Gay Erotic Stories

His eyes crossing, Dwayne sighed. Got-damn, Maurice had gotten good at this shit. Peering up at him from the other side of his dick, the boy slurped happily, pulling the hard column easily into his mouth. Dwayne hissed, his pelvis pushing involuntarily upwards.

All of his hard inches lost in the boy’s warm cavern he stared at him amazed. Maurice’s cheeks puffed out, Dwayne’s hot hose swelling in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the long shaft, sliding his mouth down then up. He knew Dwayne liked that and it made him hot to watch him react. Dwayne sighed, his hips popping again. An excited look on his face, he placed his hand at the back of Maurice’s head. Propping up on an elbow, he pushed at the back of Maurice’s head, plunging more of his turgid pipe deeper inside his working mouth. Maurice gagged at first, his eyes watering then he pried his mouth open wider and suddenly Dwayne felt his throat muscles, snapped tightly around his dick. Throwing his head back, his hips pumped and rotated wildly. His hand still pushed against the back of Maurice’s head, he began to moan and shudder. All of his senses at a fever pitch; even the slightest move of Maurice’s wicked tongue about his dick was incredible. He feels it standing mercilessly hard, inside the boy’s mouth then, everything darkens. Up from his very toes he feels the current traveling, up his legs, encircling his taut balls then rocketing up his pulsating dick. Straining so hard his body becomes stiff as a board the writhing youth squeezes his eyes shut and shudders more violently this time.

"Ahhh!" He yelps, the room spinning, and then he feels the rush of a lifetime. For Maurice, those last few minutes were tough going. His throat plugged with Dwayne’s stiff spigot, he panicked when it swelled, essentially occluding it. He pulled with all his might, trying to free himself but Dwayne’s muscles had locked and he was actually pushing harder. Suddenly, he felt Dwayne’s dick go rock hard, a rigid pole inside his mouth. Struggling the way he was for air he nevertheless was extremely excited by how wondrous that fence post felt in his slobbering mouth. His eyes wide, he felt his dick jerk beneath him, depositing angry globs of hot cum inside his briefs.

Dwayne hissed then let out a huge gasp, frozen like a spastic shock victim. Cum rushed up his impossibly hard joystick, blasting against the back of Maurice’s throat like a water cannon. Tossing his head from side to side, he squelched a scream, his hips whipping uncontrollably upwards. Damn, he’d waited for this all week. Gasping great gulps of air, he felt his dick cannonading inside Maurice’s velvety mouth. His dick felt hard enough to snap in two, the head spurting warm rounds of pent up desire. Then it was over and there was no more to eject. He grunted, smothering more groans as his powerful orgasm ebbed until finally, mobility returned to his strained muscles. Maurice was still nursing his withering width with his talented mouth, which felt damn good, but the biggest thrill was behind them. Collapsing on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling. Foam basketballs, hung on strings, dangled above him but he didn’t see them because Maurice was still working his wilting dick. Finally, the boy pulled off and Dwayne immediately sensed the cool room air on his engorged wand. It bobbled in midair a fine coating of spit glistening about its length. He heard Maurice get up, then the bathroom door opened. He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember how long the foam basketballs had been hanging up there until he felt the cool towel on his deflating tool. Swabbing it clean, Maurice bent to dab at the spot he’d made on the bed.

"Got-damn, M’rice," Dwayne snapped, propping up on his elbows, "why you don’t put a towel down you gon’ do that shit? Be freakin’ me out when mom washes this shit and it’s got big assed rings and spots in ‘em." He shook his head, then lay back, staring at the little basketballs once more. "What time is it?"

Dwayne glanced at his watch. "Quarter to nine," He said. Quietly he lay, listening to the sounds of Maurice gathering up his things. A familiar rustling filled his ears when the boy pulled on his backpack, then he heard him walk to the door.

"Next week?"

Dwayne closed his eyes, then nodded his head yes. He didn’t even bother to put his semi-erect dick inside his pants when Maurice opened the door.

*****************************************

When you’ve got a good thing, you seldom want to fuck it up. But he couldn’t avoid the thoughts… the fantasies, and found himself anticipating the risk. Like they did last Friday and countless Friday’s before that, Dwayne and Maurice, Maurice carting his backpack, met at his house. His mother greeted Maurice, as usual, with a big smile and cordial "hello", while Dwayne made haste for his bedroom. He wasn’t into all the touchy feely stuff his mother and Maurice exchanged gleefully, every Friday. But what really got him was the way his mother would beam at Maurice, as if he was some kind of extra-special ‘good’' boy. Boy, if she only knew! "You like that, don’t you?" He’d often ask, taunting Maurice when he’d finally enter his room.

The routine, more or less:

*Maurice always drops his backpack on the floor, just right of the door.

*Dwayne checks his email, pretending to ignore Maurice until he hears him go into the bathroom.

*Sounds of water usher from behind the closed door, Maurice performing some kind of ritual washing or something, then Dwayne gets up and turns on the TV.

*He usually lies across his bed although they’re have been the few occasions he never moved from his desk.

*Maurice returns, looks at the TV, then at him on the bed.

*Why’s he always have to ask?

*Minutes pass, Dwayne’s libido skyrocketing until he relents and usually reaches for Maurice’s hand.

*Maurice climbs between his legs.

"You think…" Dwayne paused, mostly for effect but because his heart is threatening to leap from his chest. Maurice stops too, his fingers still holding the zipper he’s just opened. This is different, he thinks, watching the way Dwayne is lost for words. "You think… What would you think if Bracey came by?" Like he’d expected, Maurice’s eyes widened. So his hunch was right?

"What for?" Maurice demurred.

"I see you. Seen the way you look at him."

"But…your mom’s?"

"How come Bracey can’t be studying, just like you and me?" (Sarcastic emphasis on ‘studying’). Maurice hunched his shoulders, uncertain. "Yo, you know you want to." Dwayne sits up, looking earnestly into Maurice’s eyes. Blinking at him a couple, Maurice dropped his head. With a grudgingly hunch of his shoulders, he reached inside Dwayne’s pants for the prize.

Bracey: *In his senior year at Drexel High, he’s not exactly popular but, at the least… known. *Plays B football because he doesn’t quite meet the weight requirement for Varsity.5’10", 178 lbs, there are dimples in his cheeks when he smiles. *More or less your typical jock but with a little more sensitivity. You know, the type that would actually look in the direction of his lady when she’s "venting". *Hair braided into flowing pigtails that fall gloriously about his clueless face.

Actually, if Maurice had known Dwayne’s real intentions, he would’ve agreed much sooner. Yeah, he was one of those that sat near the back of the class and frequently forgot his homework, but tutoring? And why Maurice? Wouldn’t that tarnish his ‘nigga-to-be-reckoned-with’ image? But he’d worked out the details, requesting that Maurice meet him after school, at his house instead of walking home with him. That would reduce the risk of being seen with him. And he sounded sincere enough, explaining to Maurice that, unbeknownst to the rest of the class, he’d been struggling in math.

"You be knowin’ that shit," he told Maurice, flashing him a smile that could’ve melted the polar ice caps. So that first day he’d brought his backpack which included, among other things, his math book. Dwayne’s mom took to him from the first, as if relieved her son was with someone other than another butthead. Dwayne, on the other hand continued to his room, leaving them to "chat". He’d no sooner laid his backpack down than he realized, something was amiss. This wasn’t about math and Dwayne’s demeanor, once the door was closed suggested, no, insisted that. He was checking his email, merrily opening all the porn Spam. Enlarge your dick!

Nasty Teens! Your lady will loooove this! Dwayne kept groping himself, an obvious bulge growing in his pants. He was virtually ignoring Maurice who still stood by the door, blankly observing him. "Cum on her! Fucking Grannies!"

Then he got up and with a casual glance at Maurice, turned on the TV, lying across his bed, one leg hanging off the side. He stared at the ceiling where a slew of miniature orange, foam basketballs had been suspended on strings. Posters of basketball players Maurice knew nothing about littered his walls and in the corner, there were at least three basketballs.

Maurice clung to the door, casting cautious glances at his ‘tutee’, reclining uneasily on his bed. That bulge in Dwayne’s pants never diminished and, in fact, grew bigger. Maurice became so aroused, his hands started to tremble. Was Dwayne suggesting what his heart had only wished for? Had he unknowingly stumbled upon the motherload? His feet glued to the floor, he could muster no unction to move. His heart thundered in his ears and it’s a good chance he would’ve stayed there, had Dwayne not beckoned him with his hand. His eyes fastened on the TV, the gesture was so subtle, had he not caught it out the corner of his eye, he would’ve missed it. Something pried him away from that door the second time Dwayne gestured. He walked to the bed, his legs stilts beneath him until he stood beside the boy. Dwayne stared at the TV, but his legs parted slightly, allowing a clear view of the tent in his pants.

When Maurice sat down next to him, he still stared at the TV. They stayed like that for what seemed an eternity until Dwayne raised a hand and placed it behind Maurice’s head. Maurice followed that hand, as if it was a Martian probe until it hooked behind his head. But he couldn’t move, the moment so overwhelming, and a war of wills ensued. With increasing pressure, Dwayne made known his urgency until finally Maurice’s head bowed. “Why is he fighting?” he thought, certain this was what he’d wanted all along. And though he felt he wasn’t fighting, Maurice conversely felt some indignation at Dwayne’s arrogance. Then his cheek brushed against that warm, throbbing bulge and he forgave him, readily opening his sagging jeans and reaching inside.

***************************************

Voices…low but excited, emanating from the other side of the door. Maurice stopped, listening. Dwayne’s voice he easily recognized but he had to listen a little longer to pick out Bracey’s. A rush coming over him, he wondered if Bracey even knew why he was here. Had Dwayne told him what they did?" Hey, Lemme see that," Bracey gushed. Maurice knew what they were doing before he knocked. Why had he knocked? The voices stopped then there was movement, Dwayne walking towards the door. He smiled at Maurice, those pearly whites of his melting him as always, and then opened the door wide enough for him to enter. With halting steps, Maurice stepped inside, immediately sensing the stuffiness, the faint odor, the testosterone in the air.

"’Sup, M’rice," Bracey said, parking on the bed. Antsy. They were both skittish, Dwayne still flashing that nervous smile. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut. The TV blared, a J-Lo video careening from the tube. The image of some woman, her legs parted, pussy evident, glared at him from the computer. Maurice glanced at it, then laid his backpack down, frozen by the door like that first time. Damn! If Dwayne was the dream, Bracey was the stuff dreams were made of.

He washed his hands extra long that day. Bracey sat anxiously on the bed, casting Dwayne a ‘what’s he doing?’ look. Dwayne hunched his shoulders then they both feigned disinterest when Maurice finally returned. "Yo, so wassup?" Dwayne nervously quipped. Maurice stood plastered against the wall for an indeterminable space of time. He looked in their direction when Dwayne inquired, looking down when he saw Bracey eagerly regarding him too. Hunch of his shoulders.

"Come over here, then," Dwayne said, looking anxiously at Bracey.

Stilted legs again, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Could he just have Bracey to himself? That would’ve blasted all inhibitions out the water. (He was deceiving himself) But two of them? He perched nervously on the side of the bed closest to Bracey. Dwayne slinked around the bed, sweeping up next to him, then he felt that insistent hand on the back of his head again. It pushed at him, edging him closer and closer to Bracey’s groin. Maurice stared at him as Dwayne pushed, then all he could see was the tent pole.

The proposition: Dwayne’s mother still greeted him cordially; glad he’d hung in as long as he had with her son. Was he improving? Maurice couldn’t look her in the eye when he responded with a tentative "yes". Bracey, the newest member to the Friday study group, walked home with Dwayne while Maurice met them, some time after school, at the house. This was an amicable agreement that worked out all around, until Dwayne let him in on where they were going.

The air was suddenly stifling and Maurice felt lightheaded. He clung to the wall like a helpless victim in a horror movie. He wasn’t staring at the floor this time. Instead, his eyes became glassy, leaving Dwayne and Bracey to wonder if he’d blanked out. Then, for the first time, he shook his head no. "Listen to what we found first," Dwayne countered, joining him. Although Maurice was shaking his head no again, Dwayne barreled ahead. "See, look."

He jammed a bunch of papers in Maurice’s face. Maurice read the title on the top page, his eyes growing large. Just the first few lines of the printout were enough to make him blush. He looked at Dwayne, his mouth slowing dropping open, then at Bracey, who had that same, ‘do-it!’ grin that Dwayne was sporting. "Your mom’s…" he muttered, incredulous, then looking at the clock added, "it’s almost 5:00."

Dwayne stepped to the door and locked it. As if that would solve it! But when Bracey got up and approached him, he felt the walls crumbling. Got da-yum, that nigga could’ve sold him ice at the North Pole. Them sexy braids that made you wonder, was he like that? Those sweet, ruby red lips, the strong, slender nose--the dimples.

Music blared from the CD player, Roger bumping "More bounce to the ounce". It was Bracey’s music, unlike the contemporary artist Dwayne preferred. Ol’ school. Stevie, George Clinton. The rump shaker tunes like "Tear the roof off da sucka," the music of another generation. Music that was unusual for someone his age. But, like his music, Bracey proved unique…. prudently vulnerable. "Look, you ain’t gotta do it if you don’t wanna."

His voice soothing, it chipped away at his hesitancy. "Just somethin’ we been thinkin’ ‘bout. I mean, you here, we here, when a opportunity like this gon’ come along again? But it’s all cool." Smooth…like Miles’ horn on a warm summer night. It’d gotten to where Maurice could tell who wanted it, by the music. Hip-Hop artists like OutKast, and it’d be Dwayne. Rump Shaker favorites like The Gap Band’s "Humpin’", and it was Bracey. The music was the clue.A whole school year, the prom just a week away. Friday night study was something they all looked forward to. It had cost Dwayne his girlfriend while Bracey was eventually cut from the team--loud music, thumping, pounding. And heat, sometimes unbearable, the room stifling.

Maurice’s ablutions had doubled, his return highly anticipated. "How do you boys study with all that loud music?" Dwayne’s mother asked one time as he headed for the room. It throbbed through them, setting the pace. Driving them.Maurice liked it most on his back, so he could look in their face. But that required removing his pants and underwear. He felt most vulnerable like that, despite his shoes and socks, and it took a lot of coaxing (or lust). It gets goooood:

On his stomach, he felt the dampness between them, soaking his clothes. His shirt pulled up, his pants were just above his knees. Bracey had pulled them down, aware that if he went too far, Maurice would be unable to spread his legs.

Grunts, hisses, smothered moans that shit was deep in him now. He could hear Bracey huffing in his ear; smell his beer tainted breath, its warmth tickling his ear. "Damn baby, you feel good tonight." Bedsprings creaked, the sagging bed bowing beneath their weight. And that almighty dick, thrusting, spreading, searching. Yeah, right there, right there. It would soon find him, transforming him into a blathering; writhing pile of liquid. Bracey rode him like a champ, that all-encompassing length of his pummeling Maurice’s well-oiled hole. With each downward thrust, he knocked at that door, insisting he be let in. The headboard started its rhythmic pounding, threatening to proclaim their treachery. But Bracey knew just how hard to hit it. He’d learned a lot since that near disastrous first time. Couldn’t make so much noise--had to keep it down…

Ain’t nothing like your first, though. First kiss, first love, first suck, and first fuck. Maurice had clung to the door for some time, despite Bracey’s entreaty. He would’ve crossed the ocean for the boy but the implications of what they were proposing were too much to process. Not until Bracey enclosed his trembling hand in his stronger grip had he moved, stumbling slightly on his backpack. Like a maiden being led by her paramour, Maurice followed Bracey to the bed. The absurdity of it all--as if such a delicate act could be learned from the Internet.

Flashes of the article darted about his head as Dwayne sat in his desk chair. "Anal stimulation…breeching the sphincter…properly lubricated…" He stared at the wall, his thoughts racing. "Hey, Maurice? You okay?"

It was his sweetie, Bracey, "Yo, it’s all good," he soothed, still holding Maurice’s hand. A small giddiness tickling his subconscious, Maurice heard Bracey’s words with subtle anticipation. Patiently holding his hand, Bracey coaxed him out of his coat and outer shirt. Dwayne stood quietly to the side, openly groping himself. "Lay back," Bracey said, gently insisting with his hand.

The TV sung behind them, Terror Squad’s, "Lean Back" bumpin'. Dwayne turned it up louder as Bracey crawled atop him, those countless braids dangling about his face like The Medusa. His world Bracey now, Maurice heard and saw nothing. Bracey regarded him; hovering angelically above, his flowing braids jangling, then he straddled Maurice and started tugging at his pants. When they were about his knees, he squeezed Maurice’s bulge, eliciting a gasp from the excited boy. Shaping his boxers about the length of Maurice’s growth, he kneaded and massaged it until the boy was putty in his hands.

"Turn over," he whispered, his lips at Maurice’s ear. In a dream state, Maurice complied, rolling onto his stomach. He stared at a poster of Kobe Bryant as hands seized his boxers, pulling them down to join his pants. The hands groped his ripe ass, massaging and squeezing them. Ablaze, Maurice laid his head on the bed and whimpered.

As he motioned at Dwayne to get the shit, Bracey leaned close to Maurice’s ear, whispering raspingly over the music, "You like it baby?" His head buried in the crook of his elbow, Maurice nodded his head. "Dwayne, you guys want some cookies?" All three of them jerked their heads toward the door. "They’re fresh baked?" Dwayne’s mother added when no one answered. Dwayne’s got his dick out, Maurice noted, amazed at what the mind focuses on at such times. Dwayne rushed for the door and for one horrifying minute Maurice prayed he wouldn’t open it.

"Thanks mom, maybe later?" The subsequent pause was for so long, they held their collective breath.

"Oh… okay," She replied, then slowly walked away.

Heart pattering, Maurice ducked his head into his elbow again. Bracey played with his ass some more but what he didn’t know was that Maurice’s dick had never gone down. With deliberate, slow breaths, Maurice tried calming himself and was succeeding until he felt his plump ass cheeks spread. Exposed, his asshole winked, contracting tighter. But that was nothing compared to how it twitched and tossed when the cool liquid made contact. Jerking to look over his shoulder he caught sight of Bracey pouring a clear liquid between his cheeks. Ever the seducer, Bracey leaned forward, nibbling at Maurice’s neck as his finger found the boy’s depths. Whining softly, Maurice lay his head against the bed as Bracey’s finger slipped inside him. Had he wanted this all along? Another moan escaping him, he felt his ass rise up to meet Bracey’s delving digit. More liquid cooled his quivering hole then, the finger was gone. In its place a stiff stretch of solid boy meat made contact with his super tight hole. Insistent, it prodded his portal, skidding across it the first time then lining up to find purchase.

Maurice waited, uncertain what would follow then, the impatient boy tool lurched forward, breeching his anus. Bracey stretched out atop him, embracing him in a love lock then pushed down with his hips. Maurice’s head flung up and a surprised shriek exploded from his lungs. "Not cool," Dwayne chided, motioning at them to keep it down.

"Wait, wait--wait!" Maurice yelped, squirming beneath the relentless dick.

"Shhhhhh," Bracey said, withdrawing.

Wriggling away, Maurice curled into a ball. "Damn… was that supposed to happen?"

Dwayne asked with discernable concern in his voice. His dick wilting, Bracey hunched his shoulders. "Yo, M’rice, you okay?" His eyes closed, Maurice slowly nodded his head yes.

"What happened?" Bracey said.

"Hurts," Maurice whispered.

Turning the key:

...Later they’d learned how to properly stimulate him, Bracey even venturing to slip his tongue about the boy’s quavering hole before they finally got what they were after. The headboard needed to be clear of the wall, they additionally learned and Maurice’s pants needed to be above his knees, if they wanted him to spread.Sweat, the lubricant of love, freely flowed between them, gluing them to each other. Harrumphing beneath Bracey’s amorous down thrusts, Maurice whimpered and whined, his love tunnel hugging the youth’s plunging pole. The bedsprings squealed, lost amongst Cameo’s "Shake Your Pants". Months having past since that first night, the boys had learned each other’s habits, practically anticipating each other. On those rare occasions Bracey happened to "turn the key", transforming Maurice’s quiet reserve into an insatiable desire, both boys got a ride. But tonight belonged to Bracey and they were both locked in indescribable ecstasy, each selfishly bound for their own release. To their side Dwayne unabashedly stroked his stiff inches. His shirt tucked beneath his chin he stood beside the bed, eyes fastened on the proceedings.

The boom box blasted, Cameo in full swing, and then Bracey tapped that spot, crying helplessly out Maurice shook. He was heading into a louder wail when Dwayne cautioned, "Keep it down," his voice hushed.

Bracey wrapped his arms around Maurice’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed as he pitched his hips up and down. Maurice saw stars before his eyes and oh did that dick ever feel good. Burying his head in Dwayne’s pillow, he let out a smothered yell. Heaving his hips up to meet Bracey’s every thrust, he whimpered and wailed into the pillow, mercilessly caught in orgasmic bliss. "Damn," Dwayne grunted beside them then Bracey joined in, adding his cries of sheer pleasure to the chorus. Had Maurice learned to milk his dick even better than before or was his ass that good? He couldn’t answer that right now, his braids whipping about his face as he slung his head from side to side. Slamming all his length deep inside his surrogate lover, he trembled as it replied, nuzzling every quivering inch. Bear hugging the boy he grunted, groaned and suppressed screams, his head slinging toward the ceiling. Dwayne hopped around on his toes; his hips thrust wickedly forward, anxious jets of cum skeeting from his dick. Pelting the bed at breakneck speed, several more dollops immediately joined them. Squelching screams, he bounced on the balls of his feet, snared in the throes of extreme stimulation.

Beneath him, Maurice and Bracey likewise smothered screams. Maurice gnawed at the pillow, his entire body shaking to Bracey’s relentless pummeling. Over and over the youth’s lengthy wand drove home, pounding his sensitive prostate into a fit of frenzy until it triggered a powerful explosion from his dick. Bracey shrieked, his face right at Maurice’s now, his dick firing unruly shots of cum inside the squirming boy’s quivering tunnel. White drops fell from above, Dwayne emptying the last of his store as Maurice felt a warm wetness grow beneath him. Shouting and squealing into the pillow he wiggled about, his throbbing dick seized in the throes of youthful orgasm. These were the glory days, the days he’d masturbate to, many years hence, but for that moment, he and Bracey became one, their combined efforts resulting in individual climaxes that raised to become a simultaneous ecstasy. It was another Friday night for the books, the summit achieved once more.

They graduated that fall, Dwayne joining the army not many days after. Bracey remained home, attending a local college while Maurice moved across country on a scholarship in, what else? Math.

If you liked this story, check out Chris Carr's Studies In Brown at: www.studiesinbrown.com.

A unique collection of urban stories for and about people of color From hot urban tales to the sensitive, you'll find it all! Chris Carr