Gay Erotic Stories

Continuing the story about Bobby, the marine recruit, who was eating away at my thimble-sized nipples like a cheap slut. I was not sure how long I could take this "workout" and decided on another approach. I pushed him off me and ordered him to stand at attention. This he did in a second. He was rigid, no pun intended, and just waiting for the next command. Question time. "When did you last shoot a load, boy ?" To my shock, it had been nearly a week. "Where ?" In the camp latrine. "How ?" A 60 second jerk off. "When ?" Two minutes before showering with the other recruits. "Why then ?" To relieve the pressure and keep his tool flaccid. Ah Ha ! "You won't shoot today without permission from me, will you ?" Agreed. "And, you will need to ask for that permission or remain as you are until its given." Agreed also. Leaving him for the moment, I went in search of a favourite toy of mine and came up behind him so as to keep it out of his sight. Ignoring my desire to just bend him over and fuck him senseless, I put into operation my devious, sadistic little scheme. He remained at attention while I casually pressed my right hand between his thighs and lightly rubbed his testicles. Question time again. "Why are these jar head balls so tight ?" He replied that he was too aroused. "Want some pussy ?" He hesitated but agreed that he did. Yeah, right, I thought but said nothing. "Can you go another week without shooting a load ?" At this idea, he freaked out. "NO, SIR !!! Permission to empty marine's gonads now, please, Sir ! " My answer was negative. "You will hold that grunt sperm until it pleases me to release it. Understood ?" He nodded, replied "Sir" and thrust out his chest. I could tell, however, that he was shaking with lust and close to tears. My discipline was about to get more severe. My "toy" was just a feather but exactly what I needed to "play dirty" with the submissive Bobby. As I ran the tip of the feather across his stiff little nipples, and then across his butt hole, and between his legs in that most sensitive region, and finally dusted off his shrunken scrotum, he was no doubt the horniest 19 year old on the planet. His fists clenched, his toes curled, and his small prong had created a waterfall of pre-jism that cascaded right to the floor. "Permission to shoot, sir, please, sir, now, sir, drain me, sir" and he babbled on for a couple of minutes. "DEEE-NYED" I screamed back at him. He was gulping for air now as I used my feather to tickle the throbbing mushroom head and its ridge, then the shaft, and then his hairy and bloated, marble-sized nuts. I put a couple of small clothes pins on his taut, erected nipples just to show who the boss was. As if he needed reminding ! I even pushed a small amount of Ben Gay into his marine bull twat just to warm it up. Its true, I don't play fair sometimes. Bobby the Grunt had begun to, well, grunt. Actually it was an ape-like mantra interrupted by pleas for permission to ejaculate. I barked back at him, slapping his erection with my open palm: "I don't want your jar head pussy juices on my clean floor, you fucking nymphomaniac. I can fuck you so long, deep and hard you won't need sex for a year !" He could take no more. With a wail and then a roar, he began to blow his wad, genitals untouched, all over my chest and stomach. I was about 3 feet in front of him as I verbally abused him so that I could really enjoy the show. Only a sex-starved young bull his age, in top physical condition, could be capable of such an obscene, intense orgasm. Certainly, no porn star alive could have matched him. He bent in half as if I'd punched him and his body jerked and spasmed until he fell onto his knees in complete exhaustion. His spunk was all over me and the floor and still it dribbled out of his gaping hole. I knelt by him, cradling his head in my arms, listening to his sobs, hugging and stroking him. I knew, all along, that this is what he needed and wanted but could only bring himself to face after a total surrender to his true feelings and most private sexual desires. And the big masseur's gigantic balls strained to hold his own Spunk.