Gay Erotic Stories

Not much of an island, really--more of a sand bar with short, windswept scrub and a few trees struggling to find roots on the far side, facing Europe. I figured any civilization would be among those trees, so I began to circle the point, hugging the lapping surf as I trudged away from the setting light. The sand wedged between my legs began to chafe my inner thigh, so I went into the blue-green water to rinse my ass. I thought I heard the sound of a circular saw over the pounding surf, or maybe a sander. I ran back up the beach towards the mechanical buzz. The source of the noise was a boathouse in the cove beyond. It perched on piers on a salty green lagoon, ringed with scrub and pokeweed. The bow of a racing sloop protruded from the big garage-type door on one side. A man was using a hand-sander, bringing years of marine paint down to the bare wood. He held the stub of a fat cigar in his mouth as his arms crisscrossed the ancient wood.

I hopped down from my perch atop the jetty, and lost my footing on a clutch of black mussels. My foot slipped out from under me and I fell into the foaming water, smashing my forehead on a rock. I collapsed into the surging breakers, flashing lights in the back of my head. I could see the boatman drop his sander, totally astonished, then run towards me across the beach.

He certainly was a big dude! Lean and tall, broad deeply tanned shoulders jutting out of a dingy white sleeveless undershirt. His rippling torso strained the thin worn fabric of the tee and I saw a patch of dark fur between his big pectorals, curling over the frayed welt of the shirt. He jumped into the surf, pulled me to the shore and gathering me into his beefy arms, lifted me out of the water.

His hair was naturally dirty brown but months in the hot summer sun had streaked it golden blonde, his wavy locks held in a tight ponytail that hung down about a foot against his strapping back. He wore a pair of denim cutoffs that covered his thighs to the knee but revealed deeply tanned calves sprayed with silky golden threads of hair. The man carried me to the crest, and laid me on my back in the warm dune. His face was covered in a thick, dark beard that was also streaked gold around his chapped lips. His cheeks above the scraggly beard were burnt a ruddy red by the August sun. His eyes were deep blue, the same color as the evening sky behind him. Shame he’s such a slob. Even through my pain I could see he’d probably look real good if he cleaned himself up a bit!

His face was inches from mine. I smelled tobacco smoke on his breath as he leaned in to speak. “Hey, buddy, you okay? ‘Lemme take a look at that cut!” He reached out to my forehead with his calloused hand. The grit and grease under his nails grossed me out, but I let him stroke my temple and daub at the still bleeding gash. The pain was still there, but subsiding. “Don’t think it‘s anything to fret about. Feel like you can stand?”

I struggled to my feet, and stood in the damp sand. I tried to walk, but the flashing lights and the throb in my head made me woozy. My legs buckled and I fell into the surf at his ankles. The man chuckled and stooped down to help me back up. “What the fuck are ya doin’, bud?” he said. “You hurt yerself! C’mere, ‘lemme help ya to the shack!” He wrapped his bulging arm around my back, holding me firmly under my arm. His hair was grimy; I smelled sawdust and sweat mixed with stale beer. This guy was truly repulsive, despite his godlike physique.

We got into the boathouse, and the man laid me down on a musty damp cot in the corner of the big open building. My headache was receding. I could see clearly again and began to focus on my surroundings. The hanger-like room was filled with rope, pulleys, boards, huge barrels of marine dope (for finishing the wood), and power tools of every description. A little personal gym was set up to one side with a weight bench and some old Nautilus equipment. A rack of bars and iron weights hung from the wall. I heard the steady throb of a generator coming from behind the wall. A bare light bulb cast yellow light in an anemic pool at the center of the room, and spotlights were focused on the bow of the classic sloop. The sky outside had grown inky-black, the pounding surf in darkness beyond the gloom at the doorway.

“How the fuck did you get on my island? This is the only pier, and you sure as hell didn’t pull a craft in here without me seein’ it!” he grumbled. I explained about the wave-runner, but he looked at me with skepticism. “You’re too far from mainland for that. You’d hav’ta be fuckin’ nuts to be on a wave-runner in the open ocean, man!” He ran off into the night to find the disabled Ski-Doo on the far beach. I really didn’t care if he came back. I just wanted to find his phone and get my sorry ass lifted off this goddamn Gilligan’s island.

I pulled myself off the gritty mattress and snooped around the hanger. No phone, nothing. Not even a television. The only electric appliances seemed to be his huge collection of power tools and a small boom box on top of a bar size refrigerator. I opened the ‘fridge and saw several six packs of Miller and some eggs, not much else. Strewn around the kitchenette were beer cans and empty donut boxes. Fucking animal...I helped myself to a Miller and tossed it down my parched throat.

He re-entered from the gloom, the spots on the boat revealing his lean, strapping body in silhouette. What an amazing physique! Not a bit of fat on him (despite the appetite for brews), just six and a half feet of tightly packed sinew and muscle, rippling and flexing like a steroid lion as he strode across the room to where I stood. “There ain’t no Runner out on the beach. What kinda shit you tryin’ to gimme?” He slurred a little, the effects of several six-packs illustrated in his speech. He reached for my arm and pulled me roughly to him. “Who are you, anyhow?” he shouted in my face.

“My name is Jimmy. I wish I could say it’s a pleasure meeting you, but it’s not!” I replied.

He grabbed my other arm and pushed me towards the cot. “Well, Jimmy, les jus see if ole Kevin can’t make this a little more pleasurable for ya!” he hissed. I felt him ripping at my spandex bathing suit, the fabric stretching around my waist and slipping down my hips. He turned me around and twisted my arm behind my back. I yelled out in pain. “Fuck yeah, Jimmy! You jus yell all ya want. Ain’t nobody here to save your miserable little faggot ass, so jus’ scream like a pussy ’cause it fuckin’ turns me on, baby!” We had reached the cot, and he tossed me violently across the mattress. I cowered against the headboard, expecting to be beaten to death.

Kevin pulled several lengths of lightweight nylon rope out of a box next to the workbench, the type you use to whiplash sails onto the boom: thin, flexible, and incredibly strong. Wrapping it first around my wrists, he then wound the cord tightly around my legs and tied it off firmly at my ankles. “Why are you doing this?” I sobbed. “Please! What are you going to do to me?” He grinned at me, trussed like a turkey, ready for basting. He stepped back to admire his knotting skills, re-lit his cigar and began to undress.

He pulled his tank over his head, revealing his broad shoulders and incredibly developed torso. I saw a thin strip of pale skin at his waist, contrasted against his deeply tanned body and sunburned arms. The patch of sun-kissed brown hair in the center of his chest continued in a soft, fuzzy line to his waistband where it began to thicken across his belly. “Yaaaah, Jimmy, take a good look, baby. You like what ya see, don’cha? You gonna be a good little fag boy and help ole Kev get off tonight?” he spat out between draws on the smelly cigar clenched tightly in his teeth. He pulled his belt out of the loops: a thick, rawhide western belt with metal grommets and a shiny silver buckle. He unbuttoned his fly and dropped his pants around his legs, revealing snowy-white hips and the most perfect cock I had ever seen. To this day it is the cock by which I compare all other cocks. Not just enormous but perfectly shaped, it rose from a dense patch of pubic fur and thickened towards the tip. The plump, flushed glan peered angrily from its velvety cowl of pink skin.

I was awestruck. I forgot the danger, forgot the pain. For a moment I couldn’t breath. He loosed the tie on his ponytail, and his long wavy locks of gold and brown cascaded across his shoulders, falling into rings on his thick muscular chest. He pulled the leather belt under my back and across my nipples. He was so much larger than me that even cinched in the last grommet, it fit my chest loosely. I cried out again “Don’t hurt me, I’ll do whatever you want, but please don’t hurt me!”

Kevin ambled across the room and untied some ropes from boots on the wall. He guided a large hinged wooden beam suspended from the rafters across to where I lay shivering in the cool salty night air. It was a boom arm, fitted with more ropes and wooden pulleys, meant to suspend thirty-foot masts for setting in place on a boat‘s keel. He positioned it directly over the cot. “I tol’ ya, you jus go ahead and cry, Jimmy. You jus sing your song to me, baby. I’d love to hear ya moan. You ain’t afraid of ole Kev, are ya?”

Kevin drew the ropes, easing the pulleys down from the boom arm. A length of rope extended from the end of each pulley with an eight-inch cast iron j-hook attached. He looped my bound wrists over one of the hooks and began to winch up the rope, tightening the pulley until my arms stretched out over my head. I screamed out, not really in pain but in sheer terror. Kevin slapped my face, and my wail subsided to a soft moan. The second hook was slipped under my ankle bindings. As Kev pulled the pulley up towards the rafters, my body lifted off the cot. I felt the cool night breeze blow across my bare ass as I hung suspended about a foot off the mattress. He chuckled, hooking the third and last pulley to his rawhide belt constricted around my chest. This actually made the whole thing more comfortable, the weight of my body was pretty evenly distributed. I stopped crying, and started to notice my tormentor. He swung the boom out into the middle of the room. I hung suspended from it like a grotesque marionette, writhing about four feet off the littered floor of the boathouse.

Kevin had taken off the rest of his clothing, and strolled over to the kitchen to get another beer. I couldn’t help noticing his round white ass, and his large pendulous balls hanging between thick muscular legs as he bent over to get the Miller out of the fridge. He crossed the room and stood in front of me (his new trophy) hands on hips, in all of his cigar puffing glory. Holding me by the nape of the neck, he eased my face between his legs, placing his dick on my forehead. I inhaled deeply, smelled his balls, and smelled the funk of sweat and beer. I opened my mouth and he slipped his cock past my lips.

My head was hanging, thrust back by my suspension, and the position of my mouth and throat made it possible for the water rat to insert his potent dick completely into me. I gagged, but he was relentless. My face was pressed firmly into his crotch. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breath. I was totally dominated by this man. He rhythmically pumped his cock into my face, and I soon found his cadence. His cock would leave my throat for just a second, and I could gasp a bit of air before he pounded his meat back into my swollen mouth. The force of his face-fucking had me swaying in the air, forcing him deeper into me as I slammed back into his crotch. I tasted the salty tang of his pre-cum lubricating my tongue. His thick, richly veined penis swelled in my throat as his balls contracted. I knew he was about to pop a huge load in my mouth. I prayed that I wouldn’t drown on his gushing torrent of cum. He grabbed me under each armpit and drew me firmly down on his cock as he mainlined repeated loads down my throat. I choked and gagged it down, as he pulled himself out of my throat long enough for me to swallow. He shot the last volley of rich, creamy jizz on my amazed face, rubbing it into my eyes and hair with his prodigious penis.

Kevin fell back into the corner and collapsed on the cot. “Fuckin’ amazing, dude! You fuckin’ suck cock like a goddamn Hoover, bitch!” he exclaimed. “How was that for you, fag boy? You like Kev’s dick in your cocksuckin’ mouth? “

“Yes! Yes! I looooove your dick!” I shouted. “Is that what you want to hear, you goddamn bastard!” Kevin chuckled again, and leaving me hanging from my ropes, went into the bathroom to take a piss. I could see him through the open doorway as he spread his legs and let loose a steady stream of urine into the rust-stained toilet. “Kevin? I have to go too. I need to use the bathroom...Please?” I whined.

The water rat shook the last drop of yellow piss from the tip of his still engorged dick and turned to face me. He was slick with sweat, the hair on his chest and belly soaked in tight, oily ringlets. His beard was damp, and clung to his rugged face. He shook his head and the long strands of hair fell wildly across his broad shoulders. He was absolutely magnificent! How could I have ever thought he was repulsive? Was I blind? He went to the wall and released the ropes from the boots, lowering my body gently to the ground. He untied my ankles, and took me off my hooks, but left my wrists tied. He pulled me to my feet. “Stand up! I guess even pussies have to take a crap now and then. Go ahead, but leave the door open so I can keep an eye on my bitch!”

I went into the dark little bathroom and sat on the john. Kevin positioned himself on a wooden chair, and rocked it back on its rear legs as he smoked. He smirked at me as I relieved myself, and took pleasure in watching me wipe myself clean. As I left the room he called me over. “C’mere, baby. Let’s get to know each other better!”

I stood in front of him as he raised my arms up and around his head, my bound wrists at his neck, and his luxurious tumble of hair falling on my forearms. He nuzzled his wiry beard into my belly, kissing and licking the soft golden hairs. “Mmmmmn, baby, you’re so soft, so sexy. Tell Kev you liked his big dick in your mouth!”

I pulled his head into my waist; I felt his hot tongue running up and down my belly. “Yes, you goddamn freak, I did like your big dick in my mouth. You scare the crap out of me, but I did fucking like it!”

Kevin held me tightly around the waist with his strapping arms. His biceps were like cannonballs: round, hard and defined. He kneaded my soft ass cheeks with his wide coarse hands as his mouth traveled down my torso. I felt his tongue touch the head of my cock, flicking the thin threads of pre from my piss hole. “Ahhh, nice little faggot dick. Sweet and tasty!” he remarked, as he ran his rough tongue down the shaft and pulled both of my balls into his hot mouth. My back arched, and I groaned with pleasure. He pulled me closer, and I slipped my restrained arms further down his shoulders as he swirled my nuts in his saliva. “I’m gonna make you cum now, little man. You jus relax and enjoy...”

I stood before him totally humiliated, degraded, tethered and raped...but my hard, aching dick was sliding in and out of my tormentor’s hungry mouth. I would have to re-think my definition of torture. He growled and grunted as he took me deep into his throat. I felt him twirl his expert tongue around the head of my cock. “Oh, yeah, please don’t stop! Please take me, take me!“ I shouted in ecstasy. He pressed his face into my bushy blonde pubic hair as I released myself into his mouth. He groaned loudly and pulled himself off my cock. I shot most of my load into his beard, thick pasty droplets landing on his nose and across his sunburned cheeks.

He reached up and grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me down to my knees in front of him. “Looks like you got a little mess you need to clean up, huh Jimmy?” He smirked as he placed his full lips on mine. I licked the drops of cum from his moustache, moving my tongue around his beard, licking his cheeks and sucking my creamy white cum out of his eye sockets until his face was clean and slick with spit.

He sat me in a chair at the kitchen table, leaving my wrists tied. Taking a couple canvas belts from his toolbox, he strapped my ankles to the legs of the chair and went to the stove. “How ‘bout some bacon and eggs? Think we both need some protein right about now.” I felt the cool breeze coming from the open doorway, freedom beyond. I couldn’t escape, even if I wanted to. And I guess I really didn’t want to, anyway. The water rat was in a great mood. He was laughing and joking as if we were old friends. The smell of frying bacon filled the room. I realized I was famished, and looked forward to eating something other than dick.

He brought over one heaping plate of scrambled eggs, and a pile of bacon that would feed an entire family. I waited for him to untie me, so I could join him. He began to eat, leaving me to watch as the eggs disappeared into his face. Finally I asked, “Hey, what about me?” he grinned, and held his fork in front of my nose. I realized it was another form of humiliation. He was going to dominate me in every way. He wanted to feed me, like an infant unable to help myself, totally vulnerable, completely in his control. I opened my mouth and accepted his offering. It tasted delicious, and I chewed the thick slice of bacon greedily.

Kevin stroked my cheek and offered me some egg. “Good boy... You are a very good boy! I think you finally figured out what you want from a man!”

I figure he’s right.

Jimmygor@optonline.net