Gay Erotic Stories

I have fond memories of the times when hip-hop was truly controversial, in-ya-face, full of attitude, gun lyrics and posing. To some it was ridiculous, but to many of us – especially those of us who were in our blooming teens – it provided a sense of daring manhood we hadn’t seen before. And it had a ring of realness in terms of street appeal. Although I’m sure many artists were in the game to earn money, it just wasn’t obvious when we looked at NWA, KRS, PE, Gang Starr, Kool Moe Dee, Ice Cube and Rakim.

You can’t really say the same about the Ja-Rules, Cash Money Millionaires and P. Diddies of today. No, our guys cursed, swore, tooted and flaunted in a way that was shocking to many, but provided a soundtrack for the violent reality some of us experienced daily. Don’t you remember LL Cool J grabbing his dick for each line he spitted, tearing his shirt off and getting a hard-on live on MTV? All of a sudden the world was full of images of Black men grabbing their dicks. Choosing not to discuss the political side of that now, I, for one, remember that those images had a strong appeal to a certain part of me, and it wasn’t my brain....

I was still a teenager in the 80’s around the time when NWA and Ice-T were banned everywhere for their antics against the police. To us, it was even more credible that the records were banned, it sort of confirmed what we saw everyday – the injustices, the crime of being Black and the police working to extinguish us.

Since as long as I can remember I always used to hang with this b-boy called Hong-Kong. He got his name for being half Jamaican, half Chinese. You could hardly see his Chinese traits, though, except for his eyes. Hong-Kong always used to run with me and he was somebody I trusted. He walked in on me jackin’ my bone up in my room, and he ended up being one of the first to suck juice out of my cock like a hungry bee attacks that sweet yellow sun flower for some nectar.

I think it was him who spread the word about the size of my cock to them nasty females who always wanted to hang with me. Hong-Kong was that kind of brotha’, hookin’ me up, looking out for me, always by my side. I appreciated that, especially since he was 4 years older than me–and seen as one of the HARD guys on the block. He didn’t talk much, most people were scared of him, they always quieted down when he was around. Him and his boys ruled our street. It’s only in my adult days that I’ve come to reflect on how much he influenced my ways.

Hong-Kong introduced me to hip-hop, rhyming, breaking, to pussy, to lifting weights, xxx-rated movies, jack-ya-brotha, how to run the streets smart and how to get respect. He made me sell weed for him, but he always protected me and wouldn’t want me to go further to more serious merchandise. He had been locked up several times and always told me how he didn’t want me to experience life behind bars.

There was this Black cop from the local police station that was out to bust Hong-Kong – Sergeant Cunningham. We only talked about him as ”Sergeant Bastard”, cause that’s what he was. You know those coppers who are so happy they got a job for whitey--they just want to prove that every Black boy is a criminal – and they take such joy in whoever they can bring down to the station for questioning. Word around was that he had assaulted some of the young brothers, but always got away with it. Hong-Kong could never stop, once he started on how bad he wanted to fuck Sgt Bastard up and destroy him.

So, one night, as we were down in the park, blasting some of the hip-hop jams from the tape deck and smoking some la, Sgt Bastard shows up from nowhere. He must have been sneaking up on us. It was myself, Hong-Kong and three of his boys from the gym just kicking it.

“So this is where you muthafuckas are hiding!” Bastard snared at us. “All of you, back up against that tree and empty your pockets!” He snapped up a joint out of the hand of one of the gym-guys. “Do I need to remind you assholes that this is illegal?” he said as he put out the fired-up end and wrapped it in a piece of paper. “Scum like you belong in prison, not out here where you can distort and misguide our children! Do you understand?”

As all this was happening, I found myself checking out Sgt Bastard. I had dealt with the cops several times, and I had never paid them any attention. Maybe it was the weed, but although it was dark, I noticed that Bastard had his physical attributes together. He was definitely pumping–his uniform did nothing to hide a well-trained, bulky body. Wide shoulders, a thick neck, a square face with cheekbones sharp angled enough to cut paper on. He had this GI Joe hair cut with only a little hair on top; the rest of his head was shaved. He was probably in his mid 30’s, dark, smooth skin, moustache, tight thighs and thick ass. I caught myself thinking that his cock might be well sized too, when I feel his baton on my chest.

“And you, stupid fuck--why you hangin’ with these guys so much older than you? You should be home playing games with yourself--ha?” He came closer to me, with an evil grin.

“Damn faggot,” I heard Hong-Kong whisper.

Bastard also heard. He turned around and walked up close to Hong-Kong’s face. “What did this little prick say?” Hong-Kong just stared back at him. Bastard repeated the question in a more threatening voice.

“I said you a damn faggot!” Hong-Kong spitted the words slowly back in Bastard’s’ face. Man, I admired Hong-Kong.

To my surprise Bastard stepped back and asked Hong-Kong to take off his top. Hong-Kong wore a white singlet and baggy, gray sweat pants. There was a strange silence of terror in the air. I saw Hong-Kong’s guys trying to signal to each other to jump Sgt Bastard, but Bastard didn’t miss a move. He quickly took out his pistol and pointed it at Hong-Kong. “You guys are fucked!” he said with a smile of triumph. “I have enough on you guys to keep you locked down for years, so don’t you try anything smart! Now take off your shirt, deaf nigger!”

Hong-Kong slowly took his shirt off and exposed his well-trained and hairless chest. I could see a slight outline of his dick through the saggy sweat pants, maybe because I knew exactly what was hiding behind them. I had been down there enough times to know that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Sgt Bastard stepped a little closer again, “Now, all of you just remain still if you want to get home to Momma tonight!” he ordered as he pointed at Hong-Kong with his piece.

With his right hand, Sgt Bastard, pointed with his baton straight to the outline of Hong-Kong’s dick. He moved the baton closer so that the tip was actually pressing against his cock head. I could see Hong-Kong was upset and was looking for an opportunity to distract Sgt Bastard, but Bastard had his eyes exactly where he should and reminded us all to stand still and don’t move a muscle. “Let’s see now,” he whispered, as he started moving Hong-Kong’s dick back and forth in side the pants, with his baton.

A strange sensation came over me as I saw Hong-Kong’s dick grow inside his pants. Here was my buddy, my brotha, the one who always was looking out for me being felt up by a cop. Hong-Kong, who everyone respected and feared, was getting a boner in the park with a police baton on his dick! I didn’t know whether I should admit my excitement or attempt to kill Sgt Bastard.

Bastard kept on fondling the dick outline as it continued to grow. “Watch this guys,” Bastard whispered. He positioned the baton between Hong-Kong’s legs and slowly moved it up under his balls, causing the sweat pant material to move back and expose an exact outline of Hong-Kong’s stiff boner. He slowly moved the baton in between Hong-Kong’s legs. As the baton moved, the rim of Hong-Kong’s pants moved down too, revealing his mad-thick bush of black hair. “Now who’s a damn faggot, boy?” Bastard taunted. It was then I noticed Hong-Kong’s face and saw how humiliated and powerless he looked. He kept quiet.

“I said,” Bastard repeated for emphasis, “Who’s the damn faggot here?”

Almost impossible to hear, Hong-Kong whispered something that sounded like “me”. The baton was still moving the pants rim down and in a second or two it would cause the boner to jump out in fresh air.

The sound of an approaching car cut through the strange stillness we had all been captured in. Sgt Bastard didn’t panic, and just withdrew his baton. He ordered Hong-Kong to pull his pants up and put on his top. The car stopped and two white policemen came over to us.

“Cunningham, are you okay? We didn’t read any replies from you when we called!”

“No, I’m fine thank you. I was just talking to these young boys about appropriate language. I think they have learnt their lesson.” Sgt Bastard disappeared with the two white cops.

Several months went by, and we never mentioned what took place in the park that night. Something had happened to Hong-Kong, though--like his pride had been taken away. He talked even less than before, he never came around with xxx-movies, never wanted to suck dick or get some pussy. I started to get worried, but I also understood that what happened with Sgt Bastard had traumatized him. In my dreams I developed a fixation on Sgt Bastard. Whenever I jacked off or pumped pussy, I was thinking of him--what he did to Hong-Kong and the things I wanted to do to him. I hated him, yet I still wanted to do him.

So one afternoon I was chilling at home and I get this phone call from Hong-Kong, asking me to come over to his house. Maybe he wants to suck dick again, I thought to myself, knowing how Hong-Kong used to invite me over when his mother wasn’t home. “I’m in the garage, come right away,” he said and put the phone down before I could ask what was up. There was something strange in his voice, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. So I ran down to the train station and jumped on the train down to Hong-Kong’s area.

I banged on Hong-Kong’s garage door, he asked who it was, and after checking that no one was following me, he let me in. I could see in his eyes that he was excited about something. “You won’t believe, but now we gon’ get this mothafucker for real!” he said in a way that sounded both scary and victorious. He signaled to me that I should not talk and took me to the back room of the garage, and my eyes almost fell out.

There, in the back of the garage, he had Sgt Bastard in full uniform tied up with his arms stretched out to the walls and his feet tied to the ground. It took me a while to understand what was going on, and that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me in the darkness of the garage. Sgt Bastard was blind folded, and, for some reason he was quiet. Maybe he was smart enough to understand he wasn’t on top of this situation. I couldn’t establish whether he was scared. I tried to figure out how they had caught him and brought him into the garage. Hong-Kong just signaled to me again to be silent. The three other guys from the park were there too. I could see they were blazed out on reefa, as they smiled triumphantly.

The three guys from Hong-Kong’s gym started to undress Sgt Bastard. Or maybe I should say--fling off his clothes. What they couldn’t unbutton, they cut through with knife, what didn’t fall off--they tore off. Sgt Bastard started shouting abuse about who the fuck did they think they were, and how they would be locked up for a lifetime, but nothing could help him out of this. I was just standing there seeing this man being stripped of his police uniform, revealing the thickest and hardest body I’d ever seen. Dark complexion, muscled, neatly toned, covered in a fur of curly, black hair. Everything on this man was thick. He looked ridiculous though, tied up, unable to move, with half his clothes torn off, his tie hanging around his neck, and pieces of his former shirt still clinging to his body. The guys unbelted his pants and pushed the pants down to his ankles, revealing what I had given so much thought--only a white brief was now between me and the only last thing I wanted to check on him. His briefs weren’t tight; they obviously gave some room to what was inside them. I was sure the guys would fling off his briefs too, but they just left them on--I was going mad.

Now I could see Sgt Bastard was starting to panic a little; sweating, shouting more abuse and it was almost as if he was trembling. I looked at Hong-Kong who was obviously enjoying what he saw. Next to him was a big ghetto blaster, he pressed play and hard beats and the pumping message from “Fuck da Police” bombarded the room with its sound. A feeling of anger overwhelmed me, and I melted into the atmosphere of the room–getting revenge for what this motherfucker did to our Big Brother.

Needless to say, the loud music, the hate for what Sgt Bastard had done to Hong-Kong, the odd horniness, the violence in the air and the hard-to-believe scenery of a tied up, half naked cop worked us all into a frenzy. We passed joints and I realized Hong-Kong had planned for this moment, since “Fuck da Police” came on repeatedly. Hong-Kong motioned to one of the gym guys to open up the act by shoving his big dick up Bastard’s back door alley. They fucked him in shifts; they never undressed, just whipped out one big Black dick after another and made sure all of it banged against Sgt Bastard’s inner organs.

Looking at Hong-Kong who stood next to me, I noticed he was jacking his own bone inside his pants. I wasn’t sure whether he was aroused or just preparing himself for his turn. I was more than ready, and after a while I let the guys know that it was my turn. My dick was up and hard like a hammer, ready to get all up in that mothafucka. Now, even at this young age, my dick was more than 9” and when I thrust it in, I could sense that Sgt Bastard felt pain. And that’s what I wanted; I pumped, shoved, banged, slammed and rocked my bone hard, deep and rough up in that asshole. Bastard tried to twist out of my grip, but the guys helped to hold him still.

Sgt Bastard shouted something, I didn’t care, nothing could stop me, I was working frenetically and there was only one station this train would stop at. I chased that station with all my hanger, hate and frustration and as I acted out the most xxx-rated video version to “Fuck the Police” I arrived at the point where I busted out wave after wave of milky cum up in this cop. Exiting him, streams of cum were running down Sgt Bastard’s legs and I could describe my feelings no better way than--relieved.

Hong-Kong, who had been waiting, just slowly jacking his bone took his turn and shoved his big spade deep into that cop-soil too. After having thrust in and out, and had Sgt Bastard begging for mercy, he also relieved himself up in that police salad with a loud grunt. I knew, by now that Sgt Bastard must have been out-fucked more than was good for any human being--even your enemy.

As I tried to get my breath back from my own exhaustion, I came to remember that Sgt Bastard’s brief front was still covering his dick. I noticed that it didn’t look like he had had any erection inside those briefs. I was gonna turn this mothafucka inside out, and I was still on a mission! I remembered how he had gotten my big brotha to say that he was a faggot. No way--this cop here was the true faggot and my fact-finding mission still wasn’t completed. I signaled to the guys to take off his briefs.

A big-ass semi-erect, phat cock fell out and into my hands. I was going to prove once and for all who was the biggest faggot of them all. I started to play with his cock, which was big, curvy and uncut. I watched as it grew to amazing proportions in my hands. I pulled the foreskin back, played with his low-hanging, hairy balls and, however much I wanted, I just couldn’t hurt him. Motherfucker or not--this dick was something to worship!

Every time I wanted to squeeze his testicles to the point of pain, I found my hands caressing them. Every time I wanted to bend his dick in a painful angle, my hands jacked him as if they really cared. Maybe I was going soft and feeling sorry for the stupid fuck, but I was helpless. Sgt Bastard’s verbal abuse was loud, but quieted down for each pull, jack and twist I did to his crotch. A powerful feeling arose inside me; this guy was now in total submission to me.

His hips started to move and even when my hands were stil,l he made sure he was jacked off by thrusting back and forth. I didn’t want the guys to know I was really digging this, so I started hurrying him. His breath was so heavy it could be the engine of a truck. I tugged on his bone and knew that he was about to explode. I signaled to the guys to hand me a mug. They got it to me just in time for me to collect his massive flows of squirt cream. I had never seen so much cum coming out of one dick before, and I doubt if I ever saw more later. It just never stopped. I’m not one of those guys who swallow, but if I was, this should have been my first time.

In a triumphant ceremony of victory, I forced his mouth open and had Sgt Bastard swallow his own cum from the mug he had filled up. He was weak and didn’t resist, and I made sure all of it went down his throat. My anger returned and again, I could only see him as this true Bastard who had been fucked, jacked and was now drinking his own cum.

That’s what happens when you mess with true jiggas. Even today, these images return only to provide me with the wildest ejaculations. I fucked da Police real good!

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