Gay Erotic Stories

“You think that musclebitch at the gym could fuck you like this, BITCH!” I snarled at him and spat on his back for good measure.

I could see in the big mirror across the living room that his grimace was even worse as I slammed into him even harder as I said it, fucking him fast and furiously. “mmonnnnnnnnnnnnnnonnnnnnnnoooo,” he garbled from around the strap in his mouth.

“Yeah, you know you’re a bitch for THIS cock, aren’t you? You’re MY bitch, aren’t you? SAY IT! Say you’re a whore for my cock!” He was struggling because I had his arms bent back painfully, and I’d fucked him with only spit for lube, having subdued him the second we were inside my condo and shoved him roughly over the bar counter. He wasn’t special forces; he was an attorney. And although I was certain he could take care of himself in a fight, this man who’d entered my life with a bang and made me know what it was to have a love of my life was no match for me. “SAY IT NOW, BITCH!”

He was struggling still, his head thrashing and his shouts loud around the jockstrap in his mouth, and I could see tears in his eyes from the big mirror. I was too enraged to care. And I showed him with my brutal thrusts, continuing.

When I finally came inside my lover, I yanked out my cock to a muffled scream as my huge cockhead passed his rim, and I roughly pulled him back and around and shoved him to his knees. I had a handful of his short hair tight in my grip, and I shoved my ass-slimy cock into his mouth. “Clean it, bitch, and show me you love THIS cock, not some pussy-ass musclebitch in the gym!”

His tears were real, and he gagged as I shoved my cock in and out of his mouth, but he licked it good, and that had my cock staying HARD. I went to full skull fuck and forced him to endure deep throat-thrusts, pushing him to the point of turning red then pale from almost passing out when he couldn’t breathe. He was screaming and pleading around my cock, but I had him by his hair and forced him to take it.

“You fucking want some pussybitch muscleboy cunt, then you can fucking have him, BITCH, but you’ll fucking REMEMBER what it’s like to have a REAL MAN!” I snarled and spit in his face.

Jim had called me around eleven and said he had a two plus hour break in the afternoon and asked if I wanted to meet at the gym to work out together. Because of our work schedules we usually only worked out together Saturdays at his posh country club, sometimes Sundays, too. My company has a phenomenal gym in our building, and I always find time in the afternoon to work out there. It’s actually a requirement of the job that we make/take the time to do so.

I got to his gym just as he did, and we went in together. He got me in as a guest, as I’d done twice before there. The place was very upscale – like everything Jim did – and full of DC’s elite in occasionally ridiculously expensive workout gear. Being a recently retired Marine, I tended toward faded and frayed for workouts (and often close to that for street wear!).

We make a great pair in the lockers, that much I assure you. Both of us tall – him near six-six and me a bit over six-four; him beautifully pelted in soft, dark fur that looks like it’s been professionally manscaped, and me with a smoothish torso, just an almost blond treasure trail; both of us with excellently ripped, defined, lean-muscled bodies. To say we get looks anywhere anytime would be totally accurate; so you know in a men’s locker room and gym there is plenty of attention.

We were having a great workout, both of us having arms/chest. There was an overly-muscled guy who was shadowing us, near us at each machine. His body screamed of steroids, and his unimpressive bulge further suggested steroid atrophy in places I prefer to remain more bull-like than eunuch! He was handsome, but with that steroid slant – slightly edgy in his expression, slightly extreme in the sharpness of his features.

We both took note of him, both smiled reflexively, and he smiled back, though with the steroid-affected sharpness to it that made it more menacing than inviting. As we progressed through our punishing workout, I realized that roid-boy was focused on Jim. I laughed and commented to him on it, and Jim laughed and brushed it off. But as we continued to work out I noticed Jim watching him more and more.

I’d never experienced more than Jim’s casual note of another man, usually followed by something like an unspoken appraisal and his immediately-returned gaze of adoration at me. At first I thought it was just a ghoulish fascination with the ridiculously pronounced musculature of this roid-bunny. But as his looks started to be furtive, obviously aware that he was beyond a reasonable notice state and into something that he shouldn’t, something affrontive to me/us, I started to seethe.

My workout was the beneficiary of my anger, and I really pumped. Jim’s workout got less and less focused, his attempts to push himself – at my insistence, like a drill sergeant – almost embarrassing. I’d see him preoccupied with work and going through his workout on autopilot before. But to see him preoccupied by another man (if he had anything manly left of him after his obvious steroid splurge) was unnerving.

I’d never experienced jealousy at any level I could remember. I hated the feeling. I hated being so attached to someone that he could make me feel that way. I hated that I cared. I hated every single aspect of every sensation I was having. I particularly hated that I’d fallen head-long in love with a man for the first time since I was a teenager, and here he was now wanting someone else. I hated that I WAS in love with him, had jumped at the chance when he asked me to marry him, had been up until this afternoon at the gym looking forward to it like a virgin going into the back rooms of a porn shop the first time.

When we were done – or I was because I couldn’t call his half-assed workout done by any reasonable standard! – I almost shouted at him, “I’m done!” and stalked off the gym floor to the lockers. To his credit, Jim didn’t linger with roid-boy and followed. At our lockers I stuffed my clothes into my gym bag angrily.

“Aren’t you showering?”

“I’m outta here!” I answered sharply, as I stuffed the last of my stuff into my bag and slammed the locker door.

I stalked out, not waiting for him, but he slammed his door and followed, throwing his sweaty t-shirt back on that he’d stripped off out of habit when he arrived after me at our lockers. “Wait, Bill, what’s up?” he called after me when we were out on the street.

I was speed walking, headed purposefully back to my office. I’d just catch a shower in the company gym. And then I’d go home afterward – my condo, not Jim’s house where I’d been living until we met. My life would resume as it had been before I met him. I kept on walking.

Jim caught up to me and grabbed my arm. “Bill, what’s going on?” he asked again, pulling me around. I shook my arm free violently and came around ready to swing at him, rage all over my face. He jumped back seeing my look. “Jesus, Bill!”

That’s when I realized this wasn’t over. I took a step toward him, and he moved back a little, obviously ready for something more than my words. “Keep your fucking mouth shut and follow me!” I barked, my command tone reflexive as my burning eyes bored into his.

And then I turned and walked.

We changed direction and made the thirteen blocks to my condo in no time. He was silent and had followed, as ordered. And when we arrived at my door while I fumbled in my bag for my keys, he carefully put his hands out to steady my gym bag as I rifled through the side pocket, steadying it for me, his look plaintiff and submissive . . . and fearful.

I got the door open and shoved him inside and slammed it behind me. And that’s when I’d pounced on him, subdued him and thrown him face down over the bar counter and yanked his gym shorts and jock strap down. When his ass was bared I’d gotten my own ratty workout shorts and sweat-filthy jock strap – it hadn’t been washed in almost 2 weeks, unlike his because he had to have clean workout clothes every day – off clumsily as I held his wrists behind his back painfully. When my legs were free to plant behind him, I spit a few times on his hole and roughly shoved my spit into him with assaulting fingers. Then I shoved my huge cockhead into his pucker and breached him without any concern. His scream was blood-curdling, which prompted me to reach down for my stinking jock strap, his second scream when my head popped out. I reached around and shoved my jock strap in his mouth and ordered him “Leave it there!” as I spit on my cock and SHOVED into him again, that time his third scream, the noise he made somewhat muffled.

He’d struggled and protested around the jock strap but I FUCKE D him. I would tighten his arms behind him until I was close to dislocating a shoulder when he struggled too much, but nothing stopped me from DRILLING that hole. I felt like the skin on my cock would be ripped off from the unlubed friction, but I didn’t give a shit. And all the while I verbally abused him. He was going to remember how it ended.

I felt Jim grab my balls like he knew I liked while I was skull fucking him, and I roughly smacked his head. “You don’t get to do that, BITCH! Just service that cock like the fucking douchebag whore you are!” I shouted. He let go of my nuts. And I kept skull fucking and throat fucking him, harder now.

When I finally came the second time it was more powerful than the first, and longer. Jim was fighting me because he couldn’t breathe as I unloaded with my hand firmly holding his face buried in my crotch. I finally let him off enough to suck in a huge breath but I held him there with my cockhead still at the back of his throat. Then I relaxed and let my piss flow . . . into his mouth!

“Blllllllllsssssssuiiiiiiiivvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvaffffffffff,” he struggled as I held his head so he had to take it.

“Spill a drop and you won’t walk out of here!” I snapped.

He was really crying now. But he began gulping down, and only a bit of my piss dribbled out his lips and down onto the tile floor.

When I was done pissing I kicked him off me and back onto his ass on the tile. He got up ungracefully, his legs tangled in his workout shorts and jockstrap. But he got up, and his face was both wet and tear-stained and also angry. “What the fuck is with you, you fucking psycho?” he shouted at me. “Jesus fuck you almost ripped me apart and then you fucking use me as a pisspot?”

“Get the fuck out of my house you fucking whore,” I spat at him.

He was angry, but he was confused. He didn’t move, which a tiny part of my brain was glad for. He was still taut, ready for a fight. His confusion was overtaking his rage. “Bill, I will leave if you want me to. Hell I’m no match for you, and you could just throw me out anyway, but what the fuck?”

Jim was violently against swearing. He was adamant with his nineteen year old son Perry and wouldn’t relent with me until I’d basically modified my behavior to avoid it. When we were fucking, that was different. But in the last hour I’d heard him use the f-word twice as other than a reference TO fucking, and that was probably equal to all the times I’d heard him use it in almost three months.

That little part of my brain was getting louder in my head: DON’T LET HIM GO.

“What the fuck? WHAT THE F U C K ?!!!!!! Yeah, what the FUCK was that about at the gym?” I shouted, taking a step toward him.

He planted his feet and clenched his fists. That little part of my brain said GOOD, HE’LL FIGHT FOR YOU.

“Bill, I don’t—“

“Oh, fuck you and the ‘I don’t’, Jim. You were practically eye-fucking that musclebound walking steroid CUNTainer. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Well good luck to you both and fuck you. When you realize you lost a REAL MAN here, you’ll ‘DON’T’ for sure!”

His look changed as I’d said it. My former-fiance attorney’s mind processed it and was strategizing I could tell. That INCREDIBLE mind of his, which had always turned me on so much, was starting to engage that little part of my brain again.

FUCK THAT! HE CAN HAVE THAT FUCKING ROID-QUEEN! FUCK THEM BOTH!

My own rage and hurt was fighting valiantly, but the part of my brain was coming on strong. HE WANTS ME.

“Bill, I think you got the wrong impression,” he started.

“Oh, FUCK YOU, I didn’t—“ but I stopped because that part of my brain made me.

“Is it my turn to speak?” he asked, a bit formally. “Because I’d like to clear something up here, but if you’re going to bluster on and beat your chest – and maybe me – then I can just do what you said before and leave.”

He had me there! “Jim, I saw you ogling that bitch,” I said, simply. Inside something had connected and locked into him, something like we always connected. I couldn’t come down that fast and without it all worked out, but I was locked into him and knew this was worth it.

I really didn’t know anything about dealing with being hurt, with being jealous, with anything. This was my first adult relationship in about 20 years, and that other one had been a temporary one known from the start, so it was never that deep. I was never that deep into it might be a better way of putting it, knowing I’d be reposted within at the most eighteen months. But this one I’d dove head-first into, knowing I knew nothing of how to take care of my own heart; I’d just known my heart was this man’s now, forever.

“Bill, that roided-out guy used to be about 135 pounds of skinny kid. I knew him.”

“You did a skinny kid like that?” I said, incredulous that my man-appreciating lover could have ever seen anything in a skinny kid. And I knew from the musclebitch’s age now that it couldn’t have been more than ten years ago, or Jim would have been guilty of a felony! This was as ridiculous as . . .

AS WHAT? AS RIDICULOUS AS THINKING THE MAN YOU KNOW LOVES YOU WITH HIS WHOLE BEING COULD BE INTERESTED IN ANOTHER MAN, ANY MAN, ANY MUSCLEBOUND OR SKINNY OR PUDGY OR BUILT FIT MAN ANYWHERE ANYTIME BECAUSE YOU KNOW HE ONLY WANTS YOU?

From louder to annoying, that voice inside my brain.

“Bill, focus,” Jim said, and I noticed his fists weren’t clenched, his face wasn’t angry and his body was relaxed. That kid worked for my law firm part time when he was in college about two years ago. He was skin and bones, had acne, was repressed and timid. I’m sure it was him. And there he was – all bulked out –“

“All ROIDED out!” I said dismissively.

“Yeah, all roided out. And I don’t know if he even recognized me or—“

“Oh, he recognized what he wanted!” I said, snarkily.

LIKE YOU WANT JIM AND WANT HIM TO WANT YOU.

“Bill, come on. How many men have looked at you or me? I don’t want any of them. You know that, Bill, as I know you don’t want anyone but me. Hell the way you just raped me, if I’d ever needed proof, that was it!” He reached around to his ass and brought his fingers up and held them out. Blood.

I was mortified. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see. “Oh my God, Jim –“

“Bill, stop. We’re men. I can take rage; and I can take violence. I WON’T take it, but we’re here now, and this happened, and it’s not a big deal.”

“I hurt you,” I almost wailed.

“Yes, you did. And you won’t ever do that again. Or if you do, it will be the last time you do it to me. But this is over now.”

We stood there facing each other, a sight. His gym shorts and jock strap around his shins and ankles. Me in my sweaty t-shirt and shoes.

I didn’t know where to go. What I did was unforgivable. I was ashamed, and I was also dying inside because I couldn’t lose this man, and I had no idea how I could fix something that is unfixable, unforgivable.

“It’s not, you know,” he said quietly.

“Not what?”

“Bill, it’s not a big deal unless it becomes one. We’re men; this happened; we can man-up and let it be the past.”

“But—“ I couldn’t say anything else because I didn’t know what to say. I really had no clue at all.

He stood there.

GO TO HIM!

I took a tentative step, and Jim didn’t step back. I grabbed him and took him into my arms and held him tight. “I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot. I will make up for this forever—“

“Shhhhhh,” he said against my neck and kissed me.

“But I—“

“But nothing,” he said softly into my ear.

We stood and held each other tight for a long time, silent. I wasn’t letting go, and I couldn’t if I wanted to because tears were rolling down my face, and I certainly couldn’t let him see my shame.

“I will always love you, Bill,” he said, with a kiss behind my ear, the kind of kiss in the place that makes my cock hard instantly. And it had. “About that,” he said with a lighter tone, and he broke our embrace and looked at my hard fuckrod and then up to meet my shamed glance with a leer. “We’re going to be modifying our routine for a day or two while we get the rear healed up!”

I’m sure I was beet red with shame, and I couldn’t say anything but, “I’m sorry.”

“Bill,” he said, reaching out and putting his hand on my cheek. “Didn’t you ever hear ‘love means never having to say you’re sorry’?”

“But—“

“But nothing. Stop with the ‘but’s, particularly since mine is out of commission temporarily,” he said, adding a laugh. “Bill, it’s done; it’s over. We agree it will never happen again, don’t we?”

“Absolutely!” I said without hesitation, and for the first time I was starting to think it might be as he said.

“Let me reiterate what you already know, my studly soon-to-be husband. I wanted you the first moment I laid eyes on you at that picnic. I wanted you sexually and by the end of that day I wanted you to share my life. I’ve been waiting for you all my life. You’re the only man I want or will ever want. I know you know that; but you need to REMEMBER that, Bill, always all the time.”

“Me, too, Jim,” I said lamely, helplessly in love, hopelessly ashamed of what I’d done, hopeful that I could do better and be worthy.

“Your way with words excites me!” he said, throwing his head back and laughing the way he knew made me crazy for him. Well, honestly, everything he did made me crazy for him!