind you whose cock you've been jonesin' for all this time,” Frank said, slipping a finger down the cleft of Joe's ass. He could tell that his partner had slicked up the digit, though he didn't know where he had gotten the lube from. Did Frank just carry it around with him, tucked inside one of his pockets? The thought made his cock harden a little more.

“You like that?” Frank asked, touching the edge of Joe's hole and then pushing his finger inside. Joe clenched around the intrusion, but Frank just kept up his motions, pushing in and pulling out a few times before a second digit joined in to start stretching him. “You aching for it?”

“Yes,” Joe said, his voice unsteady. “I want…I want you to fuck me.”

Frank removed his fingers and Joe almost cried out at the loss. But he didn't have long to wait, as he soon felt Frank's hands on his hips and the tip of Frank's cock nudging between his cheeks. “Class is in session, kid,” he said, and that was the only warning Joe had before Frank plunged into him, deep and hard, in one swift movement. Joe felt like he was suffocating, filled up and no room to breathe. He pulled against his restraints, the pain of the cuffs playing hard against the pleasure he was starting to feel.

Frank didn't say anything else as he fucked. He pressed his fingers into the skin of Joe's hips, holding him in place as he just grunted and worked himself in and out of Joe's body. The younger cop cried out each time Frank hit his prostate, his cock hardening to the point where it was almost painful. He needed to touch it, but he couldn't. It was all up to Frank now. He was in charge.

“Please, please,” Joe begged. “Get me off.”

Frank didn't answer, but instead just sped up his motions. Joe was sure there would be bruises on his hips, as hard as Frank was holding him. It seemed to take forever, the minutes passing by without him knowing how long it had been, but finally Frank seized up for an instant and was spilling inside him. His cock pulsed inside Joe's body, again and again, filling Joe with come. Joe felt Frank push inside him, deeper, once, twice, and then pull back and out, leaving Joe empty. He could feel come dripping between his asscheeks and he was sure it would leak out when he moved, but he was in too much pain to concentrate. Joe needed Frank to get him off, or at least unlock the cuffs so he could do it himself.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to stay focused. Joe didn't know how he would explain the bruises. He'd have to make sure to change in privacy until they faded.

Joe jerked away as he felt someone touch his left hand. Opening his eyes, he looked to see Frank unlocking the cuff. His partner had fastened his pants again, looking like he had just been standing around, with no evidence of what had just happened.

Once his hand was released, Joe fell to the floor, his still-cuffed right hand going straight to his cock. He grabbed hold of his erection, pumping his hand up and down its length as the cuff clanged against the floor with each stroke. He was so close that it didn't take long before he was coming, white spurts coating the dusty concrete in front of him.

He tried to get his breathing under control: it had all happened so fast, he was still trying to catch up. Joe startled when a key landed beside him, and he looked up at his partner.

“Unlock yourself.”

Joe looked back down, reaching for the key with a shaky
hand. It took him three tries, but he finally got it into the lock and undid the cuff. Just as he suspected, both his wrists were lined in red and there were spots of blood where the metal had dug in.

“Hand them over,” Frank said, his tone flat and revealing no emotions. Joe did as he was told, offering up the key and cuffs before hunching back into himself. “Clean yourself up. I'll be waiting in the car.”

With that, Joe could hear Frank's footsteps retreating. He didn't dare look up, didn't want to see him go. When it was silent again, he pushed himself up, standing on shaky feet. Joe reached down and grabbed his boxers, pulling them up his legs again. His cock was sticky inside the material, his ass wet and sore, but he had nothing to clean himself with. Going over to where he had dropped his clothes, he began pulling them on. His uniform was dusty, and even after he beat his hands against the pants and shirt, there were still streaks he couldn't get out. But maybe he looked good enough until he could get back to the station and change uniforms.

Joe walked outside, shielding his eyes against the morning sun, and saw that Frank was sitting in the squad car. He went over, his body still unsteady, and opened the passenger door. Frank didn't look over at him when he got inside. Instead, he just turned the ignition on. Joe thought he was just going to leave without saying a word, but his partner finally broke his silence.

“You've got a lot to learn, kid. That was Lesson One.” Frank shifted the car into gear and headed out, leaving Joe to wonder what Lesson Two would be.

LIGHT-RAIL

Calvin Gimpelevich

The light-rail rolled in: overcrowded, noisy, pushing forward. The doors slid open and I shoved myself on, fumbling the ticket into my pocket.

I hated public transit: trash everywhere, sketchy seats and riding ass-to-elbow with every transient in town. A kid screamed. The woman next to me jacked the volume up on her headphones and I could hear top-forty pop tinning out the little foam pads. Something scratched at my neck.

I had already taken the morning off work to get my truck in the shop—thank god I already had tools on-site—and considered staying late to make up; maybe finish the job early to help pay for my broken engine. This was the third time it had crapped out on me, and I wanted an upgrade. I was thinking bright silver, raised wheels and a new rack around the bed. Something manly, useful and flashy. Like me.

The metro jerked to a stop. Some kid lost his footing and slammed into me before rushing out into the world. I brushed
myself off, stuck a hand in my pocket and realized my wallet was gone.

“Fuck.” I couldn't see him in the station crowd. The doors shut and we started moving before I could get out and run the little bastard down. “Fuck me.”

A woman glared. Loose floral print covered her from head to toe. I scowled and she went back to her book. I could look forward to a couple of hours wasted on the phone canceling all my cards and losing sixty bucks for a new driver's license. I'd strangle that kid if I could. I'd like to put some alligator clamps on his nipples; then pull them off and watch him squirm as the blood rushed back. See how many times I had to do that before he started begging me to let him return my shit. I would bind his wrists together and make him choke on my cock.

I like to top. Really like it. And construction work keeps me in good enough shape to dominate even the most reluctant bottoms. I started out working when I was still in high school, after school—trying to prove that a scrawny Asian kid could haul concrete—and ended up loving it. Fuck the SATs. I'd worked construction for almost fifteen years and it got me a house, a nice car and no debt. More than I could say for my college-educated peers. Now I work as a contractor, doing the detailed work on big projects. That day, I was scheduled to put in floors for some half-finished office buildings the next town over, if I could get to the damn site without anything else going wrong.

Another big stop and another mass of people jostled on. It was getting so that every standing body had to press sardine-style against his neighbor. In my case, it was a guy who'd just squeezed in next to me. We made eye contact and he held my gaze. There was a defiant playfulness in his face that made me look down. The contours of an erect penis strained against his pants.

He looked like a college student: ripped jeans, fitted shirt and
shaggy blond hair that wisped over his eyes—eyes so big and blue they were almost
too
big, almost, with big Bambi lashes softening the angular face. He had a straight nose and full pink lips. He looked like it'd been a few days since his last shave, the pale stubble framing mouth and chin. He couldn't have been more than twenty. Too lean, young enough not to have finished filling out.

He was short—a head shorter than me—but lean muscles rippled across his arms as he held on for balance. The T-shirt showed hard little nipples perched atop a modest pectoral shelf. A wiry trail of hair leaked out from his sleeves. The same type of hair I suddenly imagined curling around his dick and sheathing his balls. He looked down at his crotch then back at me, daring me to inspect it.

It was big, thick and tucked along his leg, fighting the fabric of his faggy tight jeans. I smiled. He inched closer so his cock pressed into my thigh. I could have wrapped an arm around his waist. He swayed against me to the rhythm of the train. I thought about those pretty lips on my dick. It twitched.

“Dirty boy,” I whispered in his ear. “Cruising on the train like a little slut.”

He tilted his chin up and whispered back “What are you going to do about it?”

Exactly what I wanted to hear. I hooked my hands into the sides of his pelvis, firm enough to let him know who was in charge but subtle enough that no one else was likely to notice, and guided him around so I faced his back, then pulled his tight ass into my prick and let him feel the erection swell. He pressed back, dick-hungry.

Gently, very gently, I started to hump the college boy. I tried to keep the same look of bored indifference that most other passengers wore. Nobody could tell what was going on unless
they looked at our crotches, obscured by every other commuter standing by.

I love to tease. A long painful buildup made the final fucking so much more satisfying than sticking it in the moment I got hard. Discipline: that's what made it good. Rubbing up against this kid, not knowing if I'd get the chance to finish, built the sweetest agony. I dug my fingers further into his hip bones as the wanting started to hurt.

“Almost at my stop, boy. Are you getting off?”

“I can follow you.”

“Good.”

We exited the train, him trailing after me like a puppy. Like a good submissive, he didn't speak. I led us to my worksite. It was lunch for most of the crew. They sat around the site, ripping into soggy ham-on-ryes and PB&Js. I knew about half of the guys from working different jobs around town. They hollered at me and fist-bumped me as I walked by. College boy kept his distance, but the blue eyes continued to follow.

I got to the scaffolding outside my building and started to climb. I motioned for him to join me. The boy better not be afraid of heights. We were on a seven-story building, and I had work on the fifth floor. If people noticed him scaling the restricted area, they didn't comment. He could have been my apprentice.

I stopped about where I'd left off yesterday and swung into the room. In a couple of months this was going to be another office building; right now it looked like slabs of concrete stacked on top of each with all the artistry of a four-year-old's Legos. Some of the inner walls had been put in and loose electrical wiring hung erratically from the ceiling.

The room smelled like sawdust. That floor, like everything above it, hadn't had the front wall installed, so metal grating
and wooden beams were all that shielded us from the street outside. I could see everything happening down below, but it would make a real kink in someone's neck to try watching me. The wind blew in, shifting the dirt, screws and papers lining the unfinished floor. That, combined with the cement flooring, gave the whole thing a postapocalyptic feel. The boy looked nervous. He looked over the edge, but didn't get near. It was a long way down.

I leaned against a steel girder in the middle of the space. In a couple of weeks it would be the core of a wall dividing the giant room in two. “Did you come for the view?” I asked.

He shook his head. Grinned. “I haven't come at all, yet.”

“Then get over here.” He did. The crotch of his jeans was stretched so tight that walking looked painful. Looked like he needed me to stretch him out on his back and fuck him until he shot all over himself. But I wasn't feeling that charitable. I had some aggression to work out.

I pulled his chin up to my face and stuck my tongue down his throat. Warm him up for gagging on me later. He let his hands wander, grabbing my ass, sliding up my shirt, reaching down to the lump in my pants. It felt good. I pushed him down so his face was near buried in it, and unzipped.

I smiled as he stared at my cock, taking in the size of it—seven inches of cut meat, thick enough to stretch an asshole to capacity, dripping precum, so hard that it ached. I grabbed a handful of spiky, soft hair and guided his lips to the tip. He licked the head, took it into his mouth and sucked on it before swallowing the entire thing. Stubble poked at my balls. I pulled his head in closer and started to fuck his face, letting the feeling sweep over my dick. Figured he'd choke on it but the boy sucked cock like professional, opening his throat to take the entire thing, lips stretched wide as they could go.

I leaned against the girder, hips bucking against his mouth. I could have shot my load right there and watched the cream slide down that pretty face. Instead, I pushed him off, emptying his throat all at once. He gaped for a moment, like I'd taken his pacifier away. Dick-hungry.

I yanked him back up and grabbed one of the loose cords hanging down on us. None of it had been hooked up yet, so the wires were safe. He started to look nervous when I tied his wrists up above his head, but didn't complain. I liked watching him endure the discomfort. He had discipline. I respected that. I pulled his T-shirt up so it hung around his hands.