Homo Eroticus

Texan Hospitality - Part 2

Alex was as lost on the dick he was sucking as Jake had expected him to be. While he couldn’t see the contact point between Alex’s pretty, pretty mouth and the fat cock stretching his lips to their limit, he could guess he was doing a very good job. Alex was a prodigy.

Jake was used to being hit on by the Alex’s of the world. And by that he meant hot, eager men with a streak of wild submissiveness that men like him - tall, muscular and self-assured - naturally attracted

Jake usually required his bottoms – and they were always bottoms for him, regardless of their sexual preferences - to go through a lengthy process of training to please him. He took pleasure in moulding them to his will, to his baser appetites. Once broken in, they would always flock back at the snap of a finger. Or call him when they needed something a little bit more aggressive, a little bit more edgy. They would run to him when they wanted a safe pair of rough hands in which to lose control.

Texan Hospitality - Part 1

"You still up?"

Marco stopped mid stroke as the message flashed over the porn streaming on his phone. Fuck.

Of course, he was up! How could he not be?

He was up in a lot of ways. His second load of the night was already brewing in his balls. In the dim light of the phone his dick seemed more like a sleek brown piston, slick with cum and lube rather than an actual cock. It just wouldn’t go down... Just looking at the sender of the message made him leak another bubble of fluid.

"Yep." - Marco texted back.

One-word reply. That’s all Jake deserved, the fucker! Marco couldn’t help but smile through his horny rage though. Jake’s offence was that he had spent the night banging Alex, the boy he had picked at the club. Loudly. Making Alex moan. And then making him beg. Slapping his ass like he owned it… And his favourite spot for doing so seemed to be the wall right behind his headboard!

The grudge hardon Marco was sporting was made of equal parts arousal and envy of being the guy who was fucking Alex into incoherence. And, if he was being fully honest, being the guy who got to fool around with Jake.

The message app pinged again.

"What are you up to?"

Marco had several choices on how to answer the question. He could have replied that he was trying to get over his jetlag – he had, after all landed less than 12 hours ago. He could not reply, get himself off a second time and then go to sleep with a pillow over his head, while Jake and Alex went to for their third or fourth round.

Or he could be honest and say his balls were as blue as a winter chill. That the combination of his own right hand and watching Andre Donovan double dicking Devin Franco was helping him get off as intensely satisfying as he thought it would be.

His sticky fingers blurred the screen as typed.

"Hard as a fucking rock because you’ve been playing your bottom like a high- pitched music instrument. You fucker – lol."

After sending the message there was a moment of stillness that seemed to expand in the silence of his room. And then Marco heard a booming laugh through the thin wall that separated the two bedrooms. He couldn’t help but smile to the sound. He flicked off the window playing the porn. His mind hadn’t been in it anyway… Instead Marco just observed the dots of the message being composed. They started and stopped. Then another message popped up.

"I did ask if you minded…"

Jake had asked if Marco minded. And then asked again after the Russian pint-sized muscle builder had started rubbing is delicious looking ass into Jake’s package in the guise of dancing. Marco had said no, he didn’t mind it at all if Jake fucked the guy. He said it because was none his business. Because, as a polite man he knew that it wasn’t his place to cramp Jake’s style. Because his host had been amazing taking him around, showing him the sights and introducing him to his friends – when he did not have to. Bu he mostly encouraged Jake because Marco had wanted to fuck that tightly packed hunk of muscle that was Alex into a state if sexual incoherence himself - and if Jake did it, he would at least be able to hear the detailed story the next day. Fuck Alex by proxy in his mind, so to speak...

(Check our the rest of the story, below 😜)

Alone

There he was, finally alone.

It had been a long day of shooting and he was tired. there was effort in being effortless. In being casually, aloofly seductive. In pumping is muscles to marble carved definition.

He dropped his clothing in the floor, and eschewing the mirror and his night skincare ritual, threw himself in the bed.

It felt luxurious under his sore muscles. and he stretched on his back. But the moments passed by and the sleep did not come.

He restlessly turned around and flipped on the TV. He pressed the channel button in the remote control mindlessly, resting less than a three seconds in each.

He stopped at porn. It was glossy and colourful and the lace thong splitting the girls’ peach like ass was appealing. He decided to leave it in the background, not certain that he would actually want to jack off yet.

He opened his legs and felt his bulge as he observed.

One beautiful girl, dark haired, generously hipped girl.

Two fairly muscular guys, with skins untouched by tattoos.

And while his natural desire led him to focus on the roundness of her plumped breasts, his competitive gaze couldn’t help but notice theirs as well. To compare. They were surprisingly well developed. In that they were the sort of muscular that came across as natural, and not from a bottle. One olive skinned, like the girl, with a compact, shaped muscle structure that made him look like a Greek hero of the past, in full armour. The other, tall and lanky and lanky muscled - with ebony dark skin that glowed under the lights of the studio.

The girl, he would call her Aspasia, sat on the lap of the Greek hero. He called him Pericles. Pericles kissed her nipples lovingly, popping them out of their lace bustier. The ebony skinned one, whom he had called in his mind Memnon, approached them from behind. He rubbed his hard dick on the crease of her ass while kissing her neck.

He watched in fascination, as both men inched over, closer and closer until they kissed over her swan like neck. The kiss wasn’t perfunctory. It was deep. Tongues were involved.

He stopped, and over his bulge, feeling the blood drained from his nascent erection just a fraction. He frowned and reached for the control to switch it, but he stopped. Aspasia wriggled like a serpent between the two hard bodies, happily sliding her hand between her thighs at the sight of the ardour of the men above and below her.

He reconsidered. He was a modern guy, after all. He had worked in fashion for years. He had seen it all before. And the girl was hot, and she was horny. And the men were attractive, well built, in a way that was uncommonly beautiful. And he liked beauty. The reasons to keep it on pilled on his brain as his finger stopped pressing the channel button. He left it on.

The film was surprisingly without musing. The slapping of their bodies, the sounds of their moans filled his silent room. It was as if he was looking at a trio of lovers having sex while sitting in their room.

Slowly, but the deliberately, the focus of the film shifted to the two men. Their passionate embraces. Their vying for pleasuring her clit with fingers and tongues, the way their bodies crossed, glistening with sweat when they did so. A swirl of colours and of sweaty, well lit skin.

His cock stretched his briefs to the point where his pubes were showing. He couldn’t help be surprised at how hard he was.

Fuck.

In the loneliness of the room he could admit that it wasn’t just because of the girl. It was because of the men with the girl. And the men on their own. Because of the hunger.

Hot was hot. And they were hot, all of them.

Aspasia was calling the shots now. she grabbed Memnon by his curly hair and shoved it down Pericles’s cock. And he sucked it. Nursed it like a starving wolf.

his hand left the remote control and reach within the pouch of his briefs. It was humid from swear and pre-cum. He squeezed. he pumped it.

Hi brain rationalised it. A hardon was a hardon. He was not gay. He was not bi. He had a girlfriend. He was just appreciating beauty, the fine turn of muscles. The passion. The hunger of the three of them. The contrast of colours. The cinematography. The cocks bouncing with desire. Her dominant stance. The shapely curve of Memnon’s ass. The way that if looked as smooth as silk. Pericles’s perked up nipples. His olive coloured eyes.

The moment of surrender

(this was written for a friend of mine, responsible for me writing again)

It was the moment you were waiting for. The moment of surrender.

It had started with a gym meeting, as it usually did with you.  You were shy – because how could you not be, with that blond god in front of you.  You didn’t mind when he corrected you on form, in front of all your friends, leaving you a bit red faced.

 You didn’t even mind the possessive, sweaty arm on your shoulder as he guided you out of the gym – you freshly washed, him still reeking of sweat in his compression gear. Something that you hated in others, but with him just made you salivate.

Your dick was doing the thinking for you. It rationalised, in a short discussion with your brain, that you could perhaps find a way a way of keeping your “total top” reputation later on, after you had a taste of that mountain of a man.

You had gone into your house prepared for a night of submission. Open to it. Craving for it in a sense, because the situation was as unreal as the man himself. A golden god.

He sat down, and asked for a drink, which you promptly served. You then talked about mindless drivel while he silently looked at you. Your gaze kept dropping to his bulge, that grew considerably every time you betrayed yourself and looked.

Your mouth watered.

And then he asked for another drink. Which you poured and he knocked back. And another.

When he stood up and stripped his shirt, mussing his hair and flexing his pecs, you fell silent and dry mouthed. When he approached with the grace of a panther on the prowl, your dick stiffened so hard that your bulge became the thing that comedy skits are written about – stretching your trousers at a weird level, dick making a wet spot on the fabric.

But when he kneeled in front of you and nuzzled his face against it, covering the fabric with his own spit? Then the universe just exploded with surprise and possibilities.

Before the night was out, you had fed him the load you had shot on his handsome face, with swift swipes of your fingers. The creamy skin of his hips bore your finger marks, and his ass was red from spanking. He left sheepish, justifying his behaviour with alcohol.

Then a pattern was set. A meet up, and then a drink, and then another. And at the end of it you would always find your pubes nestled on his cleft chin, his tongue lapping the underside of your balls. Whether it be your house, or your car, or in one memorable time, an alley behind a bar while a football match raged.  The memory of your roar of victory as you pressed yourself past the defences of his throat, as he stained his jeans without touching himself would be something you would carry to your grave.

And there you were today. Both in the hotel in which he was doing a photoshoot. You in the hotel room he had booked for you. You were looking down at him from the balcony, flimsy curtain barely hiding your hardon. Him, processing the impact of your ultimatum.

-          This time – you had said, in the break he had had between the shoots – no alcohol. It’s just you and me.  And you will have to ask for what you want.

Even from a distance you could see the gears turning in his head. No more excuses. He would be your slut in bed willingly, he would admit his desire for you and what it made him want to do, or nothing at all.

He was still so beautiful. Such a wonder to look at. Lord knew that those muscles hadn’t grown from protein powder alone. The thought made you smile. In the veins of that Atlas of a man ran particles of you. Protein that had been broken down and re-used to build that stunning, flawless physique. Protein that he had sucked from the tap with a greed and enthusiasm that surprised you.

He looked up, breaking up your reverie. You pushed the curtain aside for a second. From the tip of your hard dick a long pulse of pre-cum fell to the floor.

He licked his lips, got up and marched towards the hotel. His gait was less self-assured, his shoulders were slightly hunched. He had a tentative smile on his face. And that moment, was as powerful to you as the roar of the fans as you came in his throat that time, at the back of the bar.

Hard night at the museum

The event was going full swing. The crowd is what you usually expect from a mid-week lecture at the British Museum on Leonardo Da Vinci: mostly white, mostly rich, with a high percentage of hippy academics, normal academics and crazy academics. Here and there were some potential targets for my hunger. Mostly with their girlfriends…

One guy caught my eye. He was dressed, in a suit no less. With a tie. He was youngish looking... But you can never tell with black guys. He was laughing while he drank. A wedding ring glinted off his finger. Straight?

No.

The suit was too well cut. The trousers fit around his ass too snuggly. And that bulge was much too pronounced. I remember licking my lips. Could that be the mouthful I was waiting for? Because I could do with a mouthful.

Right now.

It had been a while since I had a thick one in my mouth when at work. Too long since I crossed that line, and my brain itched with it.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Charles. Charlie for my friends. Cocksucker and arse bandit for the people who don’t like me. And for some of the ones who do.

Now I bet you are wondering, why would a guy like me be cruising for cock (a the British museum and (b at my workplace.

Because. I. Can.

I can get all the cock and ass that I want, wherever I want. And that’s big problem… Grindr is easy. Bars are easy. Even the street is easy. S well place wink. A flex of my chest muscles. A twitch of my ass - and the guy is mine. This is not a brag, it’s just the truth.

And it doesn’t matter if the man he is married, or straight, or religious. I can get him, Because that’s how good I am....

For the rest of the story:

https://www.gaydemon.com/stories/A_hard_night_at_the_Museum_21020.html

 He didn’t bother knock when he entered Mark’s room. He didn’t need to. In fact, it was better to do it when his roommate was thrown off balance. It was all the hotter when he did it that way. The flush that spread over the homo’s face was priceless.

-       Hey Markie!

The door banged against the wall and Mark jumped. The stack of papers he was grading slid on the floor. He breathed deeply for a second and gritted his teeth.

Motherfucking Steve!

A day with screaming children and now that fucking son of bitch wanting attention.

He turner around to see him. His face reddened with anger. This again…

-       Do you think my butt looks good in this? I’m going out, and I want to impress my girl.

He twirled a bit and raised his shirt his fucking smirk was a mile wide. Mark hated that fucking smirk. Throwing the fag a bone. Watch him squirm… He found himself cursing his fucking teacher’s salary that didn’t allow him to get a fucking apartment on his own.

Steve snapped his fingers to get his attention.

-       Dude! Focus. This is the time that all that expertise on butts can actually be useful…

And that was it. Something snapped in his head and Mark found himself standing to his full height and walking towards Steve. He was taller than him. Wider. He loomed over him as he loomed over his students, getting into his personal space.

-       Nah dude… Looks kind of flat.

Flat?

Steve searched Mark’s face. He did not see the usual fluster, tinged by arousal. And that was not fucking fun. That was, after all, the reason he often walked around in the house with a towel swung low on his hips, and his torso covered with droplets of water. Why he had whole breakfast conversations in boxers that are so worn that they moulded around his cock.

Give Mark a thrill. Watch him drool. Do him a favour.

But Mark was walking around hum looking at his ass, appraising. His was cocked to the side like a bird of prey.  He poked one butt cheek and Steve inhaled sharply.

-       Not saying that it is flat dude. Just that it looks it, because the underwear is shit.

He lied smoothly. His smiled did not reach his eyes.

Steve smiled tentatively.

Mark turned to his drawer and fished out  a pair of his dark blue jockstraps. The slutty ones, that he uses when he goes out to party.  

Steve looked at the piece of fabric with, mouth opening to refuse. But it stayed in silence as Mark  held  the the crotch to his nose and mumbles something that seemed something like “clean enough”.

What the fuck?

And then Steve is grabbing the jockstrap mid-air, Mark having thrown it at him from were he stood. Instinctively he held it to his nose to smell it. Just to make sure it was clean. He only realised that he was doing it when Mark pointedly cleared his throat.

Before Steve could protest, Mark cut in.

- Let’s see you in then then...

His tone was surprisingly commanding.  Distantly, Steve remembered his coach giving direction.

- Markie, I don’t think...

- Steve… Are you embarrassed about getting a hardon or something? It’s just us guys. Do you have a modesty partition in the gym?

The tone was mocking, and Steve honest to god flushed. This was not going as well. He was embarrassed, annoyed and – in a part of his mind he couldn’t easily access under the layers of douchebag, slightly aroused. Mark had pressed the tiny spark in his brain made only of male competitiveness. 

Steve pushed out his chest. 

In seconds his grey underwear was flying in Mark’s direction of the gay guy, who mirrored him in grabbing it.

Steve has only ever worn jockstraps for sport.  Functional ones. Nothing like this. He feels exposed, but he doesn’t let it show. He pulls his compression shirt up to show off his killer abs and lower back. Time to regain the upper hand. 

- So... Good enough for you. 

Mark’s expression was unreadable. He crosses the space between them and looks at him appraisingly. He drops the grey boxer brief on the floor, and  after a mumbled “may I” he starts adjusting the thin straps around Steve’s waist.

Again Steve opens his mouth to end whatever was happening, to tell him to take his fucking hands off him. But again, Mark pre-empts him by scolding him into standing still for a moment. To make himself useful by pulling up his T-shirt while Mark does “butt expert stuff”. Years of sports conditioning and mild shock clash in Steve’s brain and he just does what he is told. Mark’s warm had on his lower back turns him sideways. He can see himself in the mirror. Muscle butt popping from his lower back, exposed. Shirt raised mid pecs. Marks hand adjusting him, his height, towering over him. His crotch almost pressing into his/.

-       Now that, Stevie… That looks good on you. If you want her to notice your ass, these will be great. 

And Steve smiles preening inwardly. He fucking knew it. 

-       Of course - Mark continued - you’ll  have to get one on your size. The pouch on that is a bit big for you.

He plucked at the volume of extra fabric in the crotch face dispassionately, bunching it up so its snug on Steve’s dick. But despite of himself, alongside the embarrassment there’s a shock of arousal.

Without thinking he looks down at Mark’s crotch. He is right, even in slacks he looks like he is packing heat. Not that Steve is ashamed of what he has – he has a great fucking dick. It does the job great… But it isn’t ant anaconda.

Slowly, he starts feeling his dick start stirring. It’s mild. Just a tingle.

What the fuck!

Mark  continued.

-       It’s up to you if you want to make your ass look good. He says, readjusting the straps and imperceptibly dragging his hands along the curve of it. All the guys in the bar will drool at you. But you like that... 

Mark unzipped, and the sound reverberated in the silent room.

-       If were you I would try something like these. 

The packed front of his white briefs is massive. Steve didn’t know where to look. If at both the real thing in front of him or it’s reflection in the mirror.

-       This won’t make your ass pop out that much, but it will make your dick drool worthy.

Steve found himself mesmerised by Mark’s slight hip movements. That was a beast of a dick, compressed in white fabric. 

Mark zipped up, breaking the spell. They stand in silence for a beat. Then Mark offers him a beer. Steve accepts in stunned disbelief.

The Plan

He arrived home late and tired, after two long days of working away.

He is around 5.9. Reddish brown hair, with a lean muscular build. His eyes are that sort of blue that changes with mood and weather.

Expressive.

I can always see when he is in pain, when he is aroused, when he is feeling mischievous. He is

handsome, in that way that English guys usually are. In an almost cold way. Everything about him screams propriety. Seeing him completely debauched is something special...

But I digress.

I sent him suggestive texts on Sunday because I was feeling horny. When he arrived home, late at night. I tried to approach him, but he begged off sex, apologizing. But knowing him as I do, I decided to take that as challenge. If I played my cards right, I would get what I wanted and perhaps more.

I started by giving him a massage - I’m good at those. I have strong hands and patience. Attention to detail. I started with his shoulders, skimmed down to his back, breaking his knots of tension. Melting them. By the time I got to his ass he was already wriggling in a way I could easily identify. You know, it when bottoms start digging their hard dicks into the mattress....

I continued kneading his ass, over his underwear. He has a nice ass. Not a giant bubble, but firm, with a soft layer of fat for the jiggle. The type of ass that looks fine in suit trousers and riding pants. I occasionally ground myself into him, making him feel how hard I was.

I flipped him over. He secretly likes it when I use a bit of force. His pupils always expand when I do that. I worked on his chest a bit. Just as he was starting to arch against me, I moved suddenly into his personal space. I kissed him passionately and grabbed at his hard dick.

Hard.

He is uncut, six inches I would say. It was tenting his undies, pulsing under my hand. He groaned and lightly bit my lips. Just as he started to reach for me, I stopped. Gave him a peck on the forehead, and then I huddled him to bed.

His expression as I did that was fucking funny. Teeth gritted outrage. He knows me well. I was innocently doing what he asked- I was not going to push for sex tonight, and he could not complain.

My plan was already in motion. I know how he gets when he is horny and unfulfilled.

I woke him up next morning by rubbing up against him and grabbing his hard dick. It was a hot night, and we were both sweaty, so gliding against him was easy. I think I leaked all over his leg... Again, I could feel him pulsing on my hand.

Leaking as well.

I nibbled at his throat. Said good morning. Asked how he was feeling. Not relenting in my hand. Squeezing him and watching him try to maintain composure and reply.

He is so fucking British that even today, after almost ten years together, he still tries. He insults me halfway through, calling me a perv. But he does. And then he stretched like a cat under me. When I got him close to cumming, when I felt him pulsing, I let go and got up. My hand was dripping.

Time for work!

If the previous night he gritted his teeth in annoyance, he was downright pissed off. Called me a wanker for leaving him like that and threw me a pillow, which I dodged, with a laugh.

When I came from the shower, he was jacking off in the bed. There was a flush on his body, and his dick was dark pink and angry, pulsing between his fingers. Close to coming.

But not under my watch. That wasn’t going to happen, because it would ruin my plans.

For the rest of the story:

Gymming - Part 1

It was as humiliating as it was hot.

The 24 hour gym at the edge of town was almost deserted... almost. Which was almost it even hotter.

He wouldn’t say he was modest. He liked to show off. Why have those muscles and not show them off. But this... even for him it was too much. And not enough.

He felt as much as he saw the eyes of the lone gym goer on him. He had pretend not to look when he passed. But every time you looked those eyes would slide over to you like a magnet. Was there arousal? Contempt? A bit of both?

Impossible to know. And yet impossibly. He felt his dick start to stiffen again, even after all those orgasms, to his horror. To his delight.

But he needed to focus. Focus and keep those glutes flexed. It was humiliating enough to be exposed and hard in the gym, while his fucker held his gym gear and smiled from the sidelines. No one needed to to see the strings of cum oozing from his gaped hole.

At least he thought no one needed to know... But did he need them to know?