Gay Erotic Stories

Once the door had closed behind them, after it was locked and latched with a metallic certainty, after they had moved those few feet to the foot of the bed, they stood facing each other and they embraced. They were beyond dinner, beyond the drive to the hotel, beyond the myriad of obstacles that had to be surmounted in order to bring them together that night. He marveled at her mouth, the way her unfamiliar lips brushed and slickered against his, her playfully assertive tongue. The passion in her hands on the back of his neck, her narrow torso that pressed against his chest, her hips against his hips. His fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress. He helped her fingers unbutton his shirt, then she paused while he cupped her breasts held by a simple white bra. The clasp was in the back. He needed two hands to unsnap it. Her breasts, small and white below a distinct tan line that was splattered with freckles, thrust forward into his hands, begging to be caressed, hoping to be admired. Her nipples were almost tiny, pink and partially erect, surrounded by discreet, light brown areolas. Again she leaned her body forward against his, giggling in his mouth as his fingertips gently pinched those swollen little nubs of pink. He stepped back, inhaling the sight of her. Her smile, her pale blue eyes, the reddish brown freckles on her shoulders and below her neck in a V. Two pairs of eyes tracked her fingers as they trickled downward through the furry half-gray hair on his chest, pausing at his leather belt, inches from the bulge below. Too impatient to wait, his own hands unbuckled and unzipped, and then his trousers joined her dress on the floor. She seemed mesmerized at the sight of his bulging underwear and the liquid spot at the apex. Wordlessly, she shed her half-slip, exposing simple white panties, and without the shy hesitation he had imagined she would show, those too followed in a crumpled statement at her feet. And thus she was naked, with her wavy head of hair and her constant smile and her perky breasts, her female thighs framing her dark fluff of pubic hair. She stood before him and watched as he eased his own underwear past the protrusion of his erection. Their eyes met, then their hands, and with no awkwardness they traveled the few short steps to the bed and slipped between the crisp sheets. She folded into his arms and sighed, and they kissed once again. Her skin was hot, a contrasting dry to the touch of his moist palms. He was everywhere on her body. Face, neck, breasts. His mouth followed his hands in their wanderings. Arms, fingers. Her soft, slightly rounded feminine belly. He eased his body lower between her legs, and his face found her mound with its untamed dark brown hair and a scent that advertised her arousal. His fingers delicately parted her thatch, and there she was, pink and pouty and ready for him. He feasted on her, lashing her open even wider, tasting her smoky honeyed flow, feeling her hips squirm in his grasp. He was aroused to the point of being anxious, his erection hard and throbbing against the mattress, his heart pounding, his toes clenching and unclenching. Fingers, lips, tongue, even his nose caressed her folds, brushed and licked and sucked and nibbled her. He consumed her, overwhelmed by his passion and his lust and this woman in his hands, under his touch, exposed to him, vulnerable to his desire, willing in her own. "Wait," she whispered, restraining his head. "Softer," she told him. And this time when he resumed, it was with a timid touch, a subtle tracing by the tip of his tongue along the secret edges of her inner labia, first one side, then the other. Between her petals, then outside them. The barest wet pass along the twiggy shaft of her clitoris. Was it still too rough? She shivered and clung to him. Her hands held his head, neither pulling him closer nor pushing him away. She was silent, even though her body unhurriedly floated beneath him, as if carried by the tidal ebb and flow of his mouth. This first time he could wait no longer. He covered her body with his and found her creamy notch with his shaft. Eyes locked together, he held himself above her on his elbows and felt the soles of her feet slide against the sides of his legs, just above his ankles, and he teased at her slick opening. They inhaled a mutual breath as the mushroom head of his cock did its erotic stretch and lodged just barely inside her. He twitched, surely oozing, and her mouth pursed into a tight circle that matched how her vagina snugged around his rigid flesh. "Okay?" he asked her glistening, expectant eyes. "Okay." And then he pushed inward, deeper. Her silky heat enveloped and graced his languid entry, inch by inch, his tentative testing advances alternating with lesser withdrawals that eventually gained him full possession. Their bodies moved against each other, sometimes in sync, sometimes awkward in their unfamiliarity. Her legs straightened, then adjusted higher with bent knees. She clasped his strong hips with her thighs, then spread her knees wider, then back to clasp him again, then once more flat against the bed and straight, and all the while he maneuvered his body at different angles to feel her variations, to capture her. To make love to her. When he leaned forward to kiss her, her straightened legs discouraged his deepest penetration, yet when he held himself up above her with stiffened outstretched arms and was able to fully embed himself, her face seemed a million miles away, her lips a distant memory. But his instinctive urge to be inside her as deep as he could be was winning the battle. He wanted her, he desired her. "Bend your knees," he urged and she complied, allowing him his complete advance, his primitive victory. His climax was near. Lazy, gentle early strokes had now become insistent. He craved the sensations, the feel of her body beneath his weight, surrendering herself to him, the increasing lubrication in her vagina, the satisfying bottoming-out of pubic bone against pubic bone. "You like to get deep," she murmured, and he moaned his response. His thrusts were now steady and deliberate and heading to the inexorable conclusion. She could only hold her knees high and cradle him, welcome him, accept him. "Can I come inside you?" was his breathy rhetorical question. "Yes." It was a simple response. Inside she was smooth velvet that wrapped around his stiffness with a sensual clutch that delicately widened nearer his tip, signaling her excitement, evoking in his half-consciousness a reservoir for him to fill. Deeper, he needed to get deeper. And then he was there, with a groan that escaped from his constricted throat and a final straining push than swathed him all the more in her wondrous embrace. His body stiffened and his hips pressed down onto her, into her, and his penis swelled to its ultimate reach and he gushed his seed, pulse after liquid pulse. "Yes," she whispered, echoing his throbs back to him through her eyes, "Yes." He couldn't speak. He could only keep holding her, tightly, and try to hold on to the magic.