Gay Erotic Stories

He tried, nonetheless, just for a moment in his mind to relieve these acts of their morally reprehensible nature, to pretend for just a moment that they were just acts or hobbies, like trainspotting. He tried again and again, just to see if he could begin to appreciate the thrill that the perpetrators got out of these sadistic acts. He had no intention of taking it any further than that; he was just curious to see if he could understand. But he couldn't.

And yet there was one part of him, a small but very dominant and persistent part of him, that could understand the pleasure people might take out of making someone suffer, but not in a physical way and not in a way that would leave them permanently damaged.

He could understand the desire to destroy someone's dignity, preferably in public. He could understand the pleasure derived from doing this to arrogant individuals, to people who were too full of themselves, to those who had made others suffer. But he could just as readily fantasise about doing it do completely innocent and unsuspecting individuals.

For years he had been training in a martial art in which he was close to perfection. While it was possible to use this technique to inflict pain and injury on someone, it was also possible to use it to disable someone, put them out of action, to incapacitate someone without causing them any pain or physical damage whatsoever.

If he had wanted to rob people, it would have been possible to attack them and take whatever he wanted without actually hurting them. It would all be over before they really knew what was going on.

But he didn't want to rob anything; there was nothing he really needed that he didn't already have. He had simple tastes – up to a point.

He also had a taste in men. He was one of those men who tend not to be ‘suspected’ of being gay. And he liked straight men. He could see the futility in this and had tried to fight it. But he had long since given up, resigning himself to the age-old theory that you always end up wanting what you can’t have.

It was something he resented; resented in himself. He sometimes, albeit rarely, even found himself resenting the straight men themselves for it. But he could see that they’d done nothing wrong and that the whole thing really was his problem and his alone. And that was it. Almost.

There was just that little sadistic streak he had left in him. He’d always told himself that he would never suppress any urges or desires he might have for fear that this could lead to them controlling him rather than providing him with some form of pleasure. But not suppressing them would involve writing them down or talking to other like-minded people about them, sharing fantasies. It wouldn't involve acting on them. Because acting on them would, after all, be… well… cruel.

One evening he was on his way home from visiting a friend. He walked past a football pitch he often passed. He had a bit of a weakness for footballers in their soccer gear. He loved watching them play so much that he was just as informed about the sport as those who were genuinely interested in the sport itself. As usual, he looked to see if there was anyone playing and saw two teams of young men, many with mud on their shorts, knees and thighs, in the middle of a match.

He stopped to watch. He was familiar with one of the teams and assumed that the other one must have been from out of town. He watched the young players, quickly recognising his favourites from the local team and picking out new ones from the visiting team.

There was one from the local team that stood out more than the others. He had often stood at this pitch here and watched him, aware of the effect that this young man had on him. He had secretly taken photos of him with his smartphone, using the zoom to be sure of having a level of detail that he would be able to study later on at home.

He fantasised about kidnapping him, about making him undress or tying him up and undressing him. He thought of hypnotising him and doing something to make him compliant … and making him kiss him, of fucking him in all kinds of positions and filming it.

But his fantasies never went as far as rape. Sometimes this even surprised him, since he had a ‘no holds barred’ attitude to sexual fantasies; thinking about it didn't amount to actually doing it, after all. But he just didn't find himself wanting to rape someone, no matter how great the physical attraction.

It must have been about a week later. He’d been visiting the same friend and was once again on his way home. He made his way past the football pitch, even though it took him just a little bit out of his way. He was disappointed to see that it was empty. No match, no players in shorts, no young men rushing around, tackling each other and sending each other into the mud.

He continued on his way, which took him past the pavilion used by the players to change into and out of their kit before and after the match. As he drew close to it, the handsome player who’d attracted so much of his attention the previous week came out of the building with a sports bag over his shoulders. He allowed the doors to click shut behind him before checking that they were closed.

“I saw you playing last week.” He surprised himself by speaking to the young player, who turned to look at him.

“Er… yeah…” The footballer looked at him carefully. “Do I know you?”

“Nah, but I've seen you play a few times. You’re good.”

“Thanks, mate. Come and watch us again next week, yeah?”

“Will do. What’s your name?”

“Er… Luke,” he answered after a brief moment of hesitation.”

“Pleased to meet you, Luke. I'm Tom,” he replied, lying about his name.

“OK. Listen, got to go. See you around, yeah?”

Tom (let’s just stay with the name Tom) seized the moment. “Fancy a drink, Luke?”

Luke turned to look at him again with a look of uncertainty. “Er… listen mate… I've got places to be. Some other time, yeah? Thanks though.”

He turned to continue on his way. Tom knew that there would be no other time, so he decided to make this time THE time. He was fascinated by this young man, by the way he spoke, by his charisma, by his innocence, by his powerful soccer player legs, by how irresistible he looked in his soccer kit and not to mention by the way he played football.

“Come on, Luke! Just one drink…”

“Listen, man… I'm not being funny, but…”

“It’s just one drink. There’s a pub around the corner. Let’s go there. The drinks are on me.”

“I said no, for fuck’s sake! Now fuck off and get off my back, you creepy stalker!”

Tom had never been spoken to like that before, and Luke’s words ignited something in him that took over. Everything Tom had learned over the years he’d spent perfecting the martial art he had become so good at (no need to mention here which one) kicked in, and he instinctively pulled the hood of the jogging top he was wearing over his head to conceal his identity to any onlookers.

Luke didn't stand a chance. He felt his sports bag being ripped from his shoulder with a force that took him by surprise. He was still focussing on keeping hold of the bag despite Tom already having tossed it aside. Before Luke had the faintest idea where his bag was or what was happening, Tom had used his techniques to disable and disorient Luke within few seconds. Luke tried to focus on which side Tom was coming at him from and what he was actually doing, but before he was able to focus on anything at all, Tom had stripped him completely naked. His T- shirt, his shoes and socks, his jeans, his underwear. When Luke was able to focus again a few seconds later, he saw Tom happily stuffing his clothes into the sports bag. It was only when Luke recognised his own T-shirt that he became aware of the fact that he’d been stripped within seconds without him even realising it. Now he stood completely naked on the pavement, out in the street, his bare feet on the concrete pavement. He stared at Tom for a few seconds, stunned. After a few seconds he got his mind back and his instincts kicked in.

“You bastard!” he yelled, rushing at Tom who’d already finished putting Luke’s clothes into Luke’s sports bag as if he were packing his own stuff up in order to go home. Luke should have known better. This attracted the attention of some young people who approached and filmed the scene from across the road on a smartphone. On top of that, he should have known that any attack on Tom was futile. But Tom was hoping that he’d attack. He turned to Luke grinning, happy that he would make an attempt at getting revenge and also getting his clothes back. Within less than five seconds he had Luke on the floor, lying on his stomach. Tom stood on top of Luke, one foot between his shoulders and the other one between his buttocks. He wondered how his shoes felt on Luke’s skin and smiled to himself.

“Listen, Luke. If I let my foot slip down between your legs from where it is, my boot will crush your balls. And you don’t want that, do you? It would be a shame to make a mess of you. And I can already see people on the other side of the road filming this. Surely you don’t want me to make this any worse for you, do you?”

Luke seethed, looking down at the concrete that his face lay on. He had no idea what had happened and how Tom had managed to strip him before he’d even known what was going on. But he did want to keep his balls, and he could see now that it was no use trying to fight Tom any more.

“Come on, man… what the f…”

Tom whistled, as he put Luke’s underwear into the sports bag and closed the zip. He looked down at Luke who clearly didn't enjoy having his face pressed onto the concrete pavement.

“I bet you wish now that you’d gone for that drink with me, Luke…” he laughed. Thoughts raced through Luke’s head, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. Tom went on: “Now listen. I'm going to get down off you, and you know that I’ll have you right back down on the ground if you try anything. And I can tell you that I really do want you to keep your balls, so don’t make me do anything I don’t want to. And in case you hadn't noticed, some teenagers across the road are filming this.”

“What do you want?” growled Luke, and Tom could have sworn for a moment that Luke, in his despair and humiliation, was trying not to cry.

“Nothing. I've got this,” Tom said, dangling Luke’s sports bag down next to his head so that he could see it. “That’ll do fine for the moment.”

“That’s my stuff, man! You’re not serious…” he started to shout, but Tom interrupted him.

“Luke, remember your balls and shut up. I'm going to leave now, and when I'm a certain distance away I’ll turn around and shout ‘OK’ to you. Until I do that, I want you to stay lying down here, arse upwards. Is that clear?”

“Fucking…” Luke started to say under his breath. Tom shifted his foot on Luke’s arse, just a few millimetres, but enough to make Luke understand that his balls were at stake. “Okay, okay.”

Tom couldn't resist turning the knife: “And are you going to say sorry for the things you said and for not going for a drink with me, Luke?”

Luke paused for a few seconds but was now fully aware of his options; he only had one.

“Okay, I'm sorry. Sorry I said what I did and sorry about not going to the pub. Please man, can I have my stuff back?”

“No, you can’t. It’s mine now.”

“Fuck, man… we’re out here on the street and I'm stripped. No clothes, no underwear, no shoes, my wallet’s in my jeans in your bag. There’s not much in there, but it was enough to get me home. Come on, you’re not going to leave me out here with nothing at all, are you?”

“I'm afraid so,” said Tom, unable to hide the pleasure he was getting from this and glad that no one could see the way his own body was reacting to it. “But don’t worry, I only want to keep your clothes, your soccer kit and so on. I’ll go through your wallet and make scans of all your I.D. and so on, but I’ll get all that back to you some time. So if you want your stuff back, don’t do anything to upset me. Are we clear?”

“Yeah… okay,” Luke said reluctantly, unable to feel a sense of gratitude for Tom’s ‘leniency’. Tom hopped off Luke’s back and Luke had the sense to stay where he was. The teenagers on the other side of the road were still filming and couldn't believe their luck. Tom slung Luke’s sports bag over his shoulder and started to walk away, checking every so often that Luke was doing as he’d been told and was lying down, faced down, on the pavement. When Tom was about fifty metres away he stopped, turned around and shouted towards Luke:

“Okay!”

Luke got up and scrambled back up the steps to the entrance of the pavilion. He pulled frantically at the door but it was locked. He knew that he’d been the last one in the building, but it was his only hope. The teenagers across the road laughed at they filmed the naked athletic footballer rattling the glazed doors furiously, banging on them in the hope that someone may still be inside who would hear him. One of the girls in the group said: “He’s got a cute arse on him…” One of the boys laughed and said: “Like that, do you? You should see mine. It comes from footy. I play as well.” “You've got an arse like that?” she said, forgetting that their voices were being recorded on the video and that they would have to edit their own voices out before putting the video on Youtube.

When Tom was a safe distance away and sure that no one could see him, he slipped into a doorway and watched Luke from a distance with every intention of checking YouTube for the video. A bit of him felt sorry for Luke and his destroyed dignity, but feeling sorry for him only increased the sadistic pleasure he got from it.

He’d never planned this; it just happened. But now that he’d done it, he was hooked.

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If you like this story, let me know. If you didn't like it, let me know what you didn't like about it, what you missed or what you would change (I'm genuinely curious and love to hear people share). If you have any inspiration you want to share about how it could or should continue, let me know. Email: nrutas@gmx.de