Gay Erotic Stories

When the four young men in the homestead got up that morning – make that, rose from their beds – there was a general rush to the corral to saddle the horses for the day ahead while Frank, the Father, fired up his Aga stove and set to work cooking up eggs fried in butter, mushrooms fried in butter, bacon fried in butter and bread fried in butter for breakfast. It was a wonder any of the males who lived there had a single open artery left in their bodies.

“You’re gunna like riding the boundary, Vic,” Frank told me. I assured him I thought so too.

So, with our stomachs full of fat and calories, and Dodgy the dog finally making an appearance – leaping and barking at our feet and occasionally trying to nuzzle my new lover’s ass as we prepared to saddle up -- Andrew, Angus, Adam and I set out on horseback just as the sun began to send a dawning glow over the eastern horizon. We headed northwest at a slow canter, aiming to make the property’s perimeter fence before the full force of the daily heat set in.

“How ya feeling Vic?” asked Andrew as we watched from horseback as the light of day slowly illuminating the ground in front of us.

“I feel like one million, two hundred and fifty thousand bucks,” I tell him. “Almost as good as when I’m in bed being screwed by you.”

“Good stuff, Vic,” he chortled, urging his horse to pick up the pace a little, anxious to cover as much ground as possible while the early morning coolness remained.

The other two boys kept pretty well to themselves as we moved forward but, eventually, Adam became a little restive, rising up in his stirrups and searching, through narrowed eyes, the countryside ahead.

“What are you looking for Adam,” I asked him. “Oh. Nothing,” he said. “Just a bit of a green patch where we sometimes have a picnic or a barbie and that . . .”

“He’s looking for the place where he and Angus practice their little gymnastics routine,” Andy told me, leaning forward in his saddle to make sure that I could hear him – and Adam could hear him too.

“Hey, sounds like fun,” I said.

Adam immediately brightened. “You wanna see us do it?” he asked enthusiastically. “Hey ‘Gus,” he called to his other brother. “Vic says he wants to see our routine.”

“That’s not exactly what I . . .” – but I didn’t get to finish the sentence.

“Good,” said Angus. “About bloody time someone else got a look-in around here.”

Andy rode up close to my horse and, in a broad stage whisper, told me it looked as if I had bought myself a front-row ticket to the show.

In about half an hour we reached an unexpectedly green patch of land on the southern bank of a dry riverbed. It owed it verdant lushness to the same underground water system as the rest of the property – a vast reservoir known as the Great Artesian Basin, which was reputed to be the largest source of underground fresh water anywhere on earth. Andy told me the water was literally pre-historic, having lain there beneath the baking Australian surface for thousands – even millions – of years.

Angus and Adam had used the water resource to create a little Eden for themselves with about an acre of green grass, some small trees for shade and a few banks of flowering plants. The area was in the form of a shallow amphitheatre with a tiny “oval” at one end close to the dry, parched riverbank.

We dismounted, tied up the horses in some shade and Andy and I made ourselves comfortable on a thick patch of grass while the other boys trotted down to the “oval” to prepare for their “show”.

There wasn’t much preparation involved. The boys simply stripped off their clothes – all of them – and limbered up in a patch of shade, making their muscles move and twist and pump themselves full of rich, oxygenated blood.

I noticed straight away that both the boys’ penises were strikingly similar to Andy’s – smooth and creamy-white with no hints of protruding veins, discolorations or marks. Both the heads on their cocks were the same rosy pink as Andrew’s as well. But here the similarity ended. Andy’s cock was enormous while these two young men were endowed with male organs that were pretty well average – depending on your idea of average. I’d guess they were maybe six or seven inches long, unengorged.

The two boys had now pulled out a big canvas bag that was secured inside a hollow log on the side of the “arena”. It contained a demountable set of gymnastic bars, which they bolted together, setting them securely into a series of concreted holes in the ground. It was very impressive.

After a few swings on the bars to ensure they were safe and solid, the boys went into their routine. Adam produced a small cassette player from the bag and set a tape rolling that poured out a series of rhythmic rock and country songs to accompany their display.

Angus and Adam swung, spun, leapt and dived through a series of exercises, which almost left me breathless. I was trying to be on my best behaviour but I couldn’t take my eyes off their cocks and balls as they flung around, performing a whole routine of their own which seemed always to be going in the opposite direction to the rest of their bodies. And the more those delicious young wangs spun about, the bigger they grew until both cocks were standing out hard and rigid at right angles against the boys’ abdomens.

The finale came with Angus and Adam climbing to the top of the parallel bars and taking a flying kung-fu leap into the air – right legs thrust forward and left legs lifted to the side and bent at the knee behind them. Their cocks were standing out in perfect parallels to their thrusting right legs.

When they hit the ground together, Andy and I broke into enthusiastic applause. The boys bounded up the gentle slope to where we were sitting and planted themselves, legs akimbo, right in front of me.

“Please Vic,” panted Adam. “Please suck my cock.”

“Yeah, please suck my cock too,” gasped Angus. I look for help to Andy.

“Well, I think the boys deserve a little reward for that fine show, don’t you think so, my little darling Vic?”

“Maybe we both could reward them,” I said hopefully.

“Nah, they don’t want their brother’s old mouth around their cocks, Vic,” said Andy. “They want a real reward – they want your reward.”

“Well, if you’re cool about it, Andy,” I said a little doubtfully.

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” he said. “Just as long as it stays at a suck. No trespassing on my private entrance to the rear.”

OK, I thought. Let’s get things organised around here. It was pointless trying to pretend I wasn’t dazzled by the prospect of sinking these hot, hard, sweaty cocks down my throat, so I decided to stop talking and start sucking. That way, it seemed, everyone would be happy.

“The elder one gets to go first,” I announced, generating a delighted ‘whooooop’ from Angus and a slight turning down of the mouth from Adam. Secretly, I was playing the old ‘save the best to last’ game. Angus leapt in front of me, grabbed hold of his straining cock and aimed it at my face. I leaned forward and took it straight into my mouth, almost swooning from the smell of sweat and testosterone around his balls – and the faint whiff of shit emerging from his delicious looking ass – as well as the taste of leaking cock juice in my mouth.

As I devoured Angus’ cock, he thrashed his pelvis forward in frenzy and grabbed the back of my head so that I couldn’t let his beautiful schlong slip from my lips. He moaned and sighed and eventually started shouting as my sucking became more and more urgent.

“Fuckin’ hell, oh bloody hell, I’m getting a suck from Vic,” he bawled. “Oh shit, oh Vic, oh God – I’m gunna cum, I’m gunna cum!” And indeed he did. By the gallon. And straight down my throat. It was delicious.

Angus collapsed onto the grass between Andy and me and spread his arms and legs out, his eyes closed, his breath pumping in gasps -- and cum still leaking out of his slowly deflating cock. There was to be no refreshing pause for me, however.

Adam was instantly in front of me, his spectacularly lovely cock grasped in his right hand and a look of extreme distress on his face.

“Please,” he said to me, “please Vic, please do it to me please.”

How could I have possibly refused? I jumped up onto my knees and plunged my face right into Adam’s groin, taking his cock deep in my mouth until it was massaging the back of my throat.

Adam was no more prepared to take things easy than Angus was. As soon as his cock was inside me he began shoving it harder and harder and deeper and deeper into my hot, saliva-filled mouth. In a rare moment of lucidity, I realised that Adam’s cock tasted different to Angus’ – sweeter somehow, almost perfumed by his delicious young sweat and pre-emission fluid.

In no time he is moaning too: “Oh Vic, oh my heavens Vic, oh dear, oh goodness. Its gonna happen now . . . its gonna happen now!”

And with a blast that comes like fluid steel from a blast furnace, Adam shoots his vast wad of semen into my mouth. It had been a long, long time since my mouth had actually filled up with cum from an ejaculation (even with Andy there’s been a little room to spare, mainly because sucking usually came well down on the menu after fucking and spraying). But Adam must have been saving it up for a week and it flew into every crevice in my mouth and throat as I valiantly gobbled and swallowed as much as I could. Even so, a few strands of cum sprang out of my lips and splashed onto my jeans.

There are times when the most ridiculous, inappropriate thoughts spring into your head – and this was one of them. As I gulped and swallowed that endless spray of cum, I suddenly remembered the words of ‘I Will Follow Him’, one of the old songs from the gay bar I used to visit in LA:

“I’ll gobble, I’ll gobble, I’ll gobble, And when he cums I’ll swallow, I’ll swallow, I’ll swallow . . . I will swallow him, swallow him wherever he may be . . .”

Then Adam, too, crashed to the ground and lay splayed out, gasping for breath.

Too much exercise altogether for one morning, I thought. I checked out the front of Andy’s moleskin pants to see if he had responded to my enthusiastic cock sucking. Nothing. Not a sign of growth or movement. It worried me.

“Andy,” I said, “are you angry with me for blowing your brothers?” He looked confused, so I explained: “I thought you might at least have cracked a hard-on.”

“Oh, is that it?” he laughed. “Vic, I’ve got me ‘Stiffies’ on today cause I figured the old fella might be doing a fair few push-ups. That’s why you can’t see me donger poking out.”

“What are ‘Stiffies’,” I wanted to know.

“They’re Aussie underpants,” he explained. “They’re fitted boxer briefs for blokes, but their real trick is they’ve got internal erection direction pockets,” Andy said. “You slip your old fella into one of the inside pockets on the left or the right when you pull your knickers on and it acts like a push-up brassiere for your dick, keeping it tucked away and more comfortable when you’re out riding or playing sport.

“It also holds your nob down when you accidentally crack a fat because its less noticeable, with your stiffy going up on one side or the other – but not right in front where everyone can cop a look.”

Then Andy caught sight of something on the far side of the dry riverbed.

“Take a look at this lot,” Andy said in a deep growl.

There, on the far bank, was a group of Australian Aborigines, almost naked except for red loincloths. In front of them was another black man who looked somehow quite different from the others.

“Its General Tojo,” said Andy to his brothers. “Get yer cocks outa sight lads or he’ll be over her for a snack before you can say Jack Robinson.”

Angus and Adam scrambled for their clothes, dragging their pants on in a furious hurry. Andy turned to me.

“How’d you enjoy rewarding the boys for their show?” he asked. “It was OK,” I said. “No, it was great. They really seemed to enjoy it.”

“You bet your arse they did,” Andy smiled. “I now think I might spend a bit more time getting to appreciate your oral dexterity too, Vic. But, at the moment, we have to deal with something else.

“You see that funny looking little guy in the front of the Abos?” he asked. “That’s General Tojo – well, not really General Tojo, that’s what Dad calls him. He’s really a Japanese philanthropist called Masahiro Hayakawa who came out here a couple of years back to live with a local tribe of Kooris. It was all going nicely when, on night, they decided to have corroboree and this Japanese bloke decides to follow the Australian ‘tradition’ of taking a couple of bottles of booze along. What he didn’t understand was that taking booze to a party is a ‘white’ tradition – not a ‘black’ one. In fact, booze is a disaster for Kooris – especially tribal ones.

“But, anyway, he doesn’t know that, so he takes along these two bloody great bottles of sake – with about a gallon in each bottle – and they all get stuck into it. In five minutes everyone – including Tojo – is pie-eyed and he rips off his clothes and starts dancing round with the initiated men, which is a no-no. So, after a while, a few of the Koori blokes take him away from the corroboree, down to a dry creek bed. And then they fuck the living daylights out of him. And, the thing is, he loves it.

“In the morning, he climbs out of the creek bed, all covered in scratches and blood and spunk, and wanders back to where the initiated men are sleeping. He recognises a couple of the guys who did him over, but he doesn’t attack them . . . well, not to hurt them, anyway. Instead, he plops down in front of them and starts giving each of them a blow-job. Anyone else who tried this would end up with a spear in his guts but, for some reason, the Kooris seem to admire his courage in doing it.

“Maybe it was the fact he looked a bit soft and feminine, with rounded shoulders and a big, bouncy bottom and a really little dick, but the men decide they’ll let the little bugger stay around. And, in due course, they decide to initiate him into the tribe, cutting the foreskin off his cock, rubbing ochre into the wound so it stays permanently red, slashing him across the chest and upper arms and telling him some of the Dreamtime stories of their tribe. Tojo takes all of this dead serious and works hard at making himself part of the Koori culture. He never puts on any clothing ever again – only that bit of rag you can see him wearing round his cods – but it seems that he isn’t prepared to abandon the pleasures he discovered down on the creek bed during the corroboree. His arse is always open and, as time goes by, more and more of the Koori men take up the offer.

“And soon the story gets back to town and a few of the white blokes, who don’t mind a bit a fiddle with their mates, start driving out to the Koori camps and slipping General Tojo a few lengths. It seems everyone is welcome and no one is refused.

“Well, time goes by and, somehow, the news about Tojo gets back to the Japanese Embassy in Canberra and this pair of diplomats in their black suits and white shirts drive out to the camps and read the Riot Act to Tojo, telling him they’ll take away his passport and make life unbearable unless he stops acting like the town bike and comes back to civilisation.

“Good old Tojo refuses to even talk to them in Japanese – but he does flash his brown-eye in their direction and offers them a fuck if they’d like one. The Japs jumped back in their car and speed off into the distance and we’ve never heard of them again.

“Which leaves Tojo there on the other side of this creek bed looking back across at us and – I’ve no doubt whatever – wondering if we’d all like to have a swift round on his rear end.”

The story is so utterly amazing that I ask Andy if he’s sure it is true. He is. So I ask him how come General Tojo is black when everyone knows Japanese are yellow.

“He’s been wandering around in the sun for so long with no clothes on that he’s gone black,” says Andy. “I’m told that it happens quite quickly with Asian people because their skin already holds a lot of pigment and some strong sun will turn them black quick smart.”

Angus and Adam have rejoined us and we are all looking across the dry creek bed at the group of Kooris and their Japanese tribal member. Adam squeezes my hand appreciatively and nods towards the other group of men.

“I’d be wary about offering them any service,” he says. “I mean, not that I’m saying you would . . .” (He has obviously discovered himself in another verbal long-jam and is trying to struggle out) “ . . . but, you know . . . anyway . . .”

“Yes, thanks Adam,” I say, letting him off the hook. Angus has spied something else in another direction -- a small ball of dust that has formed on the horizon, back towards the homestead.

“There are some people riding towards us,” he says. “Or maybe its just one person. Hard to tell. Could be Dad – could be someone else.”

The boys turn to watch as the ball of dust begins to draw closer. It turns out to be three riders -- Frank and two other guys from town. Both are well known, it seems, to all three boys.

“Its bloody Hairy Harry Allen and his hanger-on, Merve The Perve Sorenson,” growls Andrew. “Addy . . . ‘Gus, get your rifles down from your saddles and be prepared to use them if they try anything on us.”

This was an alarming turn of events and I wondered what the problem was when the men rode up to where we were standing in the boys’ performance area. They seemed friendly enough.

“G’day boys,” Frank hailed us.

“Hello men,” said the fellow Andy had identified as Harry Allen. “G’day,” said Sorenson. Both men looked pretty rough and tough, probably about 55 years old, compared with Frank’s 61. They were all dressed in jeans and all wore cotton, checked shirts. Their scuffed and dirty leather boots were all brown.

“I told Harry and Merve that we had a visitor from America and they said they’d like to meet him,” explained Frank. “Vic, this is my old mate Harry Allen and this is his mate Merve Sorenson. Harry and Merve, this is Vic.”

“Pleased to meet ya,” said Harry, swinging down from his horse. “Frank says you’ve developed quite an appetite since you’ve been here.”

“It must be the clean Australian air,” I said.

“Yeah, that’d be it,” replied Harry. “Well the good news for you today is that we’ve organised a banquet for you . . . a real Aussie banquet.”

Andrew moved directly to my side.

“What do you mean, a ‘real Aussie banquet’?” he demanded to know.

“Andy mate . . . Andy,” the big, bluff, hearty horseman said with a laugh. “I mean just what I say. A bloody Australian banquet.” He turned to his mate Merve and asked: “That’s right, isn’t it Merve?”

“Yeah,” said monosyllabic Merve.

“The thing is, Vic,” he continued, “when Frank rang me and told me a couple of days ago about you being here, Merve and me immediately stopped wiping our arses when we took a shit and stopped washing our cocks, too. So now we’ve got a couple of real nice ripe arse cracks for you to munch on and about half a pound of really ripe cheese for you to suck out from under our foreskins. How does that appeal to you matey?”

I think my jaw must have been hanging open because Andy took hold of my upper right arm and gave it a squeeze, as if to say “you’ll be OK – stick with me”.

“Jeez Harry,” said Andy in this amiable, laconic voice, “I don’t think Vic would be interested in your arse or your dick. Come to think of it, I can’t say I’d know anybody who’d be interested in your filthy old body, mate.”

The smile left Harry’s face but he didn’t raise his voice above the level of friendly chat he’d used to address me.

“Awwww, I think you’re being a bit hard on me, Andrew,” he said. “I know lots of guys who wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with Harry’s big donger and his big, black, hairy arsehole.”

“I guess we’d better give you the benefit of the doubt then, Harry,” said Andy. “Why don’t you give us a look at it, then?”

“Happy to, Andrew,” says Harry, pulling open the buckle on his pants and dropping them to his ankles, gesturing for Merve to do the same. They looked truly bizarre. Both men were covered in dark, matted body hair with the exception of the areas around their genitals, which had both been cleanly shaven. Harry’s cock was long and pendulous, like a razor strop, with an oversized pair of balls sagging towards his knees while Merve had a more modest set of equipment. Neither of them wore any underwear, which must have been extremely uncomfortable riding horseback for hours on end.

“There you go, boys,” said Harry. “Take a good look . . . take a good sniff too, if you’d like. My cods are ponging like a week-old salami sandwich, if you like that sort of thing.”

Andrew wasn’t amused in the least.

“Okay, we’ve seen your pricks, now let us see if you really have got the filthy arses you claim to have.”

The two older men happily turned their backs on us, bent down and grabbed hold of their ass-cheeks, pulling the hairy mounds of flesh apart so we could clearly see the state of their cracks. They hadn’t been lying about the filth that was caked around their holes.

“Jeez, I don’t call that dirty,” says Andy with a bit of a smile. “Your going to have to do a bit better than that if you want us to take you seriously. Why don’t both of you take a squat and let us watch you having a shit right here?”

“Well, I might be able to manage something along those lines,” says Harry, just a little uncertainly. “How about you, Merve?”

“Oh I saved mine up this morning ‘cause I thought I might be able to lay a line of Axminster on the Septic’s face or something like that,” he said. “I’ve got no problem giving you a free shit-show if that’s what you want.”

Both these bulky, hairy men then squat on their haunches and proceed to strain an grunt, concentrating on expelling as much shit from their asses as they can. Harry’s ass lets go with a fart that starts off like the whine of a jet engine and ends in a lip-trembling, basso-profunda roar. Despite all the noise, he produces something from his bowels about the size of a breakfast sausage.

“That’s all I’ve got at the moment,” he explains – but Merve is doing better. He has managed to produce a turd the size of a cucumber, brown and glossy and about nine inches long.

“Good work, men,” says Andy in a jovial voice. “Now I want you to pick each other’s turds up off the ground and hold them in you hands.”

Harry and Merve look at each other warily, each wondering what is going on – but they each squat down and pick up the shit: Harry’s little sausage held delicately between Merve’s finger tips and Merve’s solid monster filling the palm of Harry’s right hand.

“That’s good,” says Andy. “Now, I want you both to eat them.”

“Like fuck we will,” shouts Harry. “You little mongrel, who the fuck do you think your dealing with here?”

“I’m dealing with a couple of perverted old poofs who don’t deserve the privilege of eating each other’s shit, but I’m feeling generous – so get your fucking mouths around those turds right now!”

Angus and Adam have both raised their rifles and are aiming them straight at the two older men. Andrew also raised his rifle but has it pointed at his own Father. “Don’t even think of trying to interfere Dad,” he says. “You stick your oar in here and you end up eating something even worse.”

There is terror in old Frank’s eyes and he backs away from the standoff.

Harry and Merve can see clearly that they have lost any hope of winning this situation. Each is staring at the turd in his hands.

“Merve,” says Harry eventually. “The only way to do it is to break off little bits and swallow it straight down. Don’t even think of trying to chew it.”

And that is what they do. After an initial bout of gagging and retching, the men consume the turds, bit by bit, as we all stare at them. At one point Harry demands some water because his saliva has dried up and he can’t swallow properly, but Andy refuses him.

“If you can’t swallow it like it is, get Merve to feed you some of his piss,” he sneers.

Harry’s face is livid with rage but the truth is he just can’t swallow another gram of shit without something to help it go down.

“Merve,” he says through gritted teeth, “be very careful how you do this matey, but I need you to aim just a little bit of your piss into my mouth so I can swallow this fucking turd of yours. When I’ve got that bit down, aim a bit more piss into me mouth. You get the idea?”

“Sure Harry,” says Merve, apparently beginning to enjoy this wicked spectacle. With his lowered pants shackling his feet together, Merve shuffles forward towards Harry, who kneels in the dirt, opening his mouth to claim his first sip of urine.

Having already finished eating Harry’s little shit sausage, Merve tells his friend to get ready for his first burst of urine. He holds his penis in both hands, concentrating on trying to aim squarely at Harry’s mouth. A short burst of yellow liquid spits out from the end of Merve’s cock and hits Harry in the face.

“Get the fuckin’ stuff into me bloody mouth, you cunt,” Harry roars at him, and Merve aims again, this time managing to send his piss splashing into Harry’s gaping mouth. Harry swallows, pauses, breaks a morsel off the stub of Merve’s lump of shit and opens his mouth for more urine.

Andy and the two other boys are cracking up big time at the sight of all this. To them it is hilarious and they enjoy themselves during the long half-hour it takes for Harry to finish off his mate’s foul-smelling turd.

“Look on the bright side of things,” Angus says to the two middle-aged men. “Think how pleased your wives will be when you get home and they can smell shit on your breaths. It’ll be such an improvement on what you normally smell like that they’ll think it’s Christmas.”

Andy, his rifle still lying in the crook of his arm, had walked across to where his Father was standing.

“Poor old Dad,” Andy said with not a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? You know how serious I am about Vic and you still have to round up your filthy old friends and try to humiliate both him and me.

“The best thing I can suggest is that you take charge of these two miserable objects, put them on their horses and get them out of here. Oh, and one more thing: stay out of my way for the next week or so, or you’ll find yourself eating something worse than shit.”

He turned on his heel and strode away from his Father, leaving the old guy shaking with rage and completely impotent in the face of his son’s aggression. In a sullen silence, the three older men prepare to leave us and head back to town. We stand and watch the dust from their horses’ hooves recede into the distance before packing up and preparing to move on to the boundary fence.

Andy puts his arm around me and looks into my face.

“You’re not a happy little Vegemite, are you Vic?” he asks me with real concern in his eyes.

“Can’t say I am,” I tell him honestly. “Never have I ever seen something like that before.”

“And hopefully, you never will again, my darling little man,” Andy sighs.

We four young men mount our horses and ride out into the heat and promise of the afternoon.