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Sex for Money: How to Write, Publish, and Sell Gay Erotica and M/M Erotic Romance – Third Edition

Posted on May 9, 2025May 9, 2025 by indieerotica

Cameron D. James is a multiple-bestselling author of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance, and in this all-in-one book, he shares his personal experiences and advice on how to write, publish, and sell your erotic fiction. While it can be difficult to make a living off of writing, the advice in this book can help you grow your career and increase your sales month after month. Years of experience, research, trial-and-error, and experimenting have led Cameron to hone his approach to writing, publishing, and selling, and he shares everything with you in this book.

This handy manual explains:

Key writing and editing advice to ensure the quality of your fiction rises above your competitors.
What to look for in a contract if you choose to publish your fiction through a publishing house.
The realities of the hard work behind self-publishing your fiction.
How to give your book—including the cover and blurb—a spit and polish to make it draw readers in and close that sale.
The truth about which online vendors are worth your time…and which ones are best ignored.
The secrets of marketing an erotic book in a highly competitive genre.
How to effectively use social media to network with readers and sell your books.

Don’t waste time and money trying to figure all of this out on your own when you can learn how to do things correctly on your first try. This book gives you what you want to know, all in one convenient place.

Cucking Daddy IV: The Bull is Back! – Part 2

Posted on May 9, 2025 by indieerotica

Welcome to Camp Wannakukka! A special place for fathers and their sons. Camp Wannakukka provides a safe, relaxing environment for men who wish to bond with their young sons in a very unique and permanent way. At Camp Wannakukka, we hope that the bonds forged here will last a lifetime.

Since coming to the resort, Theo and his father have learned what it feels like to not have to hide their love for one another. Despite this, there are still complications. Work obligations manage to find Theo’s Dad even when they’re far away from civilization. Left to his own devices, Theo decides to explore the grounds and make some new friends.

But like any camp, Wannakukka has its own legends.

This is a 3,700 word short story and part 2 of a 12-part series.

“In here,” an older man whispered, further validating my theory.

The footsteps continued and I realized they were right outside my stall. Curious, I turned around and peeked through the steam cloud. Surprisingly, an older man with silvery hair entered. He was pulling along a young man who was about a third his age.

It seemed strange that they didn't pick one of the empty shower stalls. There were plenty of them to choose from, after all. I was about to say something when the much younger guy reached out with both arms, pulling his father down for a deep, passionate kiss.

My eyes widened. The dad ran his hands all over his son's body. The son did the same, touching his father everywhere his smaller hands could reach.

And they could reach a lot of places!

All of a sudden, it felt like I was intruding. That made no sense, though, since I was here first. It was possible they couldn't see me. The steam inside of the stall was incredibly thick. Plus, it wasn't like they were paying a lot of attention to my corner of the stall. The two had been making out for several minutes and it was only getting more intense.

In fact, I was starting to think that maybe they just didn't care!

Some part of me cared, though. I was getting hard standing there watching. A glob of precum oozed out of my piss slit, hanging there for a moment before gravity claimed it.

I felt another drop forming as I stared through the steam. Dazed, I moved my hand to wipe it off. Somehow, though, my hand wound up wrapped around my cock. I was mortified at first, but the feeling rapidly deteriorated. Seeing the two kiss each other so ravenously while their hands grasped feverishly at one another was giving me an aching boner. And if they didn't care that I watched, I was all right with jerking myself while watching them.

Without warning, the younger man broke the kiss. I assumed he was finished. Either that or he wanted to move things somewhere more private.

Instead, he looked his father deep in the eyes with an expression that was drunk on lust. “I need you,” I heard him whisper plainly.

His dad didn’t bother replying. I watched him turn his son to face the stall wall. He wasn't gentle about it either. My cock jumped a little, surprising me, when the son's sweaty body smacked hard against the tile. The dad kicked each of his son's feet apart, spreading his legs wide like the son was about to get frisked by a cop.

“Ohh!” cried the young man when his father entered him.

“Shh!” the father ordered, securing a strong hand around his son's throat to silence him.

Cucking Daddy IV: The Bull is Back! – Part 1

Posted on May 9, 2025 by indieerotica

Welcome to Camp Wannakukka! A special place for fathers and their sons. Camp Wannakukka provides a safe, relaxing environment for men who wish to bond with their young sons in a very unique and permanent way. At Camp Wannakukka, we hope that the bonds forged here will last a lifetime.

Theo and his Dad have arrived at the exclusive resort, Camp Wannakukka. Their goal is to spend as much time together as possible and not have to worry about anyone discovering their secret. Theo and his father have been in a relationship with one another for a while now. Keeping it a secret is stressful, though. The couple could really use a break from always having to watch their backs.

Fortunately, Camp Wannakukka has just the place for them!

This is a 2,900 word short story and part 1 of a 12-part series.

“We should go to the bedroom,” Dad managed to get out between kisses.

I hesitated as a naughty thought popped into my head. “Why?” I asked, smirking as I pulled back. “Let’s do it here.”

I expected Dad to take longer to decide. We were always so careful about where we made love. Having anyone find out about us would be a disaster, so we only had sex in our bedroom, and only after it got dark. It was safer that way.

“Okay,” Dad decided, which made me smile. “Just let me close the blinds first.”

He was halfway to the closest one when I stopped him. “Why?” I asked, taking hold of his arm. “Everyone here knows what we’re doing. They’re probably doing it themselves.”

Dad looked back at me, concern etched on his face. “Well…” he began.

“The whole point of us coming here was to enjoy ourselves,” I said, slipping back into his warm embrace. “We don’t have to hide here, remember?”

Dad kissed me again. “I’m still not keen on inviting peeping toms to watch us,” he said, resting his forehead on mine.

“Please?” I begged him. “Dad, please make love to me now?”

To drive my point home, I slid one hand down between us and cupped him through his jeans. “I need you,” I pleaded. “Real bad, Dad.”

The Rugby Team’s Urinal (Dads and Lads #2)

Posted on April 25, 2025April 25, 2025 by indieerotica

As Mackie seeks to earn his place on his dad's rugby team, it's not just enough to wear the right socks, shorts and jockstrap. Mackie will need to prove himself at the rugby team's hardcore initiation. His rugged would-be teammates—and his dad's best friends—meet at the pub to put Mackie through his paces. Whether it's serving them drinks on all fours, or finding himself chained up in the pub toilets while the team keeps on drinking. Will Mackie pass the rugby team's brutal hazing?

The Rugby Team's Urinal is an 11,000 word short story.

“Wait there, boy,” Phil said in his gruff Scottish accent. No hint of the kindness he’d shown me last week. I could smell the cigarettes many of the players were smoking, but didn’t realize Phil was smoking, too. Except it wasn’t a cigarette, but a big fat cigar. I waited on the floor, on my hands and knees, as his lit cigar ash flittered right before my eyes. The smoke stung and I shook slightly in fear he might burn me. Instead, he tapped the ash off onto the tray sticking out of my mouth. “Good boy. Now don’t go anywhere.”

I didn’t move. Soaked to the skin with beer, I stared at the feet of two men as they drank and laughed and smoked. I was their drinks tray. I was their ash tray. If I wanted on the team, I would have to be their bitch.

My God did I want to be on the team. More than that, I wanted to be their bitch. Maybe everyone else who had been initiated hated this part. I could tell from the snippets of chatter. Mackie’s doing well. Boy’s a natural. We should have him serve us all the time. He’s a runt, he needs to know his place.

Reality and imagination combined in my twisting head. Last week I had literally stepped into Phil’s shorts. Tonight, I was his beta. I wanted nothing more than for him look down on me again, smile and say, “good boy.”

I watched Phil from the waist down. Looking any more up would turn the ashtray into a metal slide straight into my mouth. His dark jeans were tight, almost skintight over his beefy leg muscles. His stomach twitched when he chuckled, belly jumping in a jolly laugh. Probably at my expense. A hand lay casually on his thigh. I stared at it, wondering if by force of thought I could make him touch exactly where I had been dreaming about for a week. A thumb and forefinger adjusted the invisible underwear. I imagined those hefty balls trapped inside dancing from thigh to thigh, almost getting a whiff.

Oh no, I thought. I was getting too excited. Too turned on. These men couldn’t know my secret. Yes, my dad knew I was gay, but no one else on the team did. We’d both agreed it was better this way. What would they think if they knew my swollen cockhead was aching against the inside of the jockstrap’s cup?

I tried to keep an order in my mind, but it was like fighting against a waterfall. The edge approached. Of its own accord, my cock slid against its reinforced enclosure. I ached to scratch, to touch. It vibrated with the energy, the stench, unlocked by the secret kink I never knew I had—to be treated like a slave among men. To them this was a normal initiation. A male teammate crawling on his hands and knees to bring them beers. To be a human ashtray. It was all a laugh. One big joke. They didn’t know how I really felt. The awakening that I had sensed, which had drawn me to this team, now roaring through my body like a thousand fires raging at once.

Phil’s hand—the very same which had flicked his bunched-up underwear—swung across to me. He was going to take a drink, but stopped. His finger lingered close to my cheek.

“Hey Phil, pass me a cider from the bitch boy, and give him a slap for me.”

Phil took a bottle from the platform on top of my head. His hand swung back down, I couldn’t see further up, then grazed my cheek. Intentionally. He touched it, stroked the soft skin—I shaved once a fortnight—to let me know he was there. Big strong Phil, here to look out for me. He took the second bottle from the back of my head. All that was left were the three pints down my back. Drool spilled from my sore lips; I had been biting on this gag for a while now. Phil sensed my discomfort. Almost as an aside, while the others continued to talk and laugh and joke, Phil turned to me, like petting a dog. Cigar between his fingers, he reached around to the back of my head and loosened the strap that held the ashtray in my mouth. With kindness, with love, he eased the gag from between my lips. I stretched and yawned.

“You done good, son,” Phil said with a wide smile, leaning down to practically pet me behind the ears. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely heard over the noisy team. “But there’s one more thing I want from you. Head back, mouth open just a touch. That’s it, head back.” Phil lifted my chin. It was a stressful position. My hands and knees remained unmoved, stuck to the ground to avoid being soaked by the three full pints on my back. But he strained my head back, nonetheless. I had no choice but to open my mouth. Cigar in hands, Phil took a long puff, the smoke swirling around his ginger beard, then he tapped the ash off, right into my mouth.

Black and gray dabbed onto my tongue. Bitter and sweet, much like Joey’s boot. It wasn’t the taste itself, nor the material, nor the hot ash dissolving in my mouth, but the sheer audacity of the act itself. I was marked as Phil’s slave. His bitch. And I came.

Showering with Dad’s Rugby Team (Dads and Lads #1)

Posted on April 18, 2025April 18, 2025 by indieerotica

“C’mon, Mackie, run for fuck’s sake!” my dad shouted across the pitch. Phil’s Lycra underwear worked fine as shorts, no one had made a comment about that. But my mind only focused on the roomy pouch my dick was supposed to sit in. Phil’s junk sat snugly there while mine rubbed up against the material, giving me an uncalled-for hard-on with every stroke my legs took. And I was supposed to run a lot.

“Come on, Mackie!” More voices shouted. “Come on!”

The ball was wrapped under my armpit like the most precious jewels as I ran full pelt across the pitch. A swarm of men ran after me, and although I wanted desperately to swirl underneath them as they piled atop me, I knew this wasn’t the time or the place. Fantasy aside, I had to run. Run towards the inevitable end of this second half I’d played—the final shower.

I’d thought of nothing else for the entire match. Would it be a repeat of being there with Phil, having my body commented on and looked at? Could I replicate the semi-hard growth I’d achieved, especially with my dad there? How would he react to showering with his son or exposing me to the after-match lads? He’d treated me so far as a clumsy kid abseiling down a rock face, constantly yelling at me to ‘watch out’ and ‘be careful’ as I tried my best to get stuck in the game. He wasn’t yelling at me to run fast now because I was somehow slow, but because of the half-dozen brutish men even bigger and bulkier than Phil who ran after me like I was a gazelle who’d stolen the lions’ last good piece of meat.

It was a good thing my heart had been pounding nonstop since imagining my lips around Phil’s soft cock, because with so much blood pumping around my body, I ran faster than I ever knew was possible. Also, I didn’t want anyone to see my erection so obviously poking through Phil’s Lycra. Why couldn’t my body save the hard-on for the showers when I actually wanted to show off?

The faded try-line melted into the grass rushed towards me, and I glanced behind to see Mr. Stevens of all people gaining on me. He ran with a growl covering his face. One I could easily imagine inhaling half a bottle of poppers before slamming his dick full force into a hole. My annoyingly hard dick was screaming ‘let that hole be mine!’ Not the time nor the place. I know I needed to cum, and quickly. My mind’s like mush when I’m horny and I can’t concentrate on a single other thing until I solve the problem. Usually, the solution is only a locked bathroom stall away, and I’m not constantly teased by another man’s Lycra rubbing against my cockhead.

Jeramie Lecleaux: Boyslut Detective: Four-Pack Bundle #2

Posted on April 10, 2025April 10, 2025 by indieerotica

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his sharp eyes, clever wits, and well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects.

Jeramie is always ready to give it his all to root out the clues and solve the crime, even if it means bending over for an older man...or two, or three...or diving into the world of super kinky taboo gay sex... No criminal is safe when this boyslut detective is on duty!

This bundle collects the previously-published Jeramie Lecleaux parts 5-8 stories:
- Escaped Convict Gangbang
- Catching the Coach
- Cucking Coach's Boyfriend
- Cheating Coach

Jeramie Lecleaux: Boyslut Detective: Four-Pack Bundle #2 is a 73,000-word collection.

As Foxx hauled Jeramie into his room, Dirk called out, “Don’t take too long. I gotta take me a man-sized piss.”

Kent and Foxx both ignored him. Neither bothered to close the door to Jeramie’s room. Once they were inside, Foxx tossed Jeramie onto his bed. The eighteen-year-old bounced on the mattress twice, coming to a stop on his belly to stare right at the two escaped convicts.

“Keep an eye on him,” Kent ordered. “I’m gonna get dressed first.”

Jeramie spotted a pile of clothes over by the corner. The other two were still wearing their convict uniforms. They must not have had time to change, Jeramie reasoned. Kent was the only one with any actual clothes to wear.

To Jeramie’s shock, the Black man dropped the towel he had wrapped around his waist. It fell to the floor with a heavy, wet sound. Jeramie had time to register that before something else captured all of his attention.

Kent was, by far and wide, the biggest man he had ever seen!

There was not an inch of fat anywhere on Kent’s whole body. Every single spot contained muscle. It was like looking at a moving statue carved out of solid stone. Each time Kent moved even the slightest bit, a part of him flexed.

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. His youthful eyes raked down over Kent’s massive body. The man had to be at least six-four in height and well over two-hundred pounds of muscle. One bicep looked to be twice the size of Jeramie’s skull. The young man doubted that he could have gotten both of his arms around one thigh. They were just that thick.

Jeramie felt his throat go dry. He tried to swallow in order to wet it.

Foxx caught the look Jeramie was giving Kent and burst out laughing. “Hey, Kent. That lil’ faggot is pervin’ on you something fierce. Check it out!”

Kent turned his head and saw Jeramie starring. “Hell, what’s the matter with you, boy? You ain’t never seen a real man’s body before?”

Kent flexed his arms, which caused multiple muscles all over his body to pop out. Jeramie’s eyes did so as well. He felt his mouth fill up with saliva. Rather than having a dry throat, Jeramie now feared he might drown in his own thirst.

“Fuck, don’t let me feel left out, papito.” With no forewarning, Foxx stripped out of the upper half of his prison uniform. “Like what you see over here?”

Kent rolled his eyes at the other man. Foxx, however, moved closer to his partner so that Jeramie could have a better look. The convict flexed his body, showing off every single muscle, as well as the tattoos that adorned his flesh.

Foxx was, in Jeramie’s assessment, just as physically fit as Kent. The difference came down to a difference in height and the size of their bodies. Kent was the bigger man on the whole. Foxx was slightly shorter and more compact. They were each, however, loaded with rock-hard muscles that bulged when they moved. More importantly, they had been in prison for a long time and were desperate to unload.

“Too bad,” Kent said proudly when Jeramie’s eyes continued to wander back over his way. “Can’t steal the spotlight for too long. Lil’ man must have a weakness for dark meat.”

To emphasize his point, Kent reached down to grasp hold of his cock. “See this?” Kent taunted. “This here’s what makes a real man. You like it?”

Against his will, Jeramie ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, wetting it so that it shone in the dim light of the weak winter midday sun. Seeing this as a challenge, Foxx reached down and grabbed hold of his waistband. A quick push dropped both the uniform’s lower half and the boxers underneath.

Cheating Coach

Posted on April 10, 2025April 10, 2025 by indieerotica

Coach studied Jeramie for a moment. Slowly, he bent over slightly so as to look Jeramie in the eye.

“Listen,” he said in a gentle voice, placing a big hand down on Jeramie’s slender shoulder. “What goes on between Shaffeur and I… well, it’s not your fault, and it’s not your problem.”

Jeramie raised his head. “Really?” he asked, feeling uncertain. “Because…”

“Because nothing.” Coach didn’t give Jeramie the chance to recover. “He and I have some things to work out. Maybe I should have been clearer to him. About… a lot of things. But you didn’t make things bad between us. That’s on me.”

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. Coach was naked. He knew Coach’s smell drove him wild and made his cock spring to life and bounce in his pants. Spreading his arms wide, Jeramie reached out and gave Coach a big hug. The two boxes of underwear—his father’s birthday present––that he had been carrying around with him fell to the floor, forgotten.

Immediately, Jeramie felt himself drowning in Coach’s sweat and scent. The changing room tilted. Before he knew it, Jeramie was on his knees. Coach Ramirez’s cock was right in front of him. The thick tube of man meat was starting to fill out. A thick runny line of precum was already drooling down out of the piss slit, making a stain there on the carpet.

Jeramie couldn’t resist anymore. He launched forward like a young man starved and inhaled Coach’s big cock down his throat. The precum flooded his mouth at once, coating his tongue. Jeramie moaned deeply at the taste. It was like heaven and fireworks going off on his tongue.

“Fuuucckkkk,” Coach groaned, louder than he’d meant to. “You are one insatiable little faggot, ain’cha?”

Cucking Coach’s Boyfriend

Posted on April 10, 2025 by indieerotica

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year-old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his wits and his well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects. The super sleuth with the insatiable boypussy can’t seem to keep his mind on case work lately. This is bad news, because there is a foul plot afoot at his school. Somebody has unleashed an unearthly stench. Is this the work of a harmless prankster, or is a much more devious mind scheming to steal something?

Cucking Coach's Boyfriend is a 19,000-word story.

Thunder shook the Lecleaux residence.

Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the clouds for an instant. The gale cried out as the wind whipped through the neighborhood, scattering children’s toys and shingles to the four corners. Rain battered against the roof and the sides of the house. It was as if some ancient monster was beating its eldritch fists against sheetrock and masonry, trying to claw its way inside.

Jeramie lay bundled up under his covers. He didn’t believe in fairy tale monsters anymore. Since his Daddy started pounding his tight little faggot boypussy, Jeramie didn’t have nightmares. He never felt afraid so long as Detective Lecleaux’s warmth was pressed deep inside of him.

Tonight, however, Jeramie was asleep in his own bedroom. Daddy was in the room next door sleeping with his mom. Faintly, against the pounding of the rain and the rattling of the thunder, Jeramie could hear his father’s light snoring. He could almost picture the slow rise and fall of his father’s muscular, hairy chest.

Thinking about Daddy made Jeramie’s body ache. He wanted to be next to Daddy so badly. His hands needed to explore his father’s chest and stomach, to run his fingers all the way down to where Daddy’s hard cock stuck out from that thick patch of hair. He needed to cup Daddy’s huge balls in both hands and feel how heavy with cum they were.

Thoughts of Daddy made his little boypussy twitch. Jeramie knew that sensation well. He had been taking Daddy’s cock for a while now. That hard meat had carved a path inside of him, forming a groove where the thick, manly cudgel fit perfectly.

Jeramie started to get out of bed, but another clap of thunder shook the house, so he stayed put. He wasn’t usually this afraid of thunder. It was loud, certainly, and that brought with it a degree of caution. But this storm was different somehow. Jeramie could sense it.

The storm was bringing something to Pembrooke Falls—Jeramie’s hometown—and Jeramie wasn’t sure that he liked it.

To calm himself, the eighteen-year-old sleuth began counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. Jeramie had learned this trick years ago. One second equaled approximately one mile.

Of course, the storm was right on top of him. He could figure out that much without counting. Primarily, Jeramie wanted something to keep himself occupied. The storm would blow over eventually. He simply had to ride it out.

Gradually, Jeramie became aware of a sound. It was difficult to make out at first. The thunder and the rain together made it hard to hear. Jeramie raised up off his pillow and listened closely. For a moment, though, he thought that he’d heard footsteps.

Every so often, he would hear it again. The thunder would shake the house and mask every other sound, including the rain hitting the roof. As Jeramie continued to listen, he made out a step or two.

Someone was making their way up the staircase from the first floor, stepping in time with the thunder. Except, every so often, they would miscalculate. Jeramie felt sure of it.

Daddy was still asleep. Jeramie could hear his father’s light snores more easily now. It was like his senses were dialed up, on fire and alert for the slightest change. He could make out the footfalls on the soft carpet as they ascended the staircase. Whoever it was turned at the top and headed down the hallway toward him.

Jeramie tried to think, but it was like a fog had encased his skull. He couldn’t put together a plan of action. Nothing on his body wanted to cooperate either. Jeramie struggled to move, as though his bed sheet now weighed a ton.

A blinding flash of lightning shot down out of the sky, streaking past his window. Jeramie turned his head at the exact moment. The window on the right side of his room next to the closet was lit up. Light spilled out toward the bedroom door where a hulking shadow stood.

Jeramie’s eyes widened in shock. He thought he felt his heart skip a beat. The breath in his lungs seized up. His entire body went rigid.

It was Kent, the convict who had broken into his home a couple of weeks ago.

“Hello, bitch!” said Kent. A wide smile, exposing white teeth beamed, spread across the giant of a black man as he took a step into the room. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Something jumped through Jeramie’s body. It felt like a small electric shock. Whatever it was, the sensation did the trick. At last, he could move. Jeramie had enough time to rise up before Kent was on him. The enormous Black convict reached out with two massive hands, seizing Jeramie in both of them. Jeramie tried to scream, but one hand came down hard over his mouth.

“You ain’t going nowhere, lil’ man!” The strength in Kent’s hands held Jeramie fast. He could feel them squeeze his smaller body. The darkness of his skin—like obsidian—stood out against Jeramie’s pale flesh. “Not until I’ve gotten my piece of boypussy again!”

Jeramie felt himself being lifted into the air. Kent dragged him out of the bed. Jeramie was thrown against the foot, lying face down with his legs hanging off.

“And this time,” Kent said, the hunger in his voice evident, “I ain’t sharing this faggot cunt with nobody!”

Catching the Coach

Posted on April 10, 2025 by indieerotica

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year-old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his wits and his well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects. Dodgeball season is almost over, and the championship is coming up. Pembrooke Falls High School is a shoo-in to win, but on the afternoon of the tournament, disaster strikes. Jeramie thinks the score was tampered with, but there may be no way to prove his theory since the crowd’s attention was conveniently diverted. It will take all his brains, and every trick his boypussy can do, to work out what really happened.

Catching the Coach is a 12,500-word story.

He decided to go look for Shaffeur. There was a possibility that the star dodgeball player hadn’t gone back to class yet. If so, Jeramie could ask him directly.

“Here’s hoping Shaffeur hasn’t finished changing,” he mumbled, beginning the short trek.

The locker room was located on the right side of the gym, near the Visitor bleachers. Jeramie noticed a strange noise as he drew closer to the entrance. The door was cracked ever so slightly. Whoever shut it didn’t make sure the door was closed all the way.

Even better, Jeramie recognized the sounds.

“Fuck me, Coach!” cried a familiar voice, deepening the boyslut detective’s suspicions.

The locker room carried the unmistakable fragrance of young males. Despite this, Jeramie detected a faint trace of something denser. It was heavier and held a much stronger musk which tickled the hairs in his nose.

This confirmed what Jeramie already knew was happening. He could hear deep grunts from far on the other side of the locker area. Heavy breaths came through the thick, moist air. There was the noticeable sound of thick hairy flesh smacking hard against the smooth, tender thighs of a much younger man.

“Please! Please! Please!” cried Shaffer, begging for more. “Fuck me, Coach!”

This left no doubt in his mind. Coach Ramirez was fucking Timothy Shaffer. And, from the sound of things, this wasn’t their first time.

A hot shiver of lust rolled down Jeramie’s spine. He felt the world tilt around him. The smells coming from the locker room were intoxicating, especially for a lusty little slut puppy like himself. Jeramie could feel his cock grow hard in his shorts. His faggot boypussy flexed and puckered, suddenly alive and slick with need.

Sexy Shorts: Volume Two: Gay Hookups and Anonymous Quickies

Posted on March 31, 2025 by indieerotica

When men burn with desire…the only way to quench that fire is to give into it…

In this scorching hot bundle of ten super short gay erotica stories, you’ll find horny and desperate men engaging in discreet encounters, anonymous hookups, quickies in public places, older on younger, and much more.

Sexy Shorts: Volume Two includes seven new stories and three previously-published stories, featuring men who like to give into their most base desires and get dirty.

Get your copy today…and get off…

I sat nervously in the examination room, waiting for the doctor. This was the last place I wanted to be, the last person I wanted to talk to, and the last problem I wanted to discuss…but it had to be done. I didn’t think my relationship would survive if I didn’t get this sorted.

Before I could have a full-on anxiety attack and run out of the room, the door rattled and the doctor came in. Oh, fuck. This was not my regular doctor. This one was hot like a porn star—daddy vibes with a hard chest and fur poking through the top of his shirt collar. I could already feel my dick thickening up.

He sat down at the desk and unlocked his computer. “Peter?” he said, reading my name off the chart. I nodded. “What can I do for you?”

My cheeks felt burning hot and I knew I had to be bright red with a blush. “I, uh…um…” Then I chuckled nervously. “Sorry, it’s embarrassing.”

The doctor—Dr. Scott, his nametag read—leaned back casually in his office chair. “There’s nothing embarrassing in here, son.” His pants stretched tight across his broad thighs and thick bulge.

I managed to tear my eyes away from his crotch before it became obvious I was staring. Fuck, I needed to just get this out. I looked away from him and then blurted out, “My boyfriend can’t penetrate me. I’m too tight.”

There was a moment of silence between us and for a moment I thought he’d laugh or tell me to get the hell out. Instead, he leaned forward. “Have you been penetrated before?”

I shook my head. “He’s my first boyfriend. I’m only twenty.”

He chuckled, but it was a reassuring chuckle. “We can check that out and see what we can do.” He stood up and pulled on that roll of paper at the end of the examination table, laying out coverage for me. “Drop your pants and get up here, preferably on your hands and knees.”

“Um…okay,” I said. I stood and very nervously pulled off my pants and briefs. My cock was already at half-mast, hanging thick and heavy between my legs. When I turned around, I caught him staring at me and his gaze was drawn directly to my dick, but then he quickly looked away. He patted the examination table and I climbed up, propping myself up on my hands and knees. I realized that this was the position I took when my boyfriend tried to fuck me. I liked to think of it as the “begging for it” pose. Fuck, that was making my cock thicken even more.

Dr. Scott pulled on a pair of latex gloves and squired some lube on a finger. “I’m going to try first with a finger and see what we get.”