Category: Sandra Claire

The Frat Boy And The MILF

Jason is a frat boy with a thing for older women.

He prefers the experience and maturity these women bring—they’re so much better in bed than the sorority girls he typically hooks up with. Only a MILF can truly satisfy him. So when Jane stops by his frat house to take some photos for an upcoming college life promotional campaign, he can’t help but be captivated by this gorgeous MILF. From the size of her tits to the huskiness of her voice, she’s got it all—and he’s got it bad.

The photoshoot starts innocently enough with Jane just taking pictures of the living space of the frat house, but then it gets playful when she asks him to pose for a few photos.

Through it all, Jason can’t tell if she’s as interested in him as he is in her, or if her turning him into her model is all just for the benefit of the photoshoot. But then she finds out he’s a football player with the body that goes along with it—and she asks him to strip down to his underwear.

Jason’s horniest fantasy is about to come true.

The Frat Boy And The MILF is a 5,000 word short story.

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I held the football in the crook of my arm and just stood there, trying to give her my best smile. She walked around me, snapping pics from different angles and different heights. I noticed that she made sure not to capture the corner of the room in the any of the pics, the corner where my mirror hung on the wall, and Playboy centerfolds were posted all around it. In between pics, I side-eyed the mirror to ensure there weren’t any dried cum streaks on it. That was my masturbation corner.

“Huh,” she said as she flipped through the photos.

“What’s wrong?” I tried to crane my neck to see over the top of the camera, to se what was setting that unpleasant look on her face.

But then she looked up at me with a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “That shirt isn’t really making you look athletic. Um...would you mind taking it off?” She glanced away when she asked the question, like she was embarrassed or turned on. Hopefully it’s because she was turned on.

“No problem,” I said as I lifted my shirt over my head. I wanted to rip it right off, but I had to play it cool.
I think she thought I wasn’t looking her way, but I caught her eyeing my chest and her eyes flaring open. I think she also made a mmm sound.

But as soon as I tossed my shirt on top of the laundry basket and looked back her way, she was all professional again. I picked up the football again and she took some more pics. Eventually, she got down on her knees in front of me to take photos from that low vantage point.

“Perfect,” she murmured as she paused to look through a couple photos. She was still on the floor, sitting on her heels.

It didn’t escape my attention that her face was at the level of my dick. When she looked up at me, my now prominent bulge was in our direct line of sight. She didn’t notice it, or at least did a damn good job of ignoring it. I didn’t know if I should take that as a good sign or not; it at least didn’t make her uncomfortable. Maybe she was just a tease?

“One more pose,” she said as she stood up. As she got to her feet, her shoulder brushed along the length of my shaft in a way that I could only describe as being fully on purpose. She pointed at my bed. “Sit there, leaning against the wall.”

I did as ordered. My bed squeaked when I got on it, but quieted down as soon as I was seated and leaning my back against the wall. It was then that I realized I’d left the football on the floor and out of reach.

“Can you pass me that?” I asked, pointing to it.

“No need,” she said, stepping closer. She got down on her knees and rested her elbows on the bed and snapped a few pictures. She looked at the display and smiled. “Perfect.” She snapped a few more. “Would you, uh, be open to taking off your pants? I mean, you’re wearing underwear, right?”

“My-my pants?”

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The Delivery Boy And The MILF

Geoffrey is nineteen and has taken a summer job as a bike courier, hustling documents from one office to another. Near the end of the day, he makes a stop at his favorite stop — the office where Cassandra works.

Cassandra is a MILF through and through. At least twice Geoffrey’s age, she’s got the maturity and experience he craves in a woman, plus the fact that she has a bangin’ bod only adds to her appeal. He’s had more than one late night one-handed session thinking about her.

Just as he’s dropped off the package and is about to head on to his next stop, Cassandra steps out of her office and beckons to him. It’s almost like something out of one of those late night fantasies — she calls him into her office, closes the door, and talks about how he needs to do better to please her.

But it crosses the line from fantasy to reality when she closes the blinds and sheds her clothes.

Soon, Geoffrey is living out all of his wildest fantasies.

The Delivery Boy And The MILF is a 4,500-word short story.

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I don’t have to look. I know that voice. Cassandra Miller, the office manager here. She is a banging hot MILF but intimidating as fuck. I always get both a boner and a shudder of fear every time we cross paths.

When I slowly turn to face her, I feel my dick grow hard and I struggle to suppress a shudder. Every damn time.

“Yes?” I squeak out. I clear my throat and try to deepen my voice. “Yes, Ms. Miller?”

She puts her hand on her hips, a position that makes the open neck of her button-up shirt stretch open just a little more, giving just a hint of the fullness of her cleavage. She’s absolutely gorgeous. Blonde hair cut just at her shoulders, smooth face, banging body, full boobs, and a hot hourglass figure.

I’ve jacked off many times while thinking about her.

“Come with me,” she says and turns on her heel, sashaying to her office door just around the corner from the reception desk. I watch her ass swing side to side in that tight black skirt of hers.

I try to look casual and hold the clipboard in front of my crotch and then hurry after her. When I round the corner to her office door, I find her waiting for me. I squeeze past her and she shuts her door. This is how some of my masturbatory fantasies have started — so it’s not helping me control my boner.

“Sit down,” she says in a tone of voice that clearly says don’t fuck with me, boy.

I obediently sit, secretly thankful for the momentary excuse to legitimately put the clipboard over my straining dick.

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The Pool Boy and The MILF

Tommy has a thing for MILFs. One MILF in particular — Mrs. Williams — has caught his eye and he secretly lusts after her while he cleans her pool. One on particularly hot summer day, Mrs. Williams comes out with a pitcher of lemonade to help him cool down… but things soon get scorching hot… and Tommy’s wildest MILF fantasy comes true…

The Pool Boy And The MILF is a 3,600-word short story.

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The sound of the back door turns my attention back to the house. Mrs. Williams is walking toward me with a tray containing a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

“You’re looking a little hot, Tommy,” she says, with a warm smile. “Thought you might need a drink to cool you down.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Williams, I definitely do.” I lay the net down on the deck and join her at the poolside table. She places the tray down and pours lemonade into the glasses. When she hands me my glass, our fingers touch and I get a sudden jolt to my dick. It was a passing touch, harmless, but with where my mind is right now, it’s an incredible turn on.

I chug back half the glass, hoping the cold lemonade will cool the inferno of my building lust. Then I watch her take a dainty sip from her glass and then follow a bead of perspiration as it rolls down her neck and into the hollow of her cleavage.

She’s got a tight, white T-shirt on, with what looks like a floral bikini top beneath. Her outfit is finished off with cut-off jeans that ride high on her tanned thighs.

The lemonade is doing nothing to cool me down. My cock is at full attention, surely tenting my shorts if I would dare to look down.

Mrs. Williams quickly eyes me up and down and lets out a soft chuckle. My cheeks warm with a blush of embarrassment — I know she saw my boner tenting my shorts.

“Call me Sharon,” she says, as she puts her glass down on the tray. She takes a moment to stretch, thrusting her chest toward me. My eyes lock on her tits and my mind empties.


She chuckles again and says, “You don’t need to call me Mrs. Williams. Sharon is nicer. It’s more … intimate.”

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A Night to Remember

Anna and Trevor are in a rut—like any married couple, their sex life has become monotonous, routine, and dull. But tonight is different.

Anna and Trevor are determined to reignite the burning passion they once had by pretending to be strangers who meet in a hotel bar. It seems like a tame enough activity, but their night of adventure takes an unexpectedly erotic turn when they venture outside for a moonlight stroll.

When they lose their clothes and find themselves trapped outside, under the moonlight, they can’t keep their hands off each other, and soon, all concern about discretion and propriety disappear as their reignited passions take over.

A Night To Remember is a 5,800-word short story.

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Even from across the room, I felt the heat from him when his gaze settled on me. He wove around the tables as he crossed the room. Maybe it was the pretence of the game, or maybe it was the way my dress kept me physically aroused, but I was more turned on by the sight of him than I’d been in a long time.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said as he came up beside me. He laid his hand casually on the small of my back and I felt it slide south, to the top curve of my ass. “Could I keep you company this evening?”

I looked him in the eyes and then let my gaze trail down his body. For my answer, I pulled the cherry out of my drink and placed it between my lips, plucking off the stem, then winked at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. He sat on the stool next to me, facing me, with our knees brushing. He waved over the bartender and ordered a whisky. Our eyes locked and didn’t move as the bartender served up his drink. Trevor put money on the counter and we had our privacy again. “What brings a gorgeous woman like you to a place like this?”

“I guess I was just looking for some ... excitement.” I lifted my right leg to cross over my left, but as I did so, I raised my short dress, showing him my cooch. I saw his attention zero in on it, just like I’d intended. I finally crossed my legs and lay my dress over my thighs. When he finally looked up at me again, his cheeks were red with heat and his eyes only held desire. Me being without underwear hadn’t been part of the plan.

“Maybe I — maybe I can provide that excitement,” he said, stumbling over his words. He laid a hand on my bare thigh and my skin burned with heat at the contact, filling me with desire and need.

I leaned forward, giving him an ample view down my top. “What did you have in mind?” I trailed my fingers up one of his legs, from his knee, up his thigh, and then gently across his bulge. He was hard. For me.

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Forbidden Desires: The Complete Series

There are some lines not mean to be crossed ... some desires that are forbidden. But try as one might, some taboos are simply too irresistible to hold sacred.

From a young man hooking up with his best friend’s dad, someone he’s always considered to be like a father, to a priest who engages in carnal sins with a parishioner, to a bombastic American president and his illicit love affair with an illegal Mexican rentboy ... these men explore the forbidden, indulging in their deepest, darkest desires.

Collected in one volume are three such stories — tales of forbidden passions and devious desires.

Forbidden Desires is a 78,000-word bundle that collects Seduced By My Best Friend’s Dad, Erotic Love and Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest, and The President And The Rentboy.

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Still not breaking eye contact with Richard, Jay willed his fingers back to life, massaging Richard’s upper thigh. With every squeeze of his fingers, he moved his hand half an inch closer to that patch of ball skin. With every passing moment, he felt the tension build in both of them, like he was waiting for Richard to call him a pervert or Richard was waiting for Jay to burst out laughing at the prank. But then his fingertips brushed against that warm, soft, wrinkled, hairy skin, and the tension deflated from both of them.

“Jay...” Richard said, his voice a mere whisper. It was filled with lust and need, happiness and contentment. He wanted this — needed this.

Jay brushed the skin, rubbing his fingers back and forth, then carefully worked his hand under Richard’s shorts and boxers. Soon he had one meaty ball rolling between his fingers. It was almost plum-sized, firm and round. He squeezed the ball lightly, tugged it gently, and Richard let out a low moan, falling back on his elbows on the rock, head cast back. Jay eased his other hand in the other pant leg and grabbed Richard’s other ball, giving it the same massage treatment. He rubbed both balls, smoothing out the skin, holding them firm in his grasp. The long bulge in the middle of the pile of fabric at Richard’s crotch twitched.

Shifting to grasp both balls in one hand, Jay slid his fingers reverently up the length of Richard’s cock, watching the man’s face for any reaction that this was going too far. But Richard was too far gone, too lost in the heat of the moment to ever say no — Jay knew he had Richard, that the man was putty in his hands, but that he had willingly and knowingly put himself there.

He still didn’t understand it — Richard was straight and married and the very fact that Jay was his son’s best friend should have put up some immediate boundaries, placed him off limits. But those boundaries were obviously being ignored. The almost father-son relationship they’d developed over the years also wasn’t a boundary that could stop them. If anything, that closeness only added to the intimacy of the moment. Jay was giving pleasure to the man he’d looked up to all these years.

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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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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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Shared By My Black Master

Adam’s time in prison is almost over and he doesn’t know what he’ll do without his Master by his side. While Master will soon be out of jail, too, it won’t be for several months later, a very long time to be without his Master. However, Master has a plan to keep Adam under control and fully submissive while they are apart, a plan that includes sharing Adam with a new, temporary Master. To prove this plan will work, Adam must submit sexually to his new stand-in Master — something he’s unsure of, at first, but something he very quickly realizes will open new worlds of erotic pleasure.

Shared By My Black Master picks up after the events of My Black Master Protector.

WARNING: This 6,000-word short story contains an explicit sex scene between a submissive twink and two dominating men that will get you hot and bothered, and is intended for mature adults only.

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I blinked several times to clear the thoughts of John and I from my mind. “Sorry, Sir. I was just thinking of tonight. I hope that what I do with John will please you, Sir.”

A grin grew and spread across Master’s lips. He was so handsome when he was happy. It occurred to me then that it was almost time for John to come to our cell and have his way with me.

“Good,” he said. “John’s a good guy, so I’m sure you’ll do fine with him. It’s also clear he cares deeply for you as a friend.”

“Sir...” I said, as thoughts started to come to me, “what are the limits on what John can do with me? Or are there no limits?”

“No limits, kid. John has complete and total control over you — but only when I tell him he has it.”

I marvelled at the power that Master had. It seemed that through the process of arranging this, he had pulled John under his control. Yes, John could do whatever he wanted with me, but only when Master allowed it. John seemed to be one step away from being a sub alongside myself. I think the only thing that prevented that from happening was that I doubted Master had any sexual interest in John. In fact, that may be why Master arranged this — since he saw no attractiveness in John, he didn’t consider John a serious threat to the Master/sub relationship that we had. I doubted Master would’ve arranged this with a younger, more attractive man to be my stand-in Master.

The soft shuffle of feet drew my attention to the door of our cell. The range was unnaturally quiet this evening — I bet Master had something to do with that — so the almost imperceptible sound of John’s footsteps was surprisingly loud.

John walked in with his hands in his pockets and his gaze downcast. When he came to a stop, he looked up at us rather shyly.

Master stood up and walked over to John, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Given the harsh tone, it sounded like instructions. I could’ve sworn I heard the words “be confident.” John nodded and Master looked back at me.

“I’ll be back in half an hour. I’ll ensure you have complete privacy until then. Do me proud, kid,” Master said. He had a big grin on his face. It seemed he wasn’t concerned in the slightest of how this might go wrong — I would do my best to live up to his expectations.

“I will, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” I watched him walk out of the cell, leaving John and I alone. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I was ... nervous. But I was also turned on, as evidenced by my aching erection.

John looked at me. He seemed a bit more confident, a little less intimidated. Still, he didn’t move and didn’t say anything. Perhaps he needed me to get us started.

“How can I please you, Sir?” I asked, giving him my best submissive look.

He jerked, almost as if he had been startled, but then he relaxed and began to smile. “You can start by getting naked,” he said. There was a slight tremor in his voice — while he now looked like he was ready to be in command, he sounded like he was still struggling with the idea.

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I stood up and quickly took off my shirt, shoes, socks, pants, and underwear. I was fully naked, gaze directed at his feet, my cock rock hard and dripping, pointing straight out in front of me. I stood there, quiet and motionless, waiting for my next command.

Slowly, John came closer to me. He circled me, looking at me from all sides, but still didn’t touch me.

“I have to tell you something, sub,” he said. I liked his use of the word “sub,” as it helped cement our newfound relationship. “I’m a little ... inexperienced and out of practice. I think I can dominate you, but I’ve never actually done it to a person. And as for gay sex ... well, it’s been quite a few years.”

“That’s okay, Sir,” I said. “Master says I follow orders well, so I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

“Good, good...” John said, trailing off. Though he was my stand-in Master, I still couldn’t mentally think of him as my Master, but only as John. To me, my real Master would be my one and only Master.

John circled around me again. He brought his hands close to me, but still didn’t touch me. He wanted to, I knew, but something was holding him back. Perhaps it was nervousness, fear that this would all come to a screeching halt. But I was desperate for him to touch me — the tension in the room was driving me wild, making my cock ache even more.

“Touch me, Sir,” I begged, “please.” It was something I could never request of Master — he had to be the one in total control — but I had a feeling John was a little different.

And just like that, he put his hands on me. One hand trailed down my slim chest and my tight abdomen and the other hand cupped my balls. I let out a heavy sigh of pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you, kid?” John said, in a tone of voice very much like Master’s.

“Yes, Sir.” I trembled under his touch. As he fondled my balls, electric sparks of pleasure shot through me.

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