Gay Erotic Stories

"Maybe tonight, Georgie," George Ford whispered to his reflection. He sat down at his desk and tried to focus on the sales figures. The store had fared well in the last two weeks, better than his forecast. He wished he could say the same about himself. Outwardly, he appeared fitter and healthier. Inwardly, he was a maelstrom of unassuaged urges. He channeled the excess energy to running the store, working long hours without rest. He hardly saw his wife anymore to no one's displeasure. Their relationship has been one of cool cordiality the last few years.

In another hour, Mark will close the store and enter the office. George tallied the receipts and plugged numbers into the computer, waving and saying good night as his staff began departing. He struggled to be sincere, to truly wish each a good night. It took great effort. But his swollen cock reminded him that he had to be good, otherwise he might never get another treat. When the last person besides Mark marched by his office and the backdoor slammed shut, George sighed in relief. He gave up on the figures. He pulled out a gift-wrapped box and laid it on the desk. George slid off his chair and crawled to the center of the office. He sat on his haunches and waited for Mark.

George heard Mark's rhythmic footsteps. They were steady and confident, without hesitation. George whimpered as Mark's dress shoes stumped on the unyielding tiles, echoing loudly down the hallway. As the footfalls neared, the sound became strident, unnerving. "Be good, Georgie," he advised himself. He straightened his tie and jacket and padded down his white hair, which he had gotten cut that afternoon. He lifted his paws limply before his chest, hung out his tongue, and panted as Mark turned into the office.

"Well, hello, Georgie. Have you been waiting for me?" Mark cooed as he tousled George's neatly combed hair. George muzzled a growl. Be good, be good, he chanted to himself. Tousled hair can be easily fixed, he reasoned. Pissing Mark, however, came with too high a price.

"Yes, Mark. I busied myself with the sales figures until you came down the hall."

"Good. Let's take a look." Mark tossed something on the floor beside the desk before taking a seat. George crawled over. It was a vanilla wafer. At least it's not a doggy treat, George thought to himself. He picked it up with his teeth and chewed resolutely, careful not to spit it out. He hated vanilla wafers.

"The store's doing well, isn't it? You know, Georgie, this year has been tough. I know poor Linda is struggling right now with her husband out of work. I think, Georgie, we should share the wealth. How about handing out bonus pay on New Year's Eve?"

George couldn't answer. He hung his head low and stuffed his clenched fists between his thighs. He wanted to scream, Are you out of your mind, fucking moron? He took deep breaths and counted to ten, then twenty. Slowly, with great restraint, he murmured, "Bonus pay?"

"Yes. Not much. Maybe $500 per person. There are ten of us, so a total of $5000. The store can handle that easily."

George counted to twenty again. $5000 wasn't much, but Mark had already given pay raises to everyone, except George, who had his pay cut by a small percentage. "What about me, Mark? There are actually eleven on the payroll."

"You don't need a bonus. You know very well you've been stuffing your pockets for the past umpteen years."

George couldn't argue. His pay was still outrageously high even with the cut. But it's my store, he whined silently. He slouched, lungs deflated, as he acknowledged his defeat. "As you say, Mark."

"Actually, Georgie, I just got a brilliant idea. If you do your Santa thing for a whole week leading up to Christmas, we could increase our profit margin and give out bigger bonuses."

George groaned. Please shut up! You're not worth it, asshole! But he lifted his head and looked over at Mark, who was sitting with his legs stretched out toward George. He saw Mark's big shoes and licked his lips. He gazed up between the thighs and saw the bulge of Mark's hidden treasures. George began to pant desperately. "If I do what you want, will you give me a treat?"

"I won't make any promises, Georgie."

Fuck, fuck, fuck! What to do? He didn't understand why he was so desperate. He had hooked up with three different guys from craigslist after that night with Mark. He didn't need Mark, he had thought to himself. Three cocks of different sizes he had taken into his mouth and each disgusted him. He finished each off, hoping the cum would be worth it, but he found the cum even more disgusting. The three men didn't seem all that impressed either, just sitting patiently to get off. George had even eaten his own cum after masturbating with similar results. But that night, it was wonderful. Why?

George gave up trying to understand himself. Mark was waiting for a response. George's cock and balls ached. His mouth filled with saliva. I can't fight this. "Whatever you want, Mark. I'll do it."

"That's a good doggy!" Mark tousled George's hair again and threw down another vanilla wafer.

"I don't suppose you have ginger snaps?"

"What, you don't like vanilla wafers?"

"Not really."

"Fine. I'll get ginger snaps next time but you better finish that wafer." George ate the wafer, his face upturned so Mark could see him eat it.

"Good boy. Well, I better get home. Mom has chemo in the morning. I'll see you on Friday."

George rushed up to Mark. "But I've been good, haven't I? The last two weeks, I've done everything you wanted. I've been kind and thoughtful to everyone. I walked every day. I've cut my portions by half and eat more vegetables and whole grains. Please, Mark. I've been a good doggy, yes?"

"You have been pretty good, Georgie. I admit that. But you have a lot to make up for."

George whimpered with his paws raised to his chin, his eyes big and round, moist with tears. "Please, Mark. I'm so desperate."

"Why not just hook up with another guy, Georgie?" Mark crossed his arms, one eyebrow pointed up.

"How did you know?" George was scared now. Was Mark pissed?

"Really, Georgie! I'm no oblivious straight man! You take off in the middle of the day for a couple of hours and slink back looking miserable and disappointed. Plus you never bothered cleaning up your Internet history."

"I'm sorry, Mark. I was so desperate and, and, I thought, well, I thought that if, that is, if I --"

"If you found another man to suck off, you wouldn't have to humiliate yourself and be my doggy. Yes?"

George hung his head, his lower lip quivering. "Yes," he mumbled.

"Well? No such luck?"

"No," George replied. "It was disgusting, Mark. I sucked three cocks and they were all disgusting. I quit after that."

"That's good news for you, Georgie. You don't like sucking cock. You can now just go about running the store and try not to piss me off. What's the problem?"

"I don't know, Mark," George cried miserably. "I think about you and look at you and I get so horny. I want to suck on your feet and your cock and your balls. I, I can't help it. Mark, I'm so hard right now."

"You're pitiful! Georgie, I'm really not interesting in satisfying your perverse desires, not tonight. I'm really tired. I'm going home." Mark was about to stand up when George started crying, tears streaming down his round cheeks into his white beard. "Oh, for chrissake! You're too old to be crying like a child!"

"I'm sorry. I can't help it." George wiped the tears from his face. "The gift is for you, Mark."

Mark ripped the wrappings off. "A tie?" Mark asked as he held a tie box. He didn't wear ties.

"No, Mark. I bought this tie for myself and used the box for your gift." George held up the end of his tie. Mark grabbed it and lifted it up to his face. George shuffled closer as the tie went taut. The tie had tiny white dogs on it.

Mark dropped the tie. "Nice tie." He opened the box, which contained two pairs of socks.

"They're Merino wool. Very comfortable and warm."

"Why, thank you, Georgie. It's very thoughtful."

"You let me keep your socks so --" George shrugged.

"Well, after what you did to them, I didn't want them back. I don't want to know what else you've been doing with them."

George blushed, ashamed of himself. Unconsciously, he groped his crotch, moaning as his penis rubbed against a coarse fabric.

"Don't tell me you're --" Mark couldn't finish the sentence.

George sheepishly replied with a short nod.

"Not all day? Did you at least wash them?"

"No, not all day. Just while I was in the office. And I wash them every day."

Mark sniggered but then burst out laughing, unable to hold back. He pressed his arms into his gut and threw back his head, guffawing. "Oh, Georgie. You're too much! Oh god, I've never heard anything more pathetic." He continued chuckling.

George sat completely still, his head almost to his knees. He moaned. His face was beat red but not with embarrassment. His cock was twitching against the coarse sock he had stuffed into his briefs. His balls and anus tightened. No, no, no! Don't cum! Please don't!

"Oh, no, oh, god," George cried out as the pressure built. He threw himself prostate to the floor and humped as he came. He heard Mark laughing boisterously and cried out, "Oh, Mark. I'm cumming!" He pounded his cock into the wet sock, grinding his crotch into the floor to spread the wetness. His body squirmed as his cock convulsed and spewed. "Oh, it won't stop! Ooohh!" He beat his fists against the floor.

It ended. George shuddered and collapsed spread eagle on the floor. He continued squirming, relishing the warm, wet stickiness. For a while he was oblivious but then he heard Mark's laughter. George moaned. He crawled into a corner and curled up, hiding his face. He cried, mortified, but his cock continued twitching. "Please stop laughing at me," he begged.

Mercifully, the laughter ceased. "Look up at me," Mark ordered. George looked up to be blinded by a flash.

"Please, no photos, Mark."

"Spread your legs."

"Please, Mark, have mercy. Haven't I humiliated myself enough."

"Suit yourself. I'm out of here, then."

"Ok, ok." George sat back against the wall and spread his legs. There was a large, irregular wet spot on his unusually large bulge. Mark zoomed in and snapped a photo.

"Show me your underwear."

George got on his knees and dropped his pants. His white briefs were wet, revealing the dark fabric below. Mark took several photos. George moaned at his cock hardened once more.

"Lose the underwear."

George peeled down the front of his briefs with one hand while holding a black sock pressed to his cock with the other hand. He peeled the back of his briefs, pushing them down to his thighs. George panted as he felt the warm, wetness of the sock. Mark kept snapping photos, snickering. George whimpered as his hand groped the wet sock, tormenting his sore cock. He licked his lips. Please, Georgie. Don't do it. Control yourself. Don't do it!

It was a losing battle. Self-control was never his forte. He slapped the wet sock against his face, shuddering. He buried his nose and mouth into the sock, sniffing deeply and sucking. His open eyes fluttered, gazing at Mark taking photos. There was no point in holding back. He dropped to his side, moaning and growling as he sucked on the sock. He smeared the wet sock all over his face, and then all over his exposed thighs, genitals, and ass.

He wrapped the sock loosely around his cock, held it in place with a hand, and fucked it, thrusting upward, his back to the floor. George rolled his head from side to side, grimacing. The sock was so rough and his cock so sensitive. He blurted, "I'm gonna cum again, Mark. I'm gonna cum in your sock. Then I'm gonna suck it. Oh, Mark!"

"Aaaahhhh!" he screamed as he blasted into the sock, pelvis thrust high. He could feel the shots hammering against his palm. The wetness intensified his orgasm, prolonging it. Cum beaded through the fabric, smearing his hand. George straightened out his legs and brought the sock to his mouth. He stuffed the toe end into his mouth, gradually moving it with his tongue till he had sucked the entire sock. George lay still on his back, the wet sock partially stuffed in his mouth with the rest draped over his nose. He was content for now, happy to let Mark take his photos.

"Well, thanks for the show. It's bed time for me. I'll leave you something to play with, though." George watched lustfully as Mark changed his socks right over George's face. Mark had been wearing thin dress socks. They looked soft. George's gaze was fixed on Mark's feet, long and supple with big toes. He moaned as the dress socks were peeled off one by one. He suckled on the wet sock in his mouth greedily. He whimpered when those naked feet were covered up again with clean, dry wool socks.

Mark put his shoes back on and stood up. George could see Mark's crotch high overhead. He could make out the bulging snake of Mark's cock down along an inner thigh. It was hard. "Damn," George mumbled into the sock. He salivated. He pulled out the sock and blurted, "I can see your cock, Mark. It's hard. Won't you please let me suck it? I've been practicing. I'm better now."

"Don't push your luck, Georgie. You haven't earned it." Mark stepped over George. At the door, he stopped and tossed his worn socks on the floor. "Good night."

George pulled up his briefs and pants, stuffing the wet sock into his crotch. He knelt to tuck in his shirt before zipping up and buckling the belt. He groped his wet crotch, sighing. It feels so good. He shuffled over to the computer on his knees and logged off. While crawling over to the coat stand, George saw the sheer socks on the floor. He crawled over and sniffed them, his cock instantly hard. He wanted to feel their softness against his cock and balls, but it was getting late. It was Tuesday night and the cleaners would be arriving shortly.

He put on his long coat, stuffed the socks into a pocket, and crawled out, hitting the lights. He stood to lock the door behind him. He moaned as the cold, winter air chilled the wetness. He shivered as he raced for his car. He cranked up the heat, rubbing his thighs together. His cock had shrunk with the cold, goosebumps formed on his scrotum. After a few minutes, hot air was blowing up. George drove home.

"Working late again, Butch?" his wife, Beth, called out from the den, watching some TV show.

"Had to go over the sales figures. I had take-out Chinese so I'm set for dinner. Good night."

"Good night."

George took the stairs to the basement. Over the years he had transformed it into his private haven, while Beth took over the second floor. They lived more like roommates than husband and wife. They were already talking about divorcing as Beth wanted to move south to warmer climates once she was eligible for retirement in another year. She was a few years older than George.

The stairs ended at a short hallway. The door on the right led to the laundry room and then the furnace and boiler. The door straight ahead hid the stairs to the backyard. The door on the left was locked and bolted. George made short work of the lock and bolt. He entered a small, square vestibule. He locked and bolted the door behind him. He slipped off his shoes and placed them in a built-in shelf on the floor. He hung up his coat on an unoccupied hook on the wall, remembering to pull out the socks. Turning left, he checked himself in the large mirror. His white beard was matted with dried cum, his head a white, disheveled bush.

"You're quite a mess, Georgie," he chided himself. He touched his crotch, feeling the rigidity of fabric once wet with viscous cum now dry and hardened. George inhaled the scent of the worn socks and felt his cock straining against the rigid fabric. Hastily, he unlocked the second door that led to his lair. He rushed in and shut the door, locking it.

He sighed in relief, safe in his haven. It was a large open space, more an apartment than a room. It was spacious enough to contain, with room to spare, a queen-sized bed with nightstands, a long couch and matching easy chair, a coffee table, an entertainment set with a 42" LCD TV, stereo system, CD and DVD collection, a large desk with a huge iMAC, and a small open kitchen with a half-size refrigerator and microwave. Two closets were built flush with the vestibule, one on either side, and a full bathroom filling up the space next to the right closet and beneath the staircase. The ceiling was reinforced and insulated. He could be as loud as he desired without been heard.

George dropped the socks to the floor and threw his suit coat on the easy chair. He fell to the hardwood floor and reveled in the intoxicating fumes of Mark's socks. Truthfully, the fumes were mild. He would have preferred a stench foul enough to burn his olfactory nerves. Mark's feet were generally too clean and dry. This was better than nothing, though. He growled and barked as his sniffed. You're such a pervert, Georgie, such a naughty doggy! His fat cock swelled with blood, peeling away from the sock that stuck to the skin.

He growled angrily, hating the dryness. He wanted to feel warm wetness against his skin. George ground his crotch against the floor. "Shit!" The dried fabric was too rough. He crawled into the bathroom, thinking to soak himself, clothes and all, in hot water. Upon seeing the toilet, he realized how full his bladder was. It had been nearly four hours since he last peed. He moaned as a thought occurred to him. Oh, Georgie. For Pete's sake, get a hold of yourself.

Kneeling on the bathroom floor, socks held to his face, George struggled to rid himself of his most recent idea. But the longer he struggled, the more urgently his bladder demanded release. "Don't do this, Georgie," he snarled into the socks as he climbed into the tub. He curled up into a fetal position. George sniveled as the need rose, his hands and socks mashed into his groin. He shook and rubbed his legs as he fought to hold the dam. "Please don't do this, Georgie. The toilet's right there!" he pleaded with himself. The pressure was getting painful. "At least take your clothes off," he yelled at himself. But he did not move.

George moaned, knowing he was doomed. "I'm gonna piss myself and my suit." He was whining and yet his cock grew harder. His legs rubbed each other faster, toes curled up. He felt his piss slit open. "Shit! I'm pissing myself!" he cried out. Hot, steamy urine gushed out, instantly soaking through the sock around his cock. Soon it soaked through the layers of fabric till he felt it hot and wet against his hands. He felt it running down his hips and thighs. The wetness crept up his shirt. He groaned as urine crept into his ass-crack. He groped himself harshly, breathing deeply the heady scent of his urine.

He lay on his back, letting the urine stream down his legs, wetting his feet. He heard the piss fall into the drain. George stopped the flow and scrambled to plug the drain. He laid back down and held the dripping socks over his face. He closed his eyes as urine fell on his face and trickled through his beard. He squeezed the socks over his gaping mouth, drinking the pungent liquid. It tasted awful, but he drank more. It was perverse and arousing.

Dropping the socks on his face, George unzipped his pants and fished out his erect penis, throwing the coarse sock on his face as well. He ran his hands against the wet clothes. He bit down on a sock, drawing it into his maw. The stench assaulted his nostrils making him moan. He slid down till his entire back was on the floor of the tub and his legs bent up. He could feel the wetness on his back and head. George hosed himself, his piss arcing up and splattering his tie and shirt. Piss splashed on his chin and face. He ran his hands along his chest, forcing the urine to cascade down his sides. So warm, so wet, he groaned to himself.

The spout of urine crept down from his chest toward his belly as the flow weakened. George cupped his hands beneath his cock, catching what he could. When nothing but a few drops fell from his cock, he upended his hands over his forehead, running his wet hands through his thin hair. He turned his body in the tub, soaking every bit of it in the shallow pool of urine. On his back again, George slipped on a sheer sock over his cock and balls, and another one over that, and finally the coarse sock over it all. He held the socks in place with the fingers of one hand as he turned on his belly.

"You're such a bad doggy, Georgie. A disgusting pervert," he scolded himself. With his free hand, he spanked himself hard, crying out, tongue lapping at the shallow pool. With each spank, he fucked the layers of socks. He switched hands so he could spank his other buttock. It was a powerful combination: the scent, the warm liquid, wet fabric against cock and balls, the painful spanking and accompanying splash, and the foul taste in his mouth. The whole perversity of his deeds aroused him.

"Oh, Mark, if you could see me now." George panted heavily with his tongue pressed to the tub floor. He imagined Mark standing disapprovingly over him, laughing at his depravity, snapping off photos. He felt heat in his balls and pressure in his guts like he had to pee again. "Please, Mark, laugh at me. I'm pathetic, a pervert. Laugh at me," he begged. His imagination got carried away. He heard laughter echoing in the bathroom, echoes piling upon echoes like there were a dozen Marks laughing at him.

"Oh, yes. Keep laughing, please. I'm gonna cum. You're making me cum, Mark." George flipped over on to his back, thrust up his hips, and craned his neck. He gripped his cock with both hands, pulling the socks down tight against his cock. He gasped as his cum ran into resistance. He convulsed, his cock throbbing painfully, trying to force the cum out. Slowly his semen pressed through the layers. A thick gooey substance grew on the very tip of his sheathed cock. The substance jiggled like jello on the tip before its growing mass outgrew the tip and slid down. More cum bubbled up through the fabric. The cum pooled thick and hot against his thumbs. With a shuddering spasm, George milked the last drops with his hands.

George peeled the socks from his cock, dropping his hips. He brought his hands and socks to his lips. He licked the cum off his thumbs then sucked on the socks. With the socks still in his mouth, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. The socks hung heavy and wet against his chin. Breathing heavily through his nose, George accessed himself. His white shirt was stained yellow. His pants and tie dark with moisture. His clothes were turning cold against his skin.

He glared at his raw and crimson cock. It was still hard, seemingly not yet satisfied. George touched a fingertip to the inflamed bulb and shuddered. It was extremely sensitive. There was no way he could cum again. He spit out the socks and sat still for a while, recovering from his orgasm.

"Way to go, Georgie. You really did it now." There was no rationalizing this, no way to brush it under the rug. "You're really a pervert, Georgie." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply of the rich fumes. He grew calm. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, a smile creased his face. He leaned his head back against the tiled wall and laughed, a loud, hysterical laugh. He laughed at himself as Mark had done earlier that night. Every now and then he would bark and then laugh at himself again. His sides ached with laughter. George gasped for air.

George laughed till he could laugh no more, lying breathless and fatigued. He forced himself to his knees and pulled the shower curtains. He unplugged the drain and turned on the shower. Hot water rained down on him, washing away the piss. With no regard for time, George knelt in the hot shower, his head bowed low. He enjoyed the sensation of hot liquid running down his body, pasting his clothes to his skin.

In time, he recovered from his fatigue. He stood and stripped off his clothes, letting them fall. He stroked his naked body, marveling at his baby-smooth skin despite his old age. With a bar of soap, he lathered himself head to toe, calmly and intently. Once he was content that he had cleansed himself thoroughly, George turned off the water and stepped out. He rubbed down his body with a towel vigorously. He walked out to the closet and returned with a pair of plastic hangers. George hung up the wet clothes on the hangers, which he hooked to the handicap rail in the tub. He washed his hands in the sink before brushing his teeth.

His evening ablution completed, George smiled at his reflection. "You're a pervert, Georgie. There's no use denying it, so just accept it and go with the flow. Mark has a hold on you. Accept that as well. You're main goal now is to be a good doggy and hope for the treat you want more than anything. Nothing else is important." It all made sense to him. There was no need in trying to understand why. Just accept the facts and move on.

George eased down to his hands and knees, his body responding gracefully. He crawled to his bed, smiling at how naturally his body crawled. He crawled into bed. George tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. He gave up and tossed the blankets and a pillow to the floor. He hopped to the floor and folded over the down comforter twice. He crawled on to his makeshift bed and curled up, dragging the pillow under his head. The lighter blankets he tossed over his body. George sighed happily.

He slept soundly that night, completely at ease with himself. He knew who and what he was, and he accepted it all. The next morning, he awoke early in the quiet, feeling refreshed. George had always hated the mornings, waking up groggy, dry-mouthed, and in desperate need of coffee. This morning, he was alert and full of energy.

George eagerly thought of ways he could please Mark and win his favor. "I'll do an impromptu appearance by Santa Claus at the store today. And I'll give everyone their $500 bonus on Christmas Eve and then another bonus, amount contingent on sales, on New Year's Eve."