Gay Erotic Stories

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Author: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk Website: http://stories.remoworld.com

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I must say I thought the lad was coming onto me, but in retrospect I accept that it was just wishful thinking. Waiters' uniforms have this tendency of clouding my better judgement. I think it's those tight black trousers. Mentally undressing a guy becomes so much easier when his trousers cling so tightly to his arse-cheeks that you can see exactly what kind of underwear he's wearing.

Though to call the lad a waiter isn't entirely accurate. We were eating in more of a glorified pub than a restaurant. One of those places you have to note down your table number and order your food at one end of the bar.

I guess his job would have been described as "Table Supervisor" or "Inter-Service Attendant" or something. He was basically there to clear and lay tables between the departure and arrival of groups of customers.

He didn't even have a name badge, so I can't tell you his name.

He looked about nineteen or twenty and had short black hair. He was tall, though not unusually so, with a large nose and academic-looking face.

I guess he was a student earning his tuition fees.

What caught my attention was the way he kept glancing over to our table while he got on with clearing the others. And then, when he saw me looking over at him, how he kept turning away and bending forwards as if to deliberately furnish me with a view of those tight, round cheeks of his.

My thoughts began rapidly wandering from my wife and the desserts we were eating, and veering uncontrollably towards the seat of his trousers. Heading inside them, through the cotton of his tanga briefs, right up to the pert little hole that would be opening up, ever so slightly, between his gorgeous buttocks every time he bent forwards.

Four or five times of seeing him do this and of imagining my face pressing into his backside while he did, made me develop a hard-on. I don't know about you, but I find sitting down isn't exactly the best place to have that happen: I had to cross and uncross my legs a few times to try and disentangle my growing organ from my underwear and the material of my trouser pocket, which seemed to have garrotted it.

Melissa said, in that apparently unconcerned but implicitly chastising tone she's been developing, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah... I've just got an itch..."

"Well scratch it."

"It's in an... er... inopportune place..."

"Well go to the gents and scratch it." She said it flatly but with an undercurrent of annoyance. She'd been like this all evening.

I nodded. "Yeah. Maybe I ought to."

I kept my napkin over my groin as I stood up, hiding the diagonal mound that I knew would be pretty obvious to the right of the fly in my fawn-coloured chinos. I put it onto my chair at the last second, as I turned from the table with a mutter of, "Just a sec, then..."

I walked over to the lad who was laying one of the tables close by.

"Could you tell me where the loos are?"

He turned from the table and gave me directions. I didn't try to conceal the erection in front of my trousers; I didn't mind him seeing it. In fact, I wanted him to. Just in case he was in any doubt as to the motivation behind my question.

I said, flashing him a grin, "Actually, I'm not very good with directions... could you show me?"

He looked a little surprised but then nodded.

As we walked through the bar to get to the toilets, I said, "I hope those trousers are more comfortable than they look..."

He didn't say anything. Just seemed a bit puzzled.

I clarified myself. "They look like they're quite a tight fit..."

He shrugged. "I can't say I've really noticed..."

He pointed me to the toilets, but didn't come in with me as I'd expected.

I was disappointed. I'd been sure he'd wander in behind me, saying something about having to take a pee himself, and then we'd have a little fun peering over at one each others' erections at the urinals. I'd go into a cubical and gesture for him to follow me in. We'd lock the door, grin at each other as we yanked each others' trousers down, and I'd suck him until he was so hot that his balls would feel damp against my chin. Then I'd turn him round and bend him over the toilet cistern so I could rim that cute arse of his and finally, when it was slick with my saliva, I'd stand up behind him and fuck him roughly until he came.

You know, all the standard stuff.

But he didn't seem to want to play ball.

I went into a cubicle and freed my cock from its entanglement. It throbbed sorely in my hand and the eye, red and swollen, peered up at me pitifully.

I thought, "Yeah... I know... I'm trying to find you a friend to play with, but... I dunno... I guess he's a bit slow on the uptake..."

I returned to Melissa, wondering if maybe I'd misinterpreted the lad's intentions. After all, just because he was bending over a table while he laid it wasn't necessarily certain proof that he wanted to be laid himself.

When I got back to our table, I glanced over at him and saw that he was looking over at me while he adjusted his crotch. He wasn't exactly playing with himself, but he was clearly giving his knob a bit of a tweaking.

I think I'd have given up on him if I hadn't have seen him do that.

But now I thought I'd try the old spilt drink trick.

As I sat down, my glass of red wine somehow accidentally ended up spilling over my trousers.

I called out, "Oh... Jesus!"

Melissa just sat and stared at me, an expression of bored irritation on her face.

I looked over to the lad. "Could you help me out?"

He walked over to our table.

I suggested, "Maybe you've got a towel or something... I'd hate to stain these trousers..."

Melissa rolled her eyes.

He said, "Er... yeah... follow me..."

Nice one, Wallace. You just needed to press the right buttons, mate...

He led me to the staff cloakroom and pulled some paper towels from a dispenser next to the sink.

He handed them to me.

That was a bit disappointing. I'd expected him to get down on his knees and start dabbing; working his way up from my knee to my crotch, in time-honoured fashion.

Undeterred, I loosened my belt and fly and pushed some of the paper towels down inside the leg of my trousers while I pressed others on the top of them, trying to soak up the liquid through the material.

Again, I didn't attempt to conceal the state of affairs inside my briefs. The thick rod of my cock was obvious inside them and bulged outward through my open zip.

I said, "Maybe I ought to get these off..."

He shook his head curtly. "No. I think you're doing okay like that..."

"Well maybe you could help me."

He reluctantly bent forwards and dabbed at the drops of wine on my knees.

I realised this wasn't working.

By now he was supposed to be gently lapping my precum from the fat red head of my cock, like a kitten at a saucer of milk. The paper towels and red wine stain should have been forgotten. I would have expected to be reaching down to his crotch, pulling out his cock, and wanking him gently while he sucked me. Or working my hand down the back of his trousers and fingering the hot, sticky hole between those ripe buttocks of his and feeling him gasp and pant against my cock.

But he clearly wasn't interested.

He was wiping my knee so tentatively with the paper towel that it was as if he was afraid of catching some hideous disease.

I couldn't see what his problem was: I'm a reasonably fit, twenty-something blond guy; my cock's bigger than average; I have a smile that I know makes me look cute. I supposed he must be one of that rare species of guy who is completely straight.

I felt my erection soften and subside with disappointment as I stood up and told him it would be okay; I'd sort the wine stain out at home.

He said, "If you're sure..."

"Yeah."

I did up my trousers and returned to the table.

Melissa commented flatly, as she pretended to study her nails without even glancing up at me, "That didn't take as long as it usually does."

"Sorry?"

Now she glowered over at me. "When you spill your wine, Seb, normally you're away ten or fifteen minutes and then reappear with pink cheeks and a smirk on your face."

I felt my cheeks turning pretty pink right then. "I didn't realise it was a regular thing," I stammered.

"No. It isn't regular," she said impassively. "It just seems to happen more often when young guys are waiting on the tables..."

I knew my face was becoming scarlet. I muttered, "Well... I dunno why that would be..."

She shrugged naively. Had that wide-eyed expression of innocence on her face that she puts on when she's trying to piss me off. "No, Seb... me neither..."

I stood up. "I'll go and pay the bill."

I didn't want to continue this conversation. Melissa knew - or at least had very strong suspicions - of the stuff I sometimes got up to with other guys, but for the most part we had an unspoken agreement that she wouldn't mention it if I kept it discrete.

Her first inkling had come when the two of us had been house-hunting in Leeds. One evening, Melissa had turned up to see a house an hour late, by which time the twenty-year-old estate agent and I had gone over the particulars not only of the house, but each other.

Afterward, she'd said that although she loved the house and thought it was a fantastic bargain, she didn't want to move there.

When I'd asked why not, she'd turned to me and said, coldly, "Because, if you want me to be brutally frank, Seb, it stunk of his bum and your cum. I don't think we need to say anymore about it, okay?"

I'd been stunned; speechless. I think I'd just nodded with my mouth wide open and had willingly obliged her by never mentioning it again.

I must admit, though, that I'd seen Nathan, the estate agent, a couple of times on the sly for a repeat of our "bum and cum" antics.

There'd been other examples. Like the time I'd fucked the AA guy who'd come out to fix the car when Melissa and I had broken down near Barnard Castle. Melissa had been asleep in the passenger seat and so he and I had taken a walk into the forest for half an hour, but somehow she'd worked out what had happened. Or the time we had a visiting junior doctor from Stoke-on-Trent staying with us, and I'd pay him and his eager-to-please arse a few nocturnal visits.

She seemed content to let me know she knew what had been going on behind her back - like she wanted me to know she wasn't stupid - but then would drop it. There'd be no recriminations; no further references to it.

She once told me that if ever I cheated on her "with another woman", as she'd put it, she'd never forgive me. And she'd added, slowly as though choosing her words carefully, "I'm not like some women - I understand if you need to do... you know... solitary stuff, or stuff that's... well... purely for sexual gratification... but not with other women, Seb. I wouldn't be able to stand that..."

I'd been going to ask her to elaborate but then I'd thought it best to leave it. I thought I knew what she meant - suspected I detected an oblique reference to the "bum and cum" incident - and so decided to just smile and nod.

But as I walked towards the bar to pay for our meal, I wondered if maybe my covert extra-curricular interests weren't beginning to take their toll on her.

And I asked myself: if they were, would that be enough to stop me? I wasn't sure of the answer that.

While a middle-aged woman ran our meal through the till and fed my credit card through the machine, I saw the lad I'd been trying to bag chatting to the barman around the other side of the bar.

When I looked over at them, they looked away from me quickly, as if the lad had been telling his colleague about my attempts to get into his trousers. The barman couldn't resist a second look at me and sneered over at me.

"Fuck you," I thought.

My attention was drawn back to the woman and her curled slip of paper. "Could you sign here, please?"

After signing, I returned to Melissa.

"Aren't you going to order a coffee or something?"

She said it before I'd even sat back down.

She looked even more irascible by now.

"I've already paid the bill."

Her expression didn't falter. "I'm sure you can order one at the bar. I understand - but correct me if I'm wrong - that it's the civilised way to end a meal, Sebastian."

Again I found myself thinking, "Fuck you."

But I smiled and said, "Of course, darling."

If she was in the mood to call me Sebastian, I was in the mood to call her darling.

I went back up to the bar.

I didn't know why she was being like this. She'd known I was into this kind of thing for over a year; why was it becoming such a big deal this evening?

Once she'd insisted on going through my wallet to throw out all the crap I tend to hoard. She'd asked my permission - she isn't deceitful - and I'd agreed, grateful that she'd sort out what was becoming difficult to fit in my pocket.

When she'd come to the couple of condoms I always keep in there, she'd paused and held them between her finger and thumb for a few seconds. She knew they couldn't be there for the two of us; she's been on the pill since I met her.

After those few long, silent moments, she'd said, "Ah well. It pays to be safe, eh?"

And I'd said, casually, "Yeah. You know how careful I am."

She'd looked at me warily and put them back in my wallet.

Then she'd muttered, "Well make sure you always are."

And I'd nodded.

Then she'd got on with sorting the rest of my wallet out.

Another time she'd found a pair of grey boxer briefs under the passenger seat of the car. I'd claimed they were mine but we both I knew I didn't wear that kind of underwear.

She'd said, testingly, "Would any of your mates have left their underwear in your car, Seb? Pete, maybe..."

I'd retorted, "Of course not."

I knew that they belonged to a rough-looking guy who'd come to fix the coffee machine in the surgery. We'd got talking, then flirted a little, and had driven off to Ilkley Moor to find a quiet layby. He'd surprised me by the way he'd feasted on my cock with his firm, hairy arse; the way his cock had throbbed to full size only when he was riding mine on the back seat of the car. For a straight-acting guy he was extraordinary.

I think his name was Stuart but I can't really remember.

I just remember the way he'd whimpered and writhed when he'd climaxed with me inside him.

His briefs had gone missing, but I'd thought they'd fallen out of the car. Neither of us cared much; we were pretty contented after the fun we'd had and, in any case, he'd said they were from Primark.

She'd said, again trying to provoke a reaction, "Well, do you want to keep them? So you can give them back to someone?"

"No. I told you. They're mine - and old pair from years ago. Before I started wearing briefs."

She'd looked sceptical. "Really?"

"Yeah. They must have fallen out of my gym rucksack - you can throw them away."

She'd stared at them for a few seconds, as though expecting the name of their owner to suddenly materialise on them, and had then thrown them into the kitchen bin.

I walked up to the barman.

He wasn't sneering now. Just staring at me.

I said, "Can I order two coffees, please? One decaf."

He nodded, maintaining eye contact. He was in his mid-twenties, by the look of him, and had tipped light brown hair and a small silver stud in his earlobe.

After a couple of seconds he turned to pour them.

When he turned back to me, putting the drinks on the bar, he said, as though we were old friends, "Do you ever go over to the nature reserve on the Ottley Road?"

I was dumfounded at the question. I just managed, "Er..."

He smiled, calmly. He looked like he could be pretty hard when he wanted to be. Hard enough to work behind a bar and double up as the bouncer for the place if it were needed.

He said, "It's just I'm going out there tomorrow night..."

Again I was thrown off-guard by his remarks. I wasn't sure why he was telling me this.

I said, "Yeah?"

He smiled more broadly. His eyes were friendly right now but I saw that they could just as easily be menacing with a slightly different smile attached to them.

He said, "Yeah. About seven."

I paid him for the coffees, noticing that his name badge called him Paul, thanked him and went back to Melissa.

She continued being prissy but by now my thoughts were on what the barman had said and, more importantly, why he had said it.

The possibility that the barman, on being told that I'd tried to flirt with the younger guy, might want to propitiate an attack on me was obvious. His motives could be a simple case of queer-bashing or he may have more complex reasons: an attraction to the younger guy, for example.

But on reflection, that seemed unlikely. He didn't know I'd show up, for a start, and even if I did show up, he didn't know I'd bring friends or other reinforcements along with me.

And in any case, if he'd have had a grievance with me, wouldn't he have just said something like, "Leave him alone or I'll smash your face in," or words to that effect.

It didn't make sense that he was setting me up.

Melissa waved her hand in front of my eyes. "Anyone in there? I said, I think I've got your decaf."

"Oh right. Sorry. I guess I'm falling asleep..."

"I'm such good company, huh?" She flashed me another glare.

We swapped coffees and she kept on talking about whatever she'd been talking about.

I kept thinking about Paul, the barman.

If he wasn't intent on beating me up, his motives seemed pretty obvious. He'd been interested that I'd been trying to score with the younger guy and wanted a bit of action himself.

That seemed far more plausible.

Surgery finished at six o'clock tomorrow. Ottley Road wasn't a million miles out of my way. I didn't know the nature reserve but I was pretty sure I could find it.

A visit wouldn't do any harm, in any case.

Fucking a guy like him, a guy who I knew could beat the shit out of me as soon as look at me, would be kind of interesting. Something I quite enjoyed doing.

Guys like him like it rough, in my experience. Like to take it fast and hard. Push their arses onto you like dogs in heat. Become maudlin or angry as soon they've cum and then fuck off before you've had time to zip yourself up.

I thought I'd pay him a visit; take the opportunity to get to grips with nature.

*****

When I pulled into the car-park it was five to seven and already getting dark.

I wasn't alone; far from it. The place must have eight or nine parked cars in it, most of which were occupied by solitary men who stared over at me as I reversed my car into a space.

I thought, "This place is kind of interesting..."

As I turned off my engine, Paul got out of one of the cars and walked over to mine.

I opened my door and nodded at him.

He zipped his fleece up. It was growing quite chilly. "Fancy taking a walk?"

I smiled. "Why not?"

Then, as I got out my car and locked the door, he asked, "You got johnnies and lube and stuff?"

I was slightly surprised; I'd expected that we'd go through with the pretence of us being nature lovers intent on an evening ramble until we got into the wood.

I zipped up my own jacket. "Yeah."

He started walking away. "Come on, then. I know a good place. If it gets any colder, we'll freeze our nuts off..."

I followed him.

The way he was behaving, making no bones about the fact our meeting up was a purely sexual arrangement, kind of turned me on. His attitude seemed to be that gratification was all that mattered; there was no point in dressing it up with pleasantries and small-talk.

No-frills buggery; that's what it felt like.

I was already developing a hard-on.

There was a narrow gravel path through the woodland, intermittently lit by white sodium lamps. I followed him along it, over a small wooden bridge and through the thick of the trees.

The possibility that I might be walking into a trap raised itself again. The lure of having sex with this guy easily outweighed any such misgivings, though. His frank and brusque manner made him extremely attractive to me right then. The thought of his stubbled face slavering over my cock and then having him bending so I could fuck that hard-looking arse of his was just too appealing to decline on the basis of an unlikely suspicion.

I caught up with him and asked, "Are there always so many guys here?"

He nodded. "They're mainly old or weird, though. Or camp as fuck."

We continued walking and the lights grew less frequent. It was almost fully dark now and the moon shone icily through the skeletal trees in front of us.

He said, "Nearly there."

Now I asked him, "Are you married?"

He turned to throw me a suspicious look as we continued walked. "Why d'you ask?"

"I'm just interested. I got married last year."

He seemed satisfied that it was just idle curiosity on my part and shook his head. "I'm seeing a girl pretty seriously, but I'm not looking to marry her. Not my kind of thing..."

"So why d'you like doing this kind of thing?"

Again he was suspicious. Clearly he wasn't used to having the guys he met up with for sex ask so many questions. He shrugged. "Dunno. Why do you?"

I smiled. "Comes of being a boarding school lad, I guess. I kind of got a taste for it back then..."

He said, quite vehemently, "Yeah well in my case it comes of doing some time in remand. I suppose I got a taste for it too..."

I thought I better drop the conversation.

We reached a small bench and had to duck through what felt like holly bushes to get into a small clearing behind it. The place was dimly lit by one of the sodium lamps from the path and by the moon through the trees.

He said, "This place is pretty safe. Sometimes guys come to watch, but we're too deep in the wood for the cops to bother us..."

I was surprised; I hadn't considered that we might end up being arrested. "Do the police come out here?"

He nodded and started unbuckling his belt. "Just to the car-park and the paths around it. A couple of times a year... just to be seen to be upholding moral standards or whatever..."

He yanked his trousers down and then his shorts. His cock flopped out. It was large but limp.

He said, "You wanna suck me, mate? Then I'll do you..."

He wasn't the kind of guy to mess around.

I nodded and unbuckled my own belt. Unzipped myself and followed his lead by pulling my trousers and briefs down to the tops of my thighs.

My cock raised itself upwards, almost fully hard. It was about eight inches long and the tip looked pink and moist in the dim light.

He looked at it and said, "Nice and big."

I got on my knees, hearing twigs snap beneath them and feeling the damp from the leaves soaking through the material of my trousers.

I stroked his cock. It felt thicker than mine even though it wasn't yet hard. I lifted it from his balls with my palm and was impressed by its weight.

I smiled and said, "Yours is somethin' else!"

He chuckled. I think it was the only time he did throughout the whole time we were together. "I was pretty popular in the nick, mate..."

I laughed back. "I bet you were...!"

I withdrew his foreskin from the tip of it. The skin was thick and warm and made a slight clicking sound as it peeled back from his bell-end.

I felt his cock swell slightly in response.

I liked its smell: it was pungent and musky; unmistakably masculine.

I licked the head gently and felt a tear of precum ooze from his slit onto my tongue. He gasped and said, "That's it..."

I began to slowly masturbate him as I took more and more of his cock into my mouth. It began to lengthen and its texture hardened. It was growing into a monster!

I began to suck him more forcefully, getting about six inches of his length into me. My hand went down to his balls and gently played with them through the loose hairy skin of his scrotum as my mouth worked up and down his length.

By now it was standing out from his body at a near right angle, pulling my face upwards with it as it raised itself from his balls. It must have been nine inches in length, but could easily have been longer. In the dim light it was hard to get a clear idea.

He was the kind of guy who produced a lot of precum: my mouth seemed to be full of it. It tasted good, though: salty and slightly bitter, just how I like it.

He also clearly enjoyed oral sex. He grabbed my head and began fucking my mouth, trying to get his cock deeper into me than I could comfortably take. It swelled further inside me, the head becoming round and ripe as it jabbed against the back of my throat and the stem thickening so much that I had to open my mouth as wide as it would go just to accommodate him.

My hands reached round to massage his firm, round buttocks as he face fucked me. I pushed my fingers into his cleft and felt the hot, hairy interior. Before I could work my way down to find his hole, he stopped me with an abrupt, "Not down there, mate..."

So I contented myself with just kneading his cheeks, admiring how muscular they felt.

By now he was thrusting into my mouth so fast that his balls, large and hairy, were thumping against my chin. I was having to swallow every ten seconds or so because his piss-slit dribbled precum so relentlessly, and having to force my throat open as wide as I could so that he could get as much of his length into me as he could.

Suddenly he stopped and pulled my face away from his crotch.

He said, "I tell you what mate. Let me fuck you and then you can fuck me."

I stood up. My cock rose upwards at full mast, betraying my excitement at what I'd been doing to him.

Before I could reply to his suggestion, a sound in the bushes near us made us both turn around.

"Who's that?" I whispered to Paul.

"Probably a rat or something. Or some guy getting off on spying on us. You get a lot of that. Don't worry about it..."

"What if he reports us?"

"He won't," Paul snapped. "It's just some guy having a wank watching us. I've done it myself sometimes. Don't worry about it... Anyway. How about it? I'll fuck you, then you can fuck me..."

"I dunno... you've got a hell of a big cock..."

I looked at it again. It made mine look like a pencil. The bell-end was as bulbous as a good-sized plum and the stem was as thick as a smaller guy's wrist would be. A drip of precum hung down from the tip of it, suspended on a clear string like a spider on a web.

He said, "Just squat down like you're taking a shit and let me do the rest... you'll be okay..."

I wasn't convinced. "I really wanna fuck you first... it's what I prefer, actually..."

He was becoming impatient. "Yeah me too. Look, we'll take turns... just let me start off... I really need it, mate..."

That sounded like a better deal. "What... like a couple of minutes each way...?"

"Yeah... me on you, then you on me... 'til we both cum..."

"Okay, but go slow... it must be a year or so since I last did this..."

I turned around and squatted down as he'd suggested, bending forwards with my legs opened wide so that my arse pointed outwards.

My cock poked upwards, still fully stiff. I've always found I enjoy the anticipation of taking a guy into my bum, it's just the reality of it that gets a bit uncomfortable. I knew my erection wasn't long for this world once Paul got started...

Paul got behind me and prepared his cock for anal sex, ripping open a condom and rolling it down that thick shaft of his, then squirting lube from a sachet and smearing it around his fat bell-end. I was surprised he could find condoms that would fit him; I've often found that some of them, especially shops' own-make ones, are a bit tight on even my relatively unimpressive specimen.

Another rustling and crackling noise from the bushes made me look up. A guy was watching us; Paul had been right. He looked quite young - maybe eighteen or something - and just stared at us impassively. Presumably he wasn't confident enough to join in with the fun just yet.

Paul muttered, "Don't mind him... he's a bit of a regular..." Then he came up behind me. "Okay, here goes..."

I hitched my jacket and shirt up, clearing his access to my arse. The night air felt cold and moist on my buttocks. I bent further forwards to try and open myself up.

I felt a couple of his fingers smearing lube roughly around my hole.

He said, "Jesus - you weren't lying, were you? You are pretty tight down there..."

"Yeah, so go slow," I repeated.

He emptied the sachet of lube onto his fingers and reapplied them to my anus, entering me further.

He muttered, clearly without humour, "Don't fart or anything."

I felt irritated. "Yeah I know." Like this was my first time.

He eased them deep into me, opening me up and greasing my rectum as far as he could.

It occurred to me that his comment might reflect unpleasant experiences he'd had in prison. Anal sex among incarcerated straight men, the vast majority of whom would be unpractised at it before their first few nights inside, must involve quite a few awkward accidents in the area of bowel control.

He pushed his hips into mine and tried to enter me with his cock. My arse refused to take it; it was just too big.

He said, "Think like you're taking a shit..."

I snapped back, "Yeah I know the ropes, mate..."

I tried to mentally relax my anus but still his cock couldn't enter me.

He said, "I've fucked tighter arses than yours, so it's definitely possible."

I tried to push my arse further out, bending so far forwards that my face was almost touching the musty leaves on the woodland floor. "Try now."

But still he couldn't penetrate me.

He said, "That guy you were coming onto last night... he's as tight as fuck, but I can get my cock into him... so there's gotta be a way..."

"You've fucked the guy in the pub...?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. You've gotta get him tanked up to get him horny though. Otherwise he's too prissy. A good Christian boy or some such bullshit."

He tried to enter me again, pressing his bell-end so hard against my anal ring that it hurt.

I gasped for him to stop and he pulled back from me. "You're gonna need to open your legs wider. Pull down your trousers..."

I hadn't been keen on doing that. There's something about having my trousers around my ankles that makes me feel vulnerable.

Usually, if I'm like this with a guy somewhere where there's a chance we'll be caught, I just hitch my trousers down to the tops of my thighs. The other guy's face and hands can get to my cock, my balls and my arse: all you really need for a good time.

But Paul had a point: if I was going to be fucked, the trousers were going to have to come down. Even if meant me hopping around like a tit if we were interrupted.

I pulled them down to my ankles and bent forwards again, pushing my arse upwards and outwards to take his cock. I felt a bit ridiculous to be like that, especially with another guy peering at us from the bushes. It isn't easy to look elegant when your knees are splayed wide, your balls are hanging down between your thighs and your bum is gaping open like a fish's mouth.

It worked, though.

Paul managed to push his cock into me while I clenched my teeth and my fingers pressed so hard into my knees that the knuckles went white.

There'd be blood on the back of my briefs after this. No doubt Melissa would have some smart-arse comment to make about it.

He began fucking me slowly, groaning in pleasure, as his cock slid in and out of my implausibly widened hole. I heard him panting, "Oh Jesus... I don't know what it is about this... I just fuckin' love it..." and then he gripped my hips and began to really enjoy himself.

I looked up and saw the guy in the bushes beating at his own cock rapidly. His eyes were locked onto mine; he must have been imagining he was in my place.

I felt like calling out, "You want it, you come and get it, mate..." But I took my medicine like a man, waiting patiently for my own turn to come.

Paul sliced into my arse like his cock was a sword. He made long, arching stabs in and out of me, getting six or seven of his enormous cock into me with each plunge.

My balls were swinging around to his rhythm, getting cold in the night air.

I called out, "I reckon it's my turn now, mate..."

My cock had grown soft but I knew the sight of his arse and the feel of his hot, tight ring would quickly resurrect it.

But Paul kept going; kept plunging himself home with increasingly rapid thrusts.

I said, "Come on, mate..."

But he just muttered, "Just another few seconds... your arse feels so fucking good..."

I let him keep going, feeling slightly flattered that he was enjoying buggering my backside so much, but impatient to have my turn on his.

After thirty seconds or so of feeling his rhythm intensify and his hot breath becoming short and laboured against the back of my neck, I tried to pull away from him, but he held me firm.

I said, "Come on, mate. It's my turn now..."

But still he kept fucking me, driving into me with increasing vigour as his pleasure gained in fervour. His arms went up to my chest, pushing my jacket and shirt up to expose my stomach to the cold damp air, and he gripped my upper body in his thick muscular forearms.

He was gasping, "Just another few seconds... I just really need this..."

I tried to pull free but he held me firm. His arms were like a cage; forward movement was impossible.

I tried to pull my arse from his cock but he mounted me more roughly; grinding himself into me and driving his cock still deeper into my bowels.

Now he was grunting; so caught up in the pleasure of sodomising me that interruption was impossible.

At first I felt angry that he'd broken his part of the bargain and that the pleasures of his arse would clearly have to wait until after he'd cum inside mine, but gradually I started accepting it.

And rather enjoying it.

The young guy in the bushes was masturbating himself furiously, watching me crouching and being pummelled by Pauls' gargantuan cock; watching my own cock leaping about between my legs, looking soft and almost comical; watching my balls bobbing up and down with every thrust of the huge organ into the hole behind them.

I think it was at that point I realised that being in this position was beginning to feel quite good. That it actually felt quite pleasant to be watched while I was like this; watched being held firm while a stronger guy was giving my arse a rough seeing to.

That was when my cock started to look less comical. It stopped leaping around and became more solid; then it began to rise up; my foreskin began to retract from my bell-end again; the stem thickened and lengthened. Eventually it arched upward in its full eight-inch glory, betraying the enjoyment I was getting from being fucked by the barman.

I called out, "Yeah... come on..."

And Paul, still grunting as he pleasured himself inside me, reached down to my cock and found it to be hard.

He muttered something like, "Nice one," and then quickly made me change positions.

He stood me up, forced my upper body down towards the ground, and pulled my hips back toward him so that my arse was splayed wide open and level with his own waist. Then he moved me round ninety degrees, so that we were sideways-on to the guy in the bushes.

Now he fucked me so fast that his crotch made rapid thumping noises as it hit against my buttocks. It was like an applause.

He grunted and panted, obviously enjoying showing off his large cock thrusting in and out of my arse to the guy who was watching us, and I just stood there, bending forwards, and took it. I felt my own cock starting to dribble precum from its throbbing head, feeling impossibly aroused and swollen by the sensation of Paul's exertions into the depths of my bowels.

When he came, he grabbed my upper body tightly and rubbed his chest against my back while his cock emptied itself in spurts into the condom inside me.

He held me like that for about half a minute after he'd climaxed.

Then he withdrew from me with a revolting-sounding slurp and tossed the condom into one of the bushes.

I stood up, feeling a little dizzy as the blood rushed out of my head.

I smiled. "Jesus. That was some fuck. I don't normally get hard..."

He nodded. "Yeah. I was surprised."

I pulled out my wallet to find a condom. My cock ached in front of me. "Okay, I finally get my turn..."

Paul turned to me, pulling his shorts back up. "Actually, do you mind if we do that some other time. It's just I'm due at work by nine, and I'll need to take a shower and stuff..."

"Come on, mate. We agreed..."

"Yeah. I'm not welshing, mate. It's just the time, that's all... Honestly - some other time..."

He fastened his trousers up and went on, "You got something out of it, though, didn't you..."

I pulled my briefs up. They felt cold and damp as they covered my crotch and arse.

I said, "Kind of. But we agreed to take turns. I don't see that it would take that long to honour your part of the agreement..."

He shrugged. "It's not a case of honour or crap like that. It's just that I've gotta go. Like I said, some other time..."

And with that he pushed his way back through the holly bush. I heard the crunching of his footsteps receding as he walked back to the car-park.

I realised I'd been pretty well and truly stitched up. Spotted a mile off as a free suck and fuck by a guy who had no intention of reciprocating.

I looked around for the younger guy in the bushes - perhaps I could interest him in a little action - but found that he had also gone.

I fastened my trousers up and headed back to the car.

The car-park was emptier than it had been but a couple of cars were still parked alongside mine, both of them without men in them.

Melissa would wonder why it had taken me so long to get home.

I'd tell her I had to pay a couple of house calls or something.

She'd have to accept it.

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Author: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk Website: http://stories.remoworld.com

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