Gay Erotic Stories

The following story involves consensual sex between men. If this might offend you, then I would not advise you to read on. All characters in this story are at least 18 years old. And, damn lucky me, it’s completely true. I’m a sucker for straight dudes and I usually have no problem landing some. It’ll take a minute to get to the good stuff, but be patient. Back story is necessary. And the evening discussed here was a long one…

Used by a Straight Dude

After I had moved to Milwaukee to begin my graduate education – and after my all thug gang bang (see one of my other stories) – I got myself a job. I was getting a lot of student loans, but I needed something to supplement this because, let me tell you, grad school is not cheap. Prior to moving up to Wisconsin, I had spent a few years bartending and waiting tables with my degree. A very fulfilling existence indeed. In any case, I had experience and easily found myself a job waiting tables at a national chain restaurant located not far from my apartment in downtown Milwaukee.

The job was just your average, menial food service job. The restaurant served a wide range of food – classic American, Italian, Mexican, soul food. What was above average was the kitchen staff, an equally diverse range of ethnicities. The kitchen employed a large staff of about 30 people, half of which were Mexican, the others comprised of Caucasian and African-American men. As anybody knows who has ever worked at a restaurant, the front of the house staff was usually a bit cuter and more clean cut than the kitchen staff. And, if you’ve read any of my previous stories, I like my men straight, butch, and rough around the edges. Flat out thuggish, at times. This kitchen was like my jackpot. Thank god I wore an apron or else everybody would see just how “happy” I was to go into the kitchen.

Not long after I started working there, I hit it off with a skinny white boy named Wayne. Wayne was skinny, all right – he looked like Karen Carpenter’s little brother – but he was extremely toned and he had more aggressive energy than anybody I had ever met. He was pure white trash, but super fine white trash. And he was acknowledged as the kitchen’s druggie. Mostly a pot smoker, but he would dabble in all sorts of forbidden substances. As the token gay guy at the restaurant – a rarity at ANY restaurant – Wayne often would playfully take out his aggression on me. Well, usually it was playful. Whether this would be half-tackles or punches to the arm, or even calling me “faggot”, he would toy around with me like I was his little brother. He would start it off and, as a kitchen supervisor, others would usually follow suit. I didn’t mind though. There was just something about a straight guy calling me faggot in a dominating way that always made me want to bust right through my boxer briefs.

To get to the start of the good stuff, one day I was working in the middle of the afternoon and I was the only server on the floor. In the middle of the day, the boss would usually cut the rest of the servers and leave one server on until the night shift started. Likewise, usually only one cook would be on as well.

During this particularly interesting shift, I was traying up my food in the kitchen when Wayne stepped up across the window and looked at me. We were the only two in the kitchen. I realized he was watching, and playing off his normal aggression, I asked, “What the fuck are you lookin’ at, little dick?”

This always set him off. “Little dick, my ass! Faggot!”

I replied by mentioning his girlfriend. “Allison told me at the bar the other night that she can’t even tell when you fuck her. She said she always hopes you’ll at least use your finger to so that she can feel something.”

“You’re full of shit,” he said as I picked up my tray and left the kitchen. This was a typical exchange between the two of us.

About a half an hour later, I was dropping off my dishes at the dish tank, and Wayne just happened to be loading up a cart to be cleaned.

“Hey, faggot, you get any new tables,” he asked.

“Nope, I only have one right now, little dick.”

Wayne stopped what he was doing and leaned across the divider, whispering even though there wasn’t anybody else in the kitchen to hear him. “Listen, I would choke your faggot throat up with this cock,” he said as he gripped his package. I couldn’t actually see him grip it because his crotch was below the counter, but I could tell that was exactly what he was doing.

“Please. I bet it’s five inches long. That’s what I call a ‘little dick’,” I replied.

“You wanna see it?” he asked.

Suddenly, I felt very baited. While Wayne and I would playfully banter quite often, he never suggested anything like this before.

Being the horny faggot that I was decided to swallow that hook.

“Pull it out.”

He stepped back from the counter. With his left thumb hooked under the waist of his Levi’s, he took his right hand and gripped his zipper. Slowly he pulled the zipper down. He took his left hand, reached into his pants, and…

Wayne stepped forward again, laughing. Then, he stopped laughing, zipped back up, and continued loading up the dishwasher cart. “I’d show you, but you’d tell everybody,” he said.

After that day, I had a feeling that I could land this skinny, trashy, white boy. Call it “twink’s intuition”.

About a month after the events of that afternoon – about two weeks ago – I happened to be closing the restaurant along with Wayne. Our schedules didn’t match up in such a tantalizing and alone way any more than once or twice a month. In any case, I was standing at the break station figuring out my money when Wayne came up behind me and poked at my ass with a broom handle. That wasn’t the first time. “Stop it, Wayne, I’m trying to count,” I said, more annoyed than anything. He stepped up beside me and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, you think I can get a ride home?” he asked.

It was on the way, but it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t. “Sure, but I’m just about done. How long will you be?”

“I’m done now. I’m going to go have a drink at the bar. Come get me when you’re done,” he said. Typically, the servers finished up well before the cooks, but I had been unusually busy that evening.

About ten minutes later, my money was counted and Wayne had swallowed 2 beers and a shot of 1800. He was by no means intoxicated though. He wasn’t even buzzing. Oh well.

On the way to his apartment, I realized that it seemed odd he would need a ride in the first place. “Where’s your car?” I asked.

“It wasn’t my car,” he replied, “and Allison moved out a few days ago. Wasn’t working out. The bitch was ragging on me all fuckin’ day long.”

“Dude, that sucks.” What does one say to a straight guy in that position?

“It’s all good. Besides, I kinda like having the place all to myself.” Before I could respond, Wayne had an idea. “Hey, why don’t you come up and have a beer. We could play cards or something.”

This could be my chance! I thought about it for all of .003 seconds, and then waited about 4 seconds to not seem TOO eager, and told him that sounded fine.

When we got to his place, it was like walking into the seventh level of hell. It was like an oven. It literally felt hard to breathe.

“Sorry about the heat, dude. Let me open some windows,” he replied, hearing me gasp from the blast of heat. As he walked over to the window, he pealed off his work t-shirt. Man, this guy was skinny. I can’t stress this enough. When he turned back around, I gasped again. Wayne had been working out. A six-pack was forming on his stomach, divided in half by a thin happy trail. His chest was completely hairless, and it was crowned with two gorgeous pecs and two quarter sized nipples. His arms were extremely toned – not too muscular, but by far more muscular than my own – and he had a nice dusting of hair on his forearms. He saw me checking him out and laughed. “You can look dude, but keep your hands off.”

About ten minutes later, we were sitting at his kitchen table pouring beers down our throats. The glass top of the table did not obstruct my view of his tasty, trashy abdomen. Luckily, I could just pretend like I was watching him shuffle the cards. We played a few hands of two man spades and I had been on a winning streak. He was getting pissed. Do any straight guys like to lose to a gay guy? Rarely.

The beer was reinvigorating my libido. “You can’t win shit,” I said.

“Listen, fag boy, I’ll bet you I will win the next hand,” he said, all cocky.

“Oh yeah, I’m scared. What’s the bet,” I replied.

He thought about it for a moment, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hand across his tight stomach. “If I win,” he said, “you gotta lick my armpit for 10 seconds--constant tongue the whole time.”

“Dude, that’s sick…you just worked the last eight hours.” I didn’t think it was sick at all. I was very willing to lose. “What if I win?”

He was rubbing on his stomach and chest now, still leaning back. His hand brushed across his nipple, and he seemed to get an idea. “I’ll give you a bone and let you suck on my nipple.”

“That’s it? That’s all I get,” I replied.

“That’s all. But, hey…you get it for 10 seconds.”

“Nah,” I said. “How’s about if you win, I’ll tongue your pit for 20 seconds, but if I win, I get to lick anywhere I want from your nipple to the top of your pants for 10 seconds. Don’t worry…all above the waist.”

He thought about this for a second. “Dude, that’s gay.”

“What, and letting me suck on your nipple isn’t?”

“Good point. Well, since nobody else is around…deal.” We shook on it. He picked up the cards and began shuffling while I got us a few more beers. We began drawing the cards. I would pick up a spade and discard it purposely to get shittier cards. It worked. My hand was one big load of crap. I kept a few spades on purpose to make it look like I didn’t want to bury my mouth in his pit. We began playing and, sure enough, I lost 5 to 8. He had a big shit-eating grin on his face, thinking he was going to have me do something disgusting. Little did he know…

He lifted his arm and placed it across the top of his head, perfectly exposing his pit. “Come and get it…” he said, taunting me.

I stood up (luckily I was only sporting a semi-woody) and walked over to his chair. I bent over at the waist so that my mouth was about 3 inches from his pit, which wasn’t very hairy, like the rest of him.

“Dig in,” he said. I hesitated, and then ran my tongue right across it. He sort of laugh/moaned, and then grabbed the back of my head with his free hand and forced my mouth against his pit hard. Despite his long work shift, the smell was quite tolerable and the taste wasn’t all deodorant-y, like I had feared. I licked and sucked on his pit, opening my mouth wide to get as much covered as possible, flicking my tongue all around it. He was liking it. I could see him rubbing his hand over his now super-erect nipple. After about 30 seconds, I realized he wasn’t counting and pulled away.

I stood and looked down at him. “I won’t lose again,” I said, but really, that all depended on what his half of the bet would be.

“Whatever, faggot…thanks for the bath,” he replied, again all cocky.

I sat back down and began shuffling. “New bet?” I asked.

“Hell yeah. If I win, you have to suck on my toes for 20 seconds. If you win, same bet as before.” Again, we shook and started drawing. I wanted that nipple. I got a fairly decent hand, and when all was said and done, I had beat him by 1. He threw his cards on the table in defeat. I stood up and walked over to him.

“Push you chair back and turn a bit…it’s your turn to pay.” He hesitated and then turned and gave me better access. I got on my knees between his legs – oh, now my boner was really starting to grow – and he held one of his wrists over his head and just looked up at the ceiling. I leaned in and began flicking my tongue across his right nipple. I would run circle it with my tongue, but knew I had precious little time. I began licking my way down his rippled belly. I got to his happy trail and began licking out his salty navel, then continued my tongues journey down his waist until I was licking the top of his jeans. I put both of my hands on each of his thighs to push myself back up to his left nipple which I promptly started nibbling on. I could have sworn I heard a soft moan just before he blurted out “TWENTY”.

Then I realized, as I fell back in a squatting position between his legs: “I thought you said I only got ten seconds.” I had completely lost track of the time.

“What can I say,” he replied, “it felt good. You even got me boned up a bit, faggot…” He gripped his elongated shaft, extending to the right of his midsection. He had a peculiar, almost devilish look in his eyes.

“Dude, don’t toy with me,” I said, as I began to stand.

“I didn’t say stand up yet, faggot,” he said, quite sternly.

I was a bit surprised. Was he going to kick my ass. Was he going to make me lick his? I could only hope…

“Uhhh, I thought we were going to play cards,” I stammered.

“You know, I’m kinda surprised that you were able to get me turned on,” he said, again with that nearly evil tone.

I sat there, between his legs, looking up at him as his hand softly stroked his cock thru his jeans.

“What can I say…I’m good at what I do. Lots of practice,” I replied.

“Practice at what?” he asked. What a stupid question.

“Suckin’ cock, lickin’ balls and ass…you know, servicing dudes,” I replied.

He unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them quite quickly. He then stood up and pulled his jeans and underwear down to his ankles, then he returned to his seated position.

There in front of me, Wayne wrapped his burly, rough hand around his shaft and began to stroke it. His cock was indeed bigger than 5 inches. It was between 7 and 8 inches and about 5 inches around. I had had bigger before, but his dick was perfectly straight and had the best shaped head. His balls were extremely low hanging, and surprisingly, they were completely smooth. In fact, his pubic bush was very neatly trimmed and his legs were only lightly hairy.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked.

“Uhhh, yeah,” I hesitantly replied.

He continued stroking for a second. “You gonna tell anybody about this?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I replied.

“I’ll kill you if you do, you know,” he threatened.

I just sat there licking my lips.

“I ain’t a faggot. I’ve just been horny since Allison left,” he explained.

Again with the licking of the lips.

“You are going to suck on my cock. You are going to lick my balls. I am going to fuck you like a faggot should be fucked, and you are going to suck the cum right out of my shit covered dick,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, with fake fear in my voice.

“I like that…’sir’…,” he replied. “Suck on my nuts, faggot.”

In a flash, I pushed my head forward until my lips were against his smooth sack. I began licking in earnest, running my tongue all over his balls. He continued stroking. I sucked one of them into my mouth and rolled it around on my tongue. I let it fall out and sucked the other one in. He released a deep moan. I glanced up at him while his left nut filled my mouth and he was looking up at the ceiling, still stroking with one hand and pinching his nipple with the other. “Suck on them both,” he ordered. With the one nut already in there, I had to use suction to suck the other one in as well. He had some large fuckin’ nuts. He really liked this and moaned again. “That’s it, faggot, suck my balls…suck on my fuckin’ balls.” After a few minutes, he abruptly stood up, allowing his balls to fall from my mouth, and he moved over to the couch in the adjacent living room. He sat down and turned on the TV. I was a bit confused until all of a sudden the sound of straight porn began to filter into my squatting area.

“What the fuck are you doing…get your ass in here, faggot,” he barked. I stood and began moving over towards him. “Take off your clothes and get between my legs.”

I began stripping as fast as I could. 2.7 seconds later, I was on my knees with his dripping cock inches from my face. Still stroking his cock, he aimed it at my lips. As I moved in, he quickly pulled it away. “Beg for it,” he insisted.

“Please, Wayne. Please let me suck on your cock,” I pleaded.

“Who is Wayne?” he asked.

Realizing what he meant, I corrected myself. “Please, sir, I’ll do anything to have that cock down my throat.”

“Just in your throat?” he asked.

“And in my ass, sir. Deep and hard,” I replied.

“Do I have to use a condom?” he asked.

“No, sir,” I replied.

“Does that make me a faggot like you?” he asked.

“No, sir, you are just horny,” I replied.

“And are you going to tell anybody about this,” he asked.

“Of course not, sir,” I replied.

“Good. Now suck on my cock,” he ordered as he aimed his shiny cock head at my lips.

I instantly engulfed it down to the root. With my lips wrapped around the base of his cock, I began sliding my tongue over the part of his shaft that wasn’t in my throat. He moaned, putting his hands on the back of my head, grabbing handfuls of my hair. Using his arm muscles, he pulled my head up to the head of his cock, and then forced it all the way back down.

I was in heaven. Here I was, on my knees before a skinny yet toned white trash drug user, having him control my head in order to properly suck his cock. This was the submissive oral experience I relished (and tend to write about…).

But then the phone rang. Wayne ignored it, continuing the routine of forcefully impaling his cock in my throat, and then the answering machine picked up.

“Hi, Wayne…it’s me. I’m so horny right now that I’m dripping wet. I still have my key, so I’m going to just come over and wait for you…naked…in bed. See you in ten.” It was Allison, the ex. Rearing her ugly head at THE WORST POSSIBLE TIME.

I began to pull my mouth up and off his shaft, when…

“Not so fast, faggot…the night’s only just beginning…” he said, ominously…

TO BE CONTINUED…