Author: indieerotica

Project ALPHA — Part Three: The Recruiter

Tommy Crane is dead. Thomas Crane has taken his place, a conscientious dominant man who cares for his omega Kenny Jamison. Although the two have settled into a picture of kinky domestic bliss, both have a desire for retribution against the men that drove Tommy to join a project where his death was almost guaranteed.
The first step of their plot to knock BoiBubble studios down a peg focuses on one Collin Monaghan, the man that recruited Tommy when he was still a broke college student. Wanting to leave nothing to chance, Kenny and Thomas lay a trap for Collin that they know he just can’t resist: a cute, sexy, young, especially gullible twink.

The Recruiter is a 8,800-word short story and part three of a four part series.

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Thomas flexed in front of the long, full length mirror by the foot of the bed. He wasn’t really one for showing off all too much. He was a changed man, yes, but not so drastically that he had suddenly become vain and self-obsessed. Besides, part of the reason he’d bought the mirror was that he much preferred watching Kenny stick a dildo to the mirror and ride it to a whimpering anal orgasm.

All that said, sometimes Thomas just had to admire the new body that had been given him. A certain amount of vanity accompanied his new confidence, and that was okay. As long as it didn’t become crippling.

For once in his life, Thomas felt as though the word “man” truly applied to him now. It was rather difficult to find anyone that could embody the physical essence of masculinity better than he did. What that word meant philosophically and emotionally, he didn’t know. Nor did he think it mattered all that much. He didn’t need to be a “man”. He needed to be the best version of himself.

Thomas still found it somewhat amusing that Kenny had thought he would want to go back to his old self. Yes, he had to admit, there were certain aspects of his old life that he would have liked to still have, but he felt so much better now. He was so much better now. Not to mention, he was happier with himself and a lot more confident.

If he was being perfectly honest, Thomas had come around to thinking that his old self, Tommy, was a pretty pathetic young man. Not by any fault of his own, of course, but rather than become bettered by adversity, Tommy had let himself get battered.

Thomas didn’t recall how he had come to know about the Facility’s program, but he still vividly remembered why he had sought it out. After the kerfuffle with his manager, Tommy had believed that his life had been ruined. He remembered that Tommy had thought it would be better to just give up instead of fighting and trying to fix things.

It was that part in particular that Thomas couldn’t really stomach anymore. Tommy had volunteered for the program knowing full well that many of the guys that had undergone the procedure before him had died. Tommy had gone in, hoping that he would be just another of those failures. It had been Tommy’s way of committing suicide — because he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The only good thing that had come out of it, as far as Thomas was concerned, was that he had been born out of it. All because Tommy had been as bad at getting killed as he was at confronting his many, many faults.

Of course, at first the pendulum had swung a little bit too far the other way. The young man who would have never hurt anyone turned into a savage, instinct-driven creature. “The Beast”, Kenny had called the thing that had manifested immediately after Thomas’ inoculation with the serum.

The nickname was a bit of a riot, but it was fitting. Thomas had lost control back then, after all. There had been no human element to The Beast, just raw emotion and instinct.

Thomas remembered that there had been a battle between the two aspects of himself. There had been the old, more submissive part of him that wanted to just lay down and be done with everything, and there had been the newly born aspect of himself, tired with the abuses of the world and filled with nothing but the desire to conquer.

Thomas recalled the mind-numbing arousal that had swept over him as he gave in to his animal desires. He remembered the all-consuming need to breed and display his dominance. It wasn’t really all that surprising that Kenny had — as Kenny put it — nearly shit his pants when The Beast punched through the bullet-proof glass of the control room.

Fortunately for everyone involved, that aspect of Thomas’ personality did not take him over fully. Gods knew how things would have turned out. Needless to say, after a little while, The Beast’s rage and endless desire to rut was tempered by the genuine kindness and compassion that Tommy had managed to cling onto despite his depression. Thomas, as he was now, was the end result of the balance that had been struck between his two aspects.

Thomas shifted on the edge of the bed, reaching down to brush his hands through Kenny’s hair. He groaned a bit as Kenny lapped at the head of his cock. He liked it. Liked the way that Kenny worked him over. Liked the way that Kenny loved it.

Over the last few months, Thomas and Kenny had settled into their new roles in life quite nicely. Thomas was still a bit leery about the labels that Kenny had given their two roles, especially once he got online and saw how they were used in a sometimes-abusive context there.

The thing was that Thomas couldn’t really argue that the labels were pretty catchy and illustrated who they were now. Kenny had pointed out that since Thomas had been subject 5-15 Alpha, and he was the dominant half of the relationship, that he should be the Alpha. Kenny, on the other hand, by virtue of being Thomas’ complement, would be the omega.

The conversation about labels had come at the end of a pretty long heart-to-heart about a week after Kenny and Thomas escaped the Facility. It would have happened a lot sooner, but it had taken Thomas some time to figure out how to get Kenny to be intelligent again. Draining Kenny’s genius-level intellect out through Kenny’s cock and turning him into a cock-hungry simpleton had been a lot of fun. But, even then, Thomas had known that he would eventually need to return Kenny’s intelligence not only because it was a valuable asset, but also because he had rather liked having intelligent conversations with the old Kenny.

Thomas and Kenny had talked about what had happened. Thomas, feeling guilty for changing Kenny against his will, had offered to let him go. Kenny, for his part, had given Thomas quite a big, profanity-laden piece of his mind. And although he had sounded rather incensed at being changed without his consent, Kenny eventually admitted that he liked things better as they were now than as they had been before.

Although Kenny had been surprisingly positive about the whole ordeal, Thomas had feared for the worst. He had been terrified that Kenny would leave him, and there had been a cold knot in the pit of his stomach up until the point that Kenny expressed a desire to stay and make things work out. That day had been the official beginning of their relationship, a wedding of sorts that Kenny had consummated with a quick blowjob that Thomas still contested was one of the best he’d ever had.

Thomas threaded his fingers through Kenny’s coarse dark hair and grunted. A shiver of pleasure traveled leisurely up the length of his spine as Kenny tongued his frenulum. Over the last couple of months, this had become one of their favorite pastimes as a couple. For hours on end, Kenny would kneel between his spread legs and work his cock with lots of spit and slobber — just the way that he liked it.

Thomas groaned, digging his fingers into Kenny’s scalp as he grabbed a handful of hair and bucked his hips. His cock slid in with no resistance whatsoever. Kenny’s soft, pliable lips wrapped around the base of his cock, tongue wriggling underneath his significant girth. Kenny was so good. Almost too good for him.

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Project ALPHA — Part Two: The Change

Tommy Crane is the first resounding success of the Facility’s top-secret project, but Kent knows that things aren’t quite cause for celebration. Tommy has become a savage beast with nothing but breeding and rutting on its mind, a creature of pure instinct and sexuality.
Kent needs to escape the Facility in order to find a cure for Tommy, but with things rapidly escalating, it may be too late for him to do anything but try and save himself. Even that might be easier said than done when the pheromones get to him and the beast finds him in a compromising position.

The Change is an 8,500-word short story and second in a series.

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For five years, Kent had worked at the Facility. It had been an unparalleled opportunity to advance his field, as well as do the world some good. Their research had focused primarily on creating a serum that could, potentially, give people longer lives and help them fight off diseases more effectively. Of course, there had been the military bent of creating perfect soldiers, but Kent had never really given that aspect of their research much thought.

For five years, Kent had also watched the procedure and the formula fail. Time and again, he had watched from the sidelines as men ceased breathing in the test chambers after being inoculated. And those men who didn’t even survive the first phase of testing were the best cases. Of the men who survived to make it into the second phase, many rejected the serum violently after a few minutes, coughing up blood and pus until their inevitable demise. Others, who lasted a smidgen longer, mutated into bloated monstrosities that eventually had to be put down out of mercy.

Neither Kent nor his colleagues had expected that they would live to see a successful trial of the formula. Not after everything that they had tried, all those promising tweaks and adjustments, failed. As he staggered through the hallways of the facility, alarms blaring in his ears, Kent realized how utterly foolish they had been, thinking that they could somehow usurp the delicate order of nature.

Kent stumbled along the pristine, sterile corridors of the Facility. The stark white lighting hurt his eyes as he clung to the smooth, metallic walls for support. Emergency and security personnel rushed past him, and an urgent female voice blasted out from the speakers placed at regular intervals along the ceiling. “Containment Breach! Containment Breach!”

The chaos made Kent’s head hurt. The voice, in particular, was inane. It was irritating. No one needed to be told that containment had been breached every other fucking second. Why won’t that robotic bitch shut the fuck up? he thought to himself.

Just this morning, Kent had been afraid for the safety and wellbeing of the only volunteer in their pool of subjects—one Tommy Crane, a young graduate whose promising acting career had taken a sharp nosedive for unspecified reasons. He had been concerned that like the countless other men that had come before him, Tommy would succumb to the serum, his body rejecting it and ceasing to function at best, or turning into a grotesque caricature of humanity at worst.

That hadn’t been the case. Instead, Tommy’s inoculation turned out to be a success far beyond anything Kent or his colleagues could have anticipated. The lithe, twinkish stature of Tommy grew into the huge, bulging musculature and sheer oozing masculinity of what Kent had dubbed “the beast.”

Kent had been afraid for Tommy’s life when really he should have been afraid for his own. He honestly couldn’t find it in himself to care about how the successful experiment had affected his colleagues. They had all, himself included, done a whole slew of unethical things in the name of their research, after all.

The very supply of test subjects that Kent and his colleagues performed their trials upon was of questionable ethics. Death row inmates, one and all sentenced for all manner of heinous, inhuman crimes, offered a chance for freedom in exchange for their willing participation in the research formed the bulk of their subject pool. And the worst part was that neither the Facility nor the government truly intended to set those men free.

Kent, however, had already made his peace with the fact that he was going to have to live with all that he did. Nothing could change what he had already let happen under his watch, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t find a way to prevent the project from ruining another life.

Kent needed to get out. He needed to escape. Blowing the whistle wasn’t his goal for two reasons: first, people were likely to dismiss him as a madman, and, second, the government would likely make him disappear if he did. And if he disappeared, there would be no one left to try and help Tommy return to his old self.

Whatever the creature was that the serum had created, it was not Tommy. Of that, Kent was sure. So sure that he was willing to bet his life on it. He needed to find a way to get rid of the beast and get back Tommy. That was his sole reason for wanting to escape. Otherwise, he would have elected to go down with this particular ship.

Getting out of the Facility was going to be difficult, though. Because of the containment breach, Kent suspected that the entire building was going to go under lockdown — if it hadn’t already. That alone would make escape improbable, if not impossible. Given that he had been present for the containment breach, personnel would be looking for him as soon as it was discovered that he was unaccounted for.

There was a tiny possibility that the security doors hadn’t come down yet, but it was a slim chance. Nevertheless, it was all that Kent had. He walked as fast as he could down the rapidly-emptying corridors to the nearest exit that he knew of.

Kent hunched over himself in an attempt to hide the erection that was still straining in his pants. Beyond the fear, beyond the adrenaline, beyond the concern and dismay that he felt, there was a stubborn arousal that clung to him.

There was still a part of Kent that refused to let go of the image of the huge, hulking body that the serum had endowed Tommy with. His mind’s eye clung on to the sight of the way those muscles rippled with every movement, and the sculpted, well-defined crevasses between the beast’s abdominals and pectorals. His fingers tingled with a desire to touch those bulging biceps and triceps. His mouth watered, eager for a taste of that huge cock that jutted out from between the beast’s legs and the big, juicy balls that dangled behind it.

Moaning under his breath, Kent stumbled through the corridors. His cock was so hard. The head was so sensitive. Every movement was a risk because every time his cock rubbed against his underwear the wrong way it sent a wave of pleasure crashing through him that threatened to send him to his knees.

It was getting harder and harder to think through the arousal that just wouldn’t go away. The only explanation that Kent could fathom was that he was still being affected by the pheromones. But that didn’t really make much sense. He was far enough away from the test chamber to be safe from the effects and the air filtration system would have made sure that the pheromones didn’t diffuse much further than that.

Before he could think much more on his situation, Kent rounded the corner to the exit. To his disappointment, a blast door had already lowered over it, blocking the way out. He would have tried going to another exit, but he knew better than to waste his time. If this one was closed, the others would be as well. Running away was no longer an option.

Kent turned around. His knees buckled as the motion rubbed his sensitive cock head against the fabric of his briefs. He moaned, fighting off the urge to reach down and give himself a stroke. Just one. Just to let off a little bit of the pleasure.

Kent was afraid that the pleasure was a slippery slope. That one stroke would turn to two. Then three. Then more than he would care to count. The last thing he wanted to do was to get caught in the middle of the hallway jerking off — by either containment personnel or the beast itself.

There were very few options left to Kent. The best place he could think of to run was his personal laboratory. He had the override codes for the door, which would mean that if he did the right things he would be the only one able to open and close it. He could be in relative safety in his laboratory, and it contained enough materials and equipment for him to start work on a cure while he waited for the crisis to blow over.

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Project ALPHA — Part One: The Beast

Kent Jamison is a scientist at the Facility and part of a secret research project aimed at developing a revolutionary serum that could improve living standards and extend lifespans significantly, as well as create the perfect soldier, but he has a few qualms about the experiment that is about to be performed on Tommy Crane, today’s subject, and the only volunteer to the program.

The program has so far only seen fatal rejections of the serum in all its test subjects, and having grown rather fond of Tommy, Kent is apprehensive for his safety. Although Tommy miraculously survives the procedure, Kent’s fears remain as he finds that the shy, bashful twink he’d grown attached to has become much, much more.

The Beast is a 5,100-word short story and the first part in a serial.

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Kent straightened his pristine white lab coat. In all his thirty years, he had never had a better opportunity to both advance his personal knowledge and innovate in his field than working at the Facility. But today, the lab coat he’d been so glad to receive five years ago weighed like lead upon his shoulders. The normally-comfortable cloth itched against his skin as just another sign of how uncertain he was about what they were going to do today.

But it wasn’t like they had any other choice. They had spent five long years working on a promising project that could possibly extend lives, prevent disease, and, because everything must have its military applications, improve the abilities of soldiers on the battlefield. They had also spent five long years failing to produce any results. There were near-misses, but they had been misses all the same.

The Facility was just one organization among dozens, and without results, its patrons were beginning to lose confidence. No, today had to happen because it was their last chance to secure the funding that was necessary to continue their operations. In any case, if today’s experiment failed, they were going to shut down, anyway, and it didn’t hurt to try one last time.

Kent knew all this. Rationally, the test had to happen. He had to see his research to its completion. They all did. But, emotionally, he was having a lot of trouble trying to process what was required to occur.

The door to the subject’s quarters hissed open in front of Kent, revealing a darkened room beyond. Kent walked in and clapped his hands. The lights turned on, though illuminating the room only dimly at first. Over the next minute or so, they gradually increased in brightness until the whole room was bathed in a clinical, sterile white light.

The young man on the bed tossed off his blanket and ran his fingers through his unkempt, dark hair as he yawned. He looked up and blinked blearily at Kent with his soft, green eyes. “Hi, Mr. Jamison,” said Tommy, voice slurred with grogginess as he reached up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Is it time?”

Thomas Crane was a special subject. One that, despite Kent knowing better, he had grown attached to. That was because unlike the criminals who were headed for death row who had signed up for this program only because they thought they could cheat the system, Tommy had volunteered. The young man had shown up one day, about a year ago, drenched from the torrential downpour of that night, grimy and beleaguered, and begged to be accepted into the program.

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Cruising For Piss (Gay Piss Play #2)

Mark is desperately horny — so desperate, he’s staked himself out at a park men’s room that doubles as a popular cruising spot, hoping to have some fun with the next man who walks through the door. His jaw just about drops and his lust almost overwhelms him when he sees who’s come to scope him out and pick him up — a masculine, hairy, muscular leather bear, a man who exudes sex and seems built for porn. But what starts as a simply meeting of two horny men for a discreet encounter very quickly turns into a piss-filled orgy, pushing Mark to the edges of — and beyond — his limits and what he believes himself capable of.

5,600-word short story

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I unzip my jeans and let my cock hang out. I don’t have to piss, but this is the park washroom supposedly notorious for hookups. I’m so fucking horny — so desperate for cock — that I’m willing to hang out in this men’s room for as long as it takes to get a cock in my mouth or my ass, or preferably both.

My cock is already semi-hard and throbbing with every heartbeat. I grab it and start stroking, pumping my fist back and forth, pleasuring my dick. I have to hold off from coming, hold off from shooting my wad, because I need a cock in me before getting off. Otherwise, I’ll just be back here tomorrow, waiting for the same thing.

If what I’ve read online is true, that this is a cruising spot, it shouldn’t take long, especially with me being a young twink. The door squeaks as it swings open and a set of heavy footsteps come tromping through the washroom.

I let the back of my pants sag a bit, so that whoever came in could see the top of my ass, framed by the band of my red jockstrap. If this is some straight dude or park security, I’m not over the top, but if it’s a desperate gay guy like me, then it’s a clear signal of what I need.

My eyes bug out and my jaw just about drops when the man comes to the urinal right beside me — out of the seven urinals lined up along the wall, he chooses the one right next to mine — he’s the biggest, butchest leather muscle bear I’ve ever seen. Good God, he’s porn star quality. His black leather vest and black leather pants hug him in all the right places, accentuating his bulging muscles and the fatness of his crotch. His bare and hairy arms glisten with sweat from this hot summer day. I look up at his face — rugged and bearded, with a shaved head — and feel my cock get fiercely hard in my hand.

I watch as he raises his hand and puts a sausage-like finger in his mouth, getting it nice and wet. Then he reaches in the back of my pants, grabs my ass, and shoves that saliva-slickened finger in my hole. I groan and my knees nearly buckle as he keeps pushing his finger in me, until it’s fully embedded in my ass.

With his other hand, he unzips his fly and let’s his fat cock hang out. The silver cock ring tight around the base of his dick and balls shines brightly in the fluorescent light. I watch in awe as a thick golden stream arcs from the slit of his dick and splatters on the dirty porcelain. When the bowl of the urinal is half full of his dark piss, he lets go of his cock and lets his piss stream splatter all over the place — the wall, the floor, my pants — and pulls me close to kiss me. He shoves his tongue deep in my mouth, playing with my tonsils, and the scruff on his face scratches against my lips.

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Pissing My Pants In Public (Gay Piss Play #1)

William is having a great time in the beer tent at Pride, until he realizes just how full his bladder is and just how far the portapotties are. Running to the heads is a race against time — one that he loses when he stumbles to the ground and his bladder lets loose. He flees into the woods in shame, only to be followed by a leather bear who saw the whole thing. And that bear has an offer — he’ll drive Randy home, but only if he’s up for a little more wet fun.

5,500-word short story

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“I gotta take a piss — I’ll be right back,” I tell my buddies as I get to my feet. The world spins as I do so and I grab the back of a friend’s chair to steady myself. I’m drunker than I thought I was.

The loud music of the Pride festival pounds through the air, surrounding us here in the beer tent. But even above that noise, I can hear my buddies laughing at me. I’m the lightweight of the group — they always joke about it, calling me the “two drink bottom twink.”

I ignore them and weave my way through the tables toward the exit. The portapotties — I need to find the portapotties. With every step I take, it’s like my bladder gets fuller. I start getting that tingly feeling that starts in my crotch and spreads to my core — my body’s telling me that if I don’t get to a portapotty quick, I’m gonna fucking piss my pants.

I start to feel panicked. I’m close to bursting, but I can’t even see the heads from where I am. I break into a wobbly trot that turns into a clumsy run as I try to get to the blue plastic stalls as fast as my twink ass can get there. As I round a bend, I’m sure I feel a little bit leaking out, soaking the jockstrap I’m wearing beneath my skintight jeans.

Hoping to stave off another leak, I grind the heel of my hand against my dick, trying to hold everything in place. Finally! I see a line of tall, blue boxes past a crowd of people. My clumsy run turns into a full-on sprint across the stretch of field between me and the heads.

I slow down, just slightly, as I approach the crowd of people. Is this a line? A fucking line? I need to get in the portapotty in the next two seconds or it’s all over for me.

“Excuse me,” I mutter as I bump past someone. “Pardon me. Sorry. Sorry. Excuse me. Excuse me. Pardon me.” I finally push past the last person between me and relief — a muscular leather bear — and finally my drunken footsteps give out and I tumble to the ground in front of this masculine man.

And that moment of sweet release hits — right when I so desperately don’t want it. It’s too late, I can’t stop it — and now that it’s started and I’ve already ruined my day, I wouldn’t even stop it if I could. My bladder empties out, my piss coming in a torrent inside my jockstrap and jeans.

My hot, wet piss soaks through the denim and spreads, making my whole lap steaming. I let out a moan of intense pleasure as I continue to empty out. Pissing never felt as good as it does right now.

Finally ... finally ... my flow turns into a dribble and then it ends. It’s like awareness returns to me in bits and pieces. The last several seconds — minutes? — were so all-consumed by the relief of pissing myself that I had forgotten for the moment where I was and the predicament I’m now in.

The first thing I hear is laughter. It isn’t the laughter of responding to a joke — no, this is much more mocking. This is the laughter of shame. Fuck. I open my eyes and find dozens of people staring at me. Pointing. Laughing. Fuck — a couple guys have their phones out and are filming me. The leather bear looms over me with a smirk on his face.

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The President And The Rentboy

Newly inaugurated as the President of the United States of America, Daniel Grant has a secret. Despite winning a surprise upset election, built on a campaign filled with raucous rallies and an oft-repeated promise to deport illegal immigrants, Daniel is unhappy. While the media loves to speculate about him and his trophy wife, Melanie, the truth is there is no love in their relationship — moreover, as time goes on, Daniel is coming to understand that he prefers men. Itching for some sexual release, a senator discreetly hands him a phone number for Ricky — a rentboy.

Each sexy encounter with this seductive younger man leaves Daniel panting for more. But while his private sex life amps up, so, too, does his public political life, including increasing pressures from his vice-president to deport all illegal immigrants and bring about religious freedom laws so business can discriminate against LGBT customers.

Daniel struggles to balance his personal and public lives, to somehow continue seeing Ricky, despite the intense media scrutiny of everything the president does. Forbidden love is never easy, but it becomes near impossible when Daniel learns that Ricky, the young man he loves and desires so much, is an illegal immigrant from Mexico.

The President And The Rentboy is a 20,000-word novella.

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The twink — Ricky — came in. Brad closed the door, leaving just me and the young man in the room.

“I recognize you...” Ricky said, trailing off. My blood suddenly ran cold, but then he added, “But I can’t place it.”

I almost wondered if he was playing me. I was on the news almost every day — I was a huge celebrity — how could someone not know who I was? I eyed him up and down, my gaze lingering just a little too long on his bulge. He didn’t strike me as the type that watched the news, but, still, I was easily the most recognizable person in the United States.

“I hope you’ll understand if I don’t make the connection for you.”

Ricky nodded. No doubt, he had done this before. Ricky was a rentboy — a prostitute — who specialized in catering to the needs of men in positions of great power, men who could be brought down by the mere mention of a gay sex scandal. I didn’t know all of Ricky’s clients, didn’t know if I even wanted that knowledge, but a senator had passed his name and number to me when he had figured out what I was yearning for. That senator said he didn’t use Ricky anymore, but had very fond memories of him.

“Yeah, I understand. You have a first name, though? Something I can moan in the throes of passion?” He unzipped his jacket, revealing a tight red shirt underneath — it hugged his slender frame and emphasized his pecs.

My mind tumbled in panic. If I gave him my name, he’d know who I was, and that would be the first step to the end of everything. But the rational part of my mind broke through — Ricky had signed a nondisclosure agreement and came highly recommended by a man who had almost as much to lose as me.

“Dan,” I finally said, voice barely more than a whisper. Few people called me Dan, most preferring my full name, Daniel. It felt right, though, that I would give Ricky a more intimate form of my name.

Ricky arched his eyebrow again and he looked me up and down. He still seemed to be struggling to make the connection of who I was. Eventually, he seemed to give up. Shrugging the jacket off his shoulders, he tossed it onto a nearby chair.

With the jacket off, he seemed even slimmer and younger. The shirt clung tightly to him, leaving nothing to the imagination, but still somehow making him even more tantalizing. The bottom of the shirt seemed to end a half-inch before the top of his jeans, giving me a glimpse of the rich brown skin of his Latin heritage. And his jeans hugged him as tightly as his shirt — I could almost see the outline of his bulge. When he noticed me looking him over, he did a little circle for me, giving me a glimpse of his astounding ass. It looked round and firm, filling out his jeans perfectly. I couldn’t wait to slide my tongue between those cheeks, to make him wet before I pushed my cock in there.

I stood up and crossed the room to him. He was a good six inches shorter than me. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him close and shove my tongue down his throat, to grope him and make him moan, but I was suddenly overcome by nervousness. If only the public could see me now — not only for the supposed moral depravity of the situation, but for my sudden meekness. I wasn’t known as a weak-willed man.

Instead, I walked in a slow circle around Ricky. I could smell him — clean with a hint of scented soap. He was a feast for every sense so far — but I still had to know how he tasted and how his skin felt against mine. Fuck, I was straining in my briefs.

When I came around to the front of him again, he looked up at me through his long eyelashes.

“You like what you see, Dan?”

“I do,” I said, feeling a little more confident. “You’re gorgeous, Ricky.”

He was young, too, but I’d had Brad double-check the kid’s ID. He was in his early twenties, just like he’d said — but with me more than double his age, he just seemed even younger, making this all the more illicit.

“Don’t you want to...” he paused to tilt his head back and lick his lips, making his mouth seem plump and moist, and exposing the length of his slender neck, “kiss me?”

That was all the encouragement I needed. I put one hand behind his head and the other at the small of his back and pressed my lips against his. He kissed me back hungrily and soon our mouths were open and my tongue was brushing against his. Ricky seemed to melt in my hands as he pressed against my body, succumbing entirely to me and my will. I slid my hand down the back of his tight pants, groping his bare ass cheeks. They were smooth — exactly as I expected of him.

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Taking My Son’s Butt Cherry

Ted has always been close with his sons. When they were still children, it was just innocent affection, but as they got older, that closeness never faded. If anything, it got stronger, especially with Dylan, his youngest, when he would often spend late nights with Ted that ended with him snuggled up in his dad’s arms on the couch.

When Ted’s wife dies, that closeness with Dylan only intensifies as Dylan starts joining his father in bed, cuddling up close and leaving Ted uncomfortably aroused. The intense connection builds until finally, one night, unable to hold back anymore, Ted makes a move on his son, satisfying an urge for immediate erotic gratification. He feels guilty, but soon learns that this pleasure isn’t quite so forbidden. As it turns out, Dylan wants it just as bad as he does.

17,500-word novella

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Things got tough around the house after Donna, my wife, passed away. She did a lot of things for us and I didn’t realize how much I relied on her, even though our marriage had tapered out in the last few years and we’d lived more or less as roommates. One moment it was life as usual, the next, I was a widowed father of two, self-made millionaire from an online multimedia company, and the big house we’d lived in, which was big enough for a family of ten, suddenly felt way too big.

In those last years before she died, I’d spent more time with my sons and found I got closer with them, especially my youngest, Dylan. Movie nights with Donna soon became movie nights with the boys. We’d even stay up late sometimes and watch several movies. Scottie, the older by two years, would often go to bed but Dylan and I would stay up and sometimes he’d curl up in my arms and nestle against my lap.

At first, it was just comfortable to be close with him, like when he was a little boy and he wanted to snuggle up with his daddy, but during those movie nights, I found, after he’d fall asleep and curl up, his head near to my crotch, that when I shifted to get closer to him I’d turn so my crotch was closer to his chest, the pressure sending a rush of excitement that had me hard as a rock. I’d put my hand on his back and massage his shoulders, feel his mouth against my chest, and think of how good his soft, warm lips felt through the fabric of my button-up shirt.

Then Donna died unexpectedly of an aneurism in her sleep. I was so shocked by it, I didn’t cry until after five days, and even then the tears were ones of guilt. I blamed myself for letting our love die, and felt so lonely; in some ways, even blamed myself for her death, found myself awake many nights wondering if I’d taken a bit more time to try rekindling what we had if she might have lived.

Donna was gone, and the boys were all I had left. After the guilt passed, there was loneliness, but there was Dylan and Scottie, always with me, and they helped me heal. They spent a lot of time comforting me, helping me around the house, making sure I was all right.

We still had our movie nights, but even when we didn’t, Dylan would often come to my bed after Scottie went to sleep and cuddle up with me. It was innocent on his part, I was sure of it, but I was lonelier than ever and those nights I couldn’t get over how good it felt to have him with me. I’d put my arms around him and snuggle him close, pressing my hard erection shamelessly against his bottom.

If he noticed, he never told me, so this became a thing that we did every night when he’d curl up in my bed. I even found that when he got into my bed he’d turn, facing away, and would push his bubble butt against my waist as I pulled the cover up over us and nestled him in my arm, so I didn’t question it. I’ve always been a go with the flow kind of guy.

One night, after I was spooning him and my cock was throbbing with the pressure and warmth of his butt crack against it, I couldn’t hold back anymore, so I started to move back and forth a little, after I could hear Dylan sleeping. It didn’t take long before I felt my cock pulse and explode with an orgasm unlike any I’d had in years. Cum pumped out so hard I could feel it flooding my underwear, shooting hard against the fabric, but I just kept humping and didn’t want the pleasure to stop. Finally, when I was empty and spent, I wrapped my arm tighter around my son and pulled him close, sinking deep into sleep. In the morning, when he got up, I noticed the yellowed stain of my dried cum all over his pajama bottoms, and couldn’t help grinning in satisfaction at how I’d not only shot my wad so hard it went right through my underwear, but how I’d also marked my son in a way so intimate and secret. When he left for school I found I was hard already thinking about what it would be like to do it again when the day was over, and so I couldn’t wait for the day to end.

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Erotic Love and Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest

Father Peter has devoted his life to the Roman Catholic Church — but not entirely because he is a man of God.  For him, a life of chastity and piety is the perfect place for a closeted gay man to hide from himself.

Try as he might to live a pure life, his forbidden desires chip away at him, leading him on a path of carnal sins that starts with a simple, anonymous, and discreet online encounter.  But that supposed anonymous encounter, with a man just as closeted as Peter, takes an uncomfortable turn when that same man shows up in confessional, wanting to talk with Peter in person.

Unable to lie to himself any longer, and suddenly willing to risk his entire career and life, Peter does the one thing he never dreamed he’d be able to do — he reaches out and touches another man.  He can’t take back what he’s done and can’t pretend it didn’t happen, so that leaves Peter with only one option, to move forward and experience the erotic pleasures found only in the act of gay sex.

Erotic Love & Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest is a 29,000-word novella.

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I was about to shut off my computer and forget the whole thing, but then the screen flickered and Mark’s webcam feed showed up. And he was naked. And he was exactly as I’d pictured him. At least, his body was — like me, he wasn’t showing his face.

My fear dissipated when it finally sunk in that I was doing this, that this was real, that Mark was naked and already hard and that he couldn’t possibly be a violent homophobe.

I waved my hand awkwardly. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Mark said, his voice sounding deep and masculine, though slightly tinny through my crappy speakers.

“It’s good to finally, well, see you, I guess,” I said. I was so nervous and at a total loss for what to say.

“Yeah,” Mark said. There was tension straining his voice. I could tell he was just as nervous about this whole thing as I was. He had told me he’d never been with a man before — never even shown himself on webcam, either. This was as much a first for him as it was for me.

I leaned back in my leather office chair, still making sure the webcam feed ended at my neck. I ran my hands down from my chest, over my nipples, across my stomach, and ending at the root of my cock. This seemed to have an effect on Mark — he grabbed his dick and started fondling it, holding his heavy balls in one hand and lightly stroking his shaft with the other.

I mirrored his movements, touching myself in the same manner. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before — being single and in my thirties meant I’d done more than my share of masturbation — but it felt much more ... erotic now than it had ever felt before. The difference this time was that I had an audience — a man who was as turned on by my body as I was by his.

My tumescent cock solidified, growing harder and longer. The head of my cock shone as the skin stretched.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Mark said, his voice sounding deep and husky. He was growing as thick and hard as me. “So much hotter than I imagined.”

“Mmm ... you, too.” I flicked my thumb over the head of my cock, spreading the pearl of precum that had gathered there, making my the crown of my cock wet.

Mark was everything I was drawn to in a man — masculine and thick. His chest had the developed pecs of a man who worked out when he was younger and his chest and torso were broad, but trim. His nipples poked through his thin layer of chest hair, beckoning to me and my mouth. I’d never touched another man, never held one, never kissed one, never licked one. Yet, I had an overwhelming desire to suck those dark nubs and then nibble on them, make them diamond-hard while I stroked his dick — or, even better, as I rode his cock, shoved deep into my ass, my hole stretched to accommodate its girth.

A tremble ran through me as orgasm almost threatened to overtake me. I snapped out of my fantasy and stopped jacking, tensing my core muscles, fighting back against the oncoming eruption. When the sensation abated, I looked back at the screen and at Mark. He was stroking quickly and dripping precum, glistening trails running down his shaft and making his fist wet. The light in his room reflected off his slick cock, illuminating it like some holy relic. My mouth watered again as I thought of getting on my knees between his legs and licking up and down his shaft, lapping up the precum and stimulating his dick with my tongue and mouth. And then I’d open my lips and take him in me, swallowing him down to the root, stimulating and pleasuring his cock until he exploded in my mouth, painting my tongue with his cum and filling me so quick that my only option was to swallow it all down.

“Fuck,” I moaned and threw my head back, still stroking my length and fondling my balls. My imagination alone was enough to get me off — and the fact that I was fantasizing over an actual person that was into me, too, and not some random porn star only shifted my erotic imagination into overdrive.

I looked at the screen again. Mark was pumping his fist furiously, turning into a blur over the low-quality video feed. Fuck, he was long and thick — I wished I could get that in my ass, that I could sit on him and sink down until he was totally and completely buried in me. I’d never taken a cock before, but I somehow knew I would love having that one inside me.

I felt another surge of pleasure in my dick — and this time I knew I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m gonna cum,” I said, my words catching in a gasp as my orgasm mounted.

“Do it,” Mark said. “Fucking blow your cum for me.”

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My Black Master: Gay Erotica Bundle

This hot and sweaty bundle collects all five of Sandra Claire’s gay prison erotica stories. Each throbbing volume follows the journey of Adam as he submits, obeys, and comes to depend entirely on Tyrone, his black master.

Included in this volume are:

SUBMITTING TO MY BLACK MASTER: It’s Adam’s first day in prison and he has Tyrone, a terrifying and sexy black Dom, as his cellmate!
PLEASING MY BLACK MASTER: Adam has happily been Tyrone’s submissive for the past week, an arrangement that’s kept him sexually satisfied and physically safe in his new life in prison. Today, though, he’s lusting for some of the other men he’s seen in the showers.
MY BLACK MASTER PROTECTOR: Not everyone in prison is happy with Adam submitting to Tyrone. Paco, one of the most dangerous men in prison, is determined to steal Adam and make him his own!
SHARED BY MY BLACK MASTER: To prepare for Adam’s upcoming release from prison, his Master has a new erotic task for him.
LUSTING FOR MY BLACK MASTER: Adam’s Master is finally released from prison, but the first thing Master asks is the question Adam doesn’t want to answer: “Did you behave while we were apart?”

WARNING: This 32,000-word short story collection contains several explicit sex scenes between a submissive twink and dominating, powerful, older men, that will get you hot and bothered, and is intended for mature adults only.

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A heavy set of footsteps echoed up the range, coming our way. I looked at the cell door and saw a portly guard walk by, looking in our cell to ensure Tyrone and I were both inside. I made eye contact with the guard and he gave me a look of pity, a look that told me he knew I wouldn’t last long, and then he continued on, checking the rest of the cells. Ten minutes later, the lights went out in all the cells, leaving only a dim illumination from the corridor.

My heart pounded in my chest and I knew my eyes were bug-eyed. I tried to still my breathing to calm my entire body, so that I could listen for any movements below me. Would he do it tonight? After what felt like half an hour of total silence and stillness, my heart calmed and my eyes drifted closed. Maybe I would be okay.

Then I heard the rustle of fabric from the bed beneath me. I strained to hear any further sounds, but it was silent. Okay, he just rolled over.

I jerked and gasped when a hand landed over my mouth.

“Don’t scream, white boy.” Tyrone’s voice was low and harsh in my ear. “Now get on your fuckin’ knees.”

He released his hand from my face and I didn’t scream — I was too terrified to do so. I shuffled to the edge of the bunk and hopped down, but in my nervousness, I stumbled and fell to my knees in front of him. Something heavy and warm slapped my forehead.

Oh, God, it was his cock. And it was fucking huge!

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Lusting For My Black Master

Adam is out of prison, but his Master is not, and the sexual frustration is driving Adam wild. Nobody can do what Master does to him — nobody can even come close — yet that doesn’t stop Adam from going on a desperate search to find what he needs. But when Master gets out of prison early, and Adam can finally be with him, Master asks him the one question he doesn’t want to answer: “Did you behave while we were apart?”

Lusting For My Black Master picks up after the events of Shared By My Black Master, and is the final entry in the My Black Master series.

WARNING: This 7,000-word short story contains several explicit sex scenes between a submissive twink and dominating, powerful, older men, that will get you hot and bothered, and is intended for mature adults only.

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I gasped and rocketed back into the waking world. The blanket tangled around me, restricting me, confining me, trapping me. I threw it on the floor and sat there, chest heaving with gasping breaths. The sweat coating my skin chilled in the cool air of the apartment.

The apartment. I was no longer in prison. I had to keep reminding myself that.

For most people, I’m sure they had bad memories of prison and they were glad to be free of it. For me, it was the opposite. Prison was where I found myself, where I discovered that, at heart, I am a submissive gay bottom who lives to serve a dominant black master.

Master. Tyrone. I missed him badly. I’d only been out for a couple weeks, but every day felt like a month. It felt like I’d been separated from Master for years already.


I turned on the lamp behind my head. In the weak light, I could make out the shadows of the living room of John’s apartment. He stood in the doorway, wearing only a pair of boxers. He was a little pudgy and quite hairy — he had an attractive older daddy look to him that often made me horny.

I had been sleeping on John’s couch. John had been the first person I met in prison — a kind, older man, he had originally felt sorry for me sharing a cell with Tyron, because all previous cellmates of Tyrone’s had been rushed to the hospital with anal trauma. I was the first one that could not only take Master’s giant dick, but also the first one who seemed to truly enjoy it.

Master had commanded me to submit to John while I waited for Master to be released from prison. That commandment had also included submitting to John sexually. While sex with John was enjoyable, he was no match for Master. No one was. No one ever could be.

“I’m okay,” I said. Although John could never match the sexual energy of Master, he had a seductive masculinity that I suddenly felt a burning need to have inside me. I let my gaze trail down his dad-belly and settle on the bulge in his boxers. I felt my cock stirring in my briefs, growing thick as I thought about John’s meat. “But ... maybe sucking on a cock will help me get back to sleep.”

John smiled lasciviously, then groped his bulge as he crossed the room toward me. I propped myself up on my hands and knees on the couch, my mouth at the perfect height for his incoming cock. He stood in front of me and ran his fingers through my hair, still groping himself with his other hand.

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