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Hypnotizing My Straight Roommate

Posted on January 21, 2019February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Caleb can’t stand his roommate Grant. It’s bad enough that the man is a disgusting slob, but he’s also incredibly good-looking and straight — so he can’t even get a good lay out of it. When he comes home from college classes one afternoon, Caleb has had it with Grant’s messiness. But he knows he can’t just complain — he’s done that before and it’s gotten him nothing. Acting out of desperation, he does the first thing that comes to mind … he hypnotizes Grant and makes him clean up. But once he’s got this sexy hunk under hypnosis, Caleb can’t help but act on his deepest desires.

Hypnotizing My Straight Roommate is a 3,500-word short story.

My bewilderment faded as I took in the mess again — and as the stench fully filled my nostrils and my lungs — and was replaced with only cold rage. Grant is a useless slob! I’m always cleaning up after him!

I decided I’d had enough. I stormed through the apartment, looking for him. I shoved open his bedroom door and found him passed out on the mattress. The floor was scattered with clothing and the stench of unwashed underwear filled the air.

He was lying face down in his bed, clad in only a pair of white briefs. My rage faltered for a moment — as much trouble as Grant was, he was certainly one fine looking man. Even in the half-dark of the room, I could make out the sculpted muscles of his back and the curve of his muscular ass, the white cotton of his briefs clinging tightly to his cheeks and plunging into the valley of his crack. His legs, hairy and muscular, were long and similarly sculpted.

I wondered what Grant would think if I told him how often I jacked off to mental pictures of him. He was the typical straight guy with an almost frat-like mentality — and he had no idea I was gay. More than once he’d waved his dick at me in a helicopter rotation. Straight boys could be so gay sometimes.

But because of that, I knew just how hung he was.

I sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at his ass. He didn’t stir from the jostling of the mattress. His breathing, slow and steady, helped to calm me down a little further. I had to think this through.

Yelling at Grant wouldn’t work. I’d tried that so many times I’d lost count. He’d be on his best behavior for a day or two, and then I’d come home to filth.

I had to come up with some other way to get him to clean up after himself. But what?

And then I had the craziest of ideas. In my psych class, we’d just learned about hypnotism as a form of therapy, how some people benefitted from post-hypnotic suggestions. Maybe that would be the key to changing his messy ways.

I almost scoffed at myself. Hypnotism? That was the realm of charlatans and cheap magic shows. My prof had also been clearly skeptical. He’d admitted to trying it with a few patients early in his career, but had said nothing stuck longer than a day or two.

Still, though … what if it worked?

I should try it, I decided. If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t, then it was at least a momentary distraction from the stink in the kitchen. And with Grant slumbering, his mind might even be more susceptible to suggestion than normal.

Moving slowly and carefully, so as to not jostle the mattress too much, I slipped my phone from my pocket and quickly looked up a hypnotic script that I could test out on him. A website full of spirals and abstract GIFs popped up. In a few moments, I’d navigated to a script to induce a quick hypnosis. I started reading it out loud.

“Listen to my voice. My voice is calming. My voice is relaxing. My voice is everything you need.” Grant inhaled deeply, but didn’t roll over. His eyes were still closed. He was still asleep. “My voice is comforting. My voice wraps you in a warm blanket and makes you feel safe, makes you feel secure.”

The Pool Boy and The MILF

Posted on January 21, 2019February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

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.

“Huh?”

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

A Night to Remember

Posted on January 21, 2019 by indieerotica

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.

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.

New York Heat

Posted on January 20, 2019 by indieerotica

Club 21 is New York City’s hottest gay nightclub. The drinks are cheap, the music is infectious, and the go-go boys are the stuff of dreams.

For Dan, it’s where his life will forever change. With his signature on the dotted line, he goes from bartender to owner. And with that change, he realizes that both his responsibilities and his stress have skyrocketed.

Club 21 is home. The staff are family. Like a mama bear, Dan is fiercely protective of his clients and his staff, especially his go-go boys, whose carefree dancing inspires Dan to make Club 21 the best it can be.

Especially Ken, once a fling, now the love of his life. There’s so much that needs to get done at Club 21, but Dan is terrified that all the long evenings will drive his young go-go boy lover away. Dan doesn’t want to lose him, but if anything ever happened to his staff—his family—Dan would never forgive himself...

Content warning: New York Heat contains a scene of mass violence and the death of a main character.

Dan leaned against the metal newspaper box and stared at the brick building in front of him. This was either the best decision he’d ever made … or the worst. There could be no in between. He’d be happy and financially well off … or this would lead to utter ruin.

He fumbled in his back pocket for the pack of smokes he’d bought earlier that day. Haven’t smoked in twenty years, he reminded himself again. The stress of today, though, made it impossible to resist the decades-old siren song of tobacco. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, along with the lighter, and lit up. He inhaled deep, letting the searing smoke fill his lungs, the burning taste fill his mouth — it was comfortable. It brought him an instant relief to the tension that had been building for the last two weeks, culminating in today.

Through all of this, he never took his eyes off the brick building.

“Since when have you started smoking again?” Brad asked.

“Today,” Dan said, the answer coming out as little more than a grunt. It was enough, he knew, to signal to Brad to not ask further questions.

Brad let out a hmm sound, then folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the second newspaper box. He stared up at the building. Brad had come down from Canada to help Dan with what the next few weeks would bring.

“Remember when we bought fake IDs and snuck in?” Brad asked.

Dan laughed — expressing far more humor than he really felt — but the laugh was good. It was cleansing. It was what he needed to break the tension that had settled over him, tightening up his whole body.

He flicked ash off the end of the cigarette. “We were such twinks back then.”

Dan remembered the night well. It was more than thirty years ago, but he recalled it like it was last week. They were nineteen, but desperate to get into Club 21, the hottest gay bar in New York City. They’d spent weeks asking around the college campus for a black market ID seller. They’d practiced acting older — even though twenty-one, the age to get in, was barely any different from nineteen. Dan had even gone out and bought a dress shirt, hoping it made him look like a banker or something.

“All that work,” Brad said, “and they didn’t even give us a second glance or check our ID.”

“If I remember right, you ended up with some hot daddy in the men’s room.”

Brad laughed, then reached over and took the cigarette from Dan’s hand, taking in a drag before handing it back. “I wasn’t even that attracted to him. I think I was just in awe that a man wanted me. But I seem to remember you grinding on some jock on the dance floor.”

They both broke into a roar of laughter. When it died down, Dan inhaled another lungful of smoke. He hated the habit, hated the taste too, but it helped him get through days like this.

He finally tore his gaze from the brick building to glance at his friend of almost forty years. “I’ve missed you, Brad. It’s good to have you back.” Shortly after college, Brad had taken odd jobs around the country before getting certified in various types of yoga and moving to Canada to teach in studios there. Dan had taken a much different path, heading into a career in accounting, where he stayed with one company his entire career. Until now.

Brad took another drag of Dan’s cigarette. “It’s good to be back. I’ve been away from New York for too long.” He put his arm over Dan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, sharing his warmth on this chilly May afternoon. “But I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Dan.”

Dan looked up at the building again. Even in this drab May day, the brick was a deep red, nice and clean, and the neon sign, not yet lit up, proudly pronounced this building as Club 21. As of two o’clock this afternoon, just a couple hours ago, this club was now his.

Though he’d been an accountant by day, he’d done some evening work as a bartender here. He’d been happy with his life. But when Rachel, the previous owner, moved to L.A. to follow her son and support him in his newfound career, he saw an opportunity that he couldn’t pass up. He wanted to own Club 21.

I’m still scared shitless, he admitted to himself. He couldn’t tell anyone else that — not even Ken, his boyfriend — because he needed to appear confident and sure. He suspected that Brad saw right through his façade, though. Being best friends with a guy for something like four decades allowed for that kind of closeness.

Brad’s arm was still around his shoulders and it felt comforting. It reminded Dan of when they were much closer, when they were almost boyfriends. They’d hooked up a few times in college, before getting into Club 21, but they’d never progressed beyond a few blowjobs and the occasional fuck. He leaned into Brad’s warm, solid body, letting out a sigh and, with it, letting out some of the tension that had built up in him over the day.

“I still can’t believe you bought the place,” Brad said. “I remember back in college, we were chatting one night about our dreams when we were in bed together, and you said something about wanting to own the place. I had thought it was a cool idea, but I never thought it would happen.”

Dan had forgotten about that. Even though he’d spent hundreds of nights over his lifetime at Club 21, he remembered nothing of a desire to own the place. He said as much to Brad, then added, “I guess it was just meant to be.”

“Speaking of meant to be — tell me about Ken.”

Dan felt a blush warm his cheeks, like he was that nineteen-year-old twink again. “He’s a bit of a bad boy, but with a good heart. He’s one of the dancers here. He’s, uh, he’s inside,” Dan said. Brad and his partner, Simon, had flown in two nights ago, but with all of the busyness of signing contracts and legal documents, they hadn’t had a chance to get reacquainted or to meet — or even see — each other’s boyfriends. “And he’s … he’s considerably younger than me.”

Brad laughed, but it wasn’t the friendly-teasing laugh that Dan had expected. It seemed almost a laugh of recognition. “Simon is quite a bit younger than me too. He’s twenty-two.”

Dan felt a wave of relief. Though older-younger relationships weren’t uncommon, especially among gay men, he had always felt that they were based more on lust and carnal desires, rather than genuine love. Even when he had started with Ken, it was a relationship based on hooking up and frequent sex. Love had been an unexpected consequence.

“Ken is twenty-two, as well,” Dan said.

“Well, look at us being man-cougars.” He hugged Dan’s shoulders a little tighter for a moment. “Do you love him?”

“I do,” Dan said. It had taken Dan and Ken a while to recognize these feelings, and even longer to admit them. But, once they did, everything felt right. “And you and Simon?”

“Me too.” He took another drag of Dan’s cigarette, then handed it back. “It’s odd, isn’t it? Being in love.”

Dan took the final drag of the cigarette, then flicked it across the sidewalk. “It is. Sometimes, well…”

“Sometimes what?”

“Do you ever wonder if these young twinks will grow tired of us? You know, realize there’s more fun to be had with someone closer to their own age?” It was a fear that he had never voiced before, a fear he had trouble admitting even to himself. Brad was the one person in this world who he felt comfortable saying such a thing to.

“All the fucking time,” Brad said. “I’m in my fifties, my body is sagging, even though I’m fit. I’m slowing down every year as much as I hate to admit it. And every day brings a new gray hair. And Simon is supposed to love me as this keeps happening?”

Dan sighed. “Maybe we’re getting lust and love mixed up. I know it took me a long time to sort them out. I didn’t even realize they meant different things until recently.”

“That could be it. Lust is all physical, all animal. Love is … love is something deeper, more permanent, slow-growing. I don’t think it’s as easily lost as lust can be.”

Dan didn’t know how to respond, so he let the comfortable silence settle over the two of them. They continued staring at the brick building, even as pedestrians passed in front of them and cars passed behind them. New York City was a busy place with rarely a moment of pure peace — but this was pretty damn close.

After a very long time of just leaning against the newspaper boxes, Brad broke the silence. “I see the leather bar is closed.”

Dan glanced toward the brick building across the narrow alley. The leather bar had gone under just a couple weeks ago and, as far as Dan knew, no one had made an offer on the place yet. While commercial real estate in New York City was hot, it seemed no one wanted the old bar.

“It’s been there as long as Club 21,” Dan said. “Changed names many times, but it’s always been there. But the world moves on.” Dan remembered well when they’d gone to the leather bar together. If nights at Club 21 were slow or if they were in particular need of sucking daddy dick, they’d sometimes head across the alley and scope out the meat there. There were as many memories in that building as there were in Club 21.

“Hmm,” Brad said. Dan looked at his friend and saw a look of serious contemplation on his face.

“What?”

Brad stared at the building a little longer, seeming to size it up, then glanced at Dan. “Just a … just a flight of fancy, I guess. I’ve been thinking of starting up my own yoga studio. That place is large enough.” He shook his head. “But this can’t b a spur-of-the-moment decision. I can’t just say I’m going buy a building and start a studio.”

Dan let out a laugh that came out as a snort. “That’s basically what I did with Club 21.” He looked again at Brad and saw just how seriously his friend was considering this. He elbowed him in the side. “You should do it. Take risks. I bet the price is a steal — seems no one wants to move in.”

“Hmm,” Brad said again.

Dan let Brad ruminate on the building and his dream of a studio while he instead looked at Club 21 again — his apparent dream come true. Hopefully it’s a good dream, not a nightmare.

An urge for another cigarette settled into Dan. He didn’t want to get too deep into smoking again — the further in he was, the harder it would be to quit. And he’d have to quit. Ken didn’t like that he smoked. Dan didn’t like it himself, either, but he could put up with his bad habits easier than Ken could.

“Come on,” Dan said, “let’s go inside.”

Brad released his hold on Dan’s shoulders and the two men stood up and walked toward the front door. Though he’d gone in and out a few times today and he’d been running the place for Rachel until the paperwork legally signed the place over to him, this was the first time he’d entered with the building belonging to him. It was somehow fundamentally different.

He put his key in the lock and turned, the tumblers clicking and causing his heart to pound against his ribs. He felt almost lightheaded for a moment. He gave the door a tug and it opened.

Pulling the door open wide, he turned to Brad and said, “Welcome … to Club 21.”

Silent Hearts

Posted on January 20, 2019January 20, 2019 by indieerotica

He thought he could escape his heart by traveling far from home. But the heart will not rest when love calls to it.

Jake Coleman is young, gay and horny. He thought there could be no better way to start out his adulthood than a working visa adventure to Kyleakin, Scotland, a tiny town on the Isle of Skye. He works the overnight shift at a hostel and spends most of the daytime hours sleeping. Oh, and he gives blowjobs to pretty much any hostel guest who asks. It’s the perfect arrangement, until he meets Grant.

Grant MacLean, a very attractive Scotsman, is the first person ever to turn down Jake’s middle-of-night blowjob offer. Instead, he wants to kiss Jake, something that is simply off-limits. Grant cares for Jake in ways that remind him too much of Peter, the once-love-of-his-life who he ran away from—the very reason Jake had to escape his former life in Canada. Gay love just doesn’t exist, Jake’s father has made it all too clear. But as Jake finds himself helplessly pulled back to Grant, the way he makes him feel when their bodies are close, the way he comforts him—really cares for him—he realizes more and more it’s not love he’s running from, but himself.

Silent Hearts is a 34,000-word erotic romance novel. If you liked Love, Simon, then you’ll love this tale of a gay young man whose true barrier to love is his own self-acceptance.

Buy Silent Hearts now and follow Jake’s adventure of steamy sex, adventure, and the tears that break hearts...and mend them.

“You’re cute when you’re happy.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I guess.” He pulled his hands out of the dough and went to wash them.

“What’s this?”

“Hmm?” Jake looked back. Grant picked something up off the floor.

“This fell out of your back pocket.” Grant read from a small piece of paper, “The Brawny Scot.”

Jake’s heart thudded and ice coursed through his veins. He’d gone there as an eff-you to Grant, but hadn’t actually wanted him to know about it. And, truthfully, as the hours passed, he’d grown regretful over going.

“Is that where you were today?” Grant’s voice was low and quiet. There was an intensity in his eyes that Jake had seen only once before — during the previous night and their argument over kisses. Obviously, he knew what The Brawny Scot was.

“So what if I was?” Jake dried his hands with a towel and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms in front of him. He might regret his choices, but he wasn’t going to apologize for them.

“You went to a fucking sauna?”

Jake took a deep breath, deciding which way to go with this. When the heat of anger warmed his cheeks, he had his answer. “Yes, I went. I sucked five dicks and got totally covered in cum.” His words were quick and crisp, though muted so as to not wake anyone.

Grant shook his head. “Do you have no self-respect? No self-love?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“This!” Grant threw the card down on the counter, the oiled-up torso emblazoned across it shone in the kitchen’s light. “Sex with no intimacy, blowjobs with no kissing, sucking anonymous dicks in the dark — it shows you don’t respect yourself, that you just want to be used by some random man as a tool to get off. And this ... this random sauna thing is fucking dangerous! Do you know how many diseases run rampant through there?”

Jake breathed in and out, trying to calm the anger that threatened to erupt. His face felt warm; he knew his cheeks were beet red. “Not all of us want boyfriends. Some of us just want sex. Hookups are fun, and if you think that only self-haters do them and they’re always destructive, then you’re living in some sort of dream world. Welcome to reality, Grant, people fuck strangers all the time.”

Grant squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Jake could tell a lot of the man’s anger had deflated. “That’s not exactly what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

“Kissing adds passion and energy to sex — even anonymous sex. Your refusal to kiss me the other night would have made the blowjob mechanical. If I want mechanical, I’ll use my fist. The motions are only half of sex — kissing and intimacy, however fleeting, are the other half.”

“You need to grow up and separate sex from love. No one at the sauna wants a kiss, they just want to get off.”

“Well, maybe that’s the sauna culture. I have hookups now and then, but I always kiss — it makes a connection special, even if it’s just for a moment and I don’t know the guy’s name.”

Jake glared at him. As much as he wanted to remain mad at him, he felt his anger shrinking. “Why can’t you accept that I just don’t want to kiss?”

“Because in your case, Jake, I sense that it’s something deeper. It’s not just about not wanting to kiss.”

Jake blinked, bewildered. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Have you ever kissed a man?”

“Of course I have.” A chasm opened up inside of him, an emptiness and yearning.

Grant squinted at him. “I mean really kissed a man ... deep, hard, hungry.”

Autumn Fire

Posted on January 20, 2019 by indieerotica

True gay love is a fairy tale. No matter what everyone says, that’s what Dustin firmly believes. As he starts his first year of university, Dustin is happy in the closet, where he can meet his gay needs secretly through anonymous hookups.

But when Dustin has his first hookup of the university term, with a muscular dark-eyed jock in the library men’s room, he can’t help notice the deep and immediate connection he feels, one that seems almost like love. It’s over as quickly as it begins and, as all anonymous hookups go, Dustin never expects to see him again.

The term gets difficult, especially when his math class begins. Dustin destresses with more hookups, but they don’t sate him the way they used to, and he finds he cannot stop thinking about his start-of-term encounter. Soon, his academic needs outweigh the sexual, and Dustin caves in and gets a tutor.

Attractive, well-built, dark-eyed…and a jock, his new tutor, Kyle, is none other than his anonymous hookup from the men’s room. Fate seems to have connected him to the man of his dreams.

Or maybe not, since Kyle is even more in the closet than Dustin is.

Dustin stared at the sneakered foot, just visible below the stall wall, as the other man stopped at the urinal beside him. He waited for the signal — until he heard it he didn’t know if this was CollegeJock22 or some random dude who had to piss.

Time seemed to slow as he heard a zipper open. With every passing heartbeat, he waited for the telltale sound of urination ... but it wasn’t happening. The foot shifted. The pant leg lifted, briefly flashing a white sock.

The signal! Dustin shuffled his foot close to the dividing wall, so the other man could see it, and flashed his own sock.

Dustin waited ... but nothing happened. Embarrassment swelled as he realized the awkward coincidence. This was not CollegeJock22. As soon as he leaves, I’m going back to my dorm and I’m just gonna jack off, Dustin decided. This was a mistake, to meet some random guy in a random washroom.

Then the other man’s feet moved. Dustin held his breath, not daring to make even the slightest sound of exhalation. He’d not heard the man piss — and he’d not heard the man zip up again. Maybe this was CollegeJock22. He just prayed the man wasn’t fat and ugly, that his profile hadn’t been one big lie. Dustin’s heart thudded as the man stood on the other side of the stall door. As planned, Dustin had left it unlocked. It squeaked softly as the man – CollegeJock22 — nudged it open.

All his doubts vanished. Quite simply, CollegeJock22 would be the hottest guy Dustin ever hooked up with. He was the rare man that not only lived up to his profile, but surpassed it. He easily stood five foot eleven and had tight golden curls peeking out from below his ball cap. His muscled chest pulled his shirt taut beneath his open jacket and his cock ... his cock was a gorgeous piece of meat, dangling from his open fly. The thick and semi-hard dick sprouted from a dusting of fine hair.

Sexy Shorts: Volume One: Gay Hookups and Anonymous Quickies

Posted on January 20, 2019March 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 One includes five new stories and five previously-published stories. As a BONUS, this book also includes Go Deep (Men In The Hot Room #1), Cameron’s yoga-themed gay erotic story that’s been downloaded over 12,000 times!

Get your copy today…and get off…

I follow the guy into his bedroom, eyeing his ass in those tight jeans. I don’t normally hook up with daddy-types on Grindr, but something about this dude is making me hard. He turns around and sits on his bed, giving me a sly grin. I immediately fall to my knees in front of him and grab the zipper on his fly, yanking it down. I need to get to that daddy-cock.

“Whoa,” he says, placing a hand on top of mine. “What’s the rush?”

“It’s sex,” I say, sort of confused by his hesitation. “Get off and get out, you know.”

He wraps his fingers around my hand, holding me tight. “I thought we’d kiss a bit, enjoy the moment.”

“I don’t kiss,” I say. “Kissing is for lovers — this is just a hook-up.”

He chuckles and I get a surge of irritation. If I had known he wanted a boyfriend, I would’ve hooked up with someone else. He pulls me to my feet, then has me sit next to him on the bed. I can’t help but let out a sigh of frustration. I want to eat his load, not kiss his lips.

He doesn’t let go of my hand and we end up just holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. He’s attractive, I’ll give him that. And his charm on Grindr was what had won me over. I guess I can indulge him, if only just for a few moments.

Not letting go of my hand, he puts his other hand on the back of my head and slowly pulls me toward him. Our lips press together and he starts to kiss me. I don’t want to be like a dead fish to him, so I kiss him back. He moans softly into my mouth and that sound of pleasure, that burst of warm air of him sighing into my mouth, seems to turn something in me … something … I wasn’t sure what.

With my free hand, I reach up and caress his chest, feeling his muscle through his shirt. Soon, I move my hand up to the back of his head, holding him the way he’s holding me, and I kiss him passionately. It feels unnatural, at first, but the more I do it, the more I get into it.

He nibbles on my bottom lip and I moan just like he had done. He nudges me backward and I fall down on the bed, breaking our kiss for a moment, making me desperate for his closeness again. I almost whimper in need, but then he lies next to me and rolls onto me, propping himself up with his hands. He presses his lips against mine and suddenly that warmth and connection is back. I open my mouth and let him slip his tongue inside. I caress his tongue with mine, feeling the velvety softness, tasting the beer he’d had before I came over.

As he kisses me, he starts to grind his hips against mine, rubbing his bulge over my bulge, bringing me a surge of pleasure that only kicks the passion of our kiss into overdrive. I wrap both my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, locking myself onto him and not letting go — I can’t let him go.

But then he grabs my hands from around his neck and forces them down to the bed above my head. I whimper, desperate to have my limbs locked around him again, but then he presses into me — hard. My wrists are pinned to the bed and he puts more of his weight on me, bringing us even closer together. As our bodies rub together, I can feel everything through our clothing — his cock, his balls, and his hard nipples. And every brush of friction brings a new electric tingle of pleasure to my body … pleasure I had never experienced before.

Schoolboy Secrets

Posted on January 20, 2019February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Now that Evan is eighteen, the first thing he wants to do is go to the bathhouse. He’s gay and a virgin — and so the bathhouse seems like the perfect place for him to go on a Sunday afternoon. He makes his way through the place, eventually finding himself in a hallway shrouded in total darkness. He brushes up against a body, likes what he feels, and has his first gay experience then and there with a man he can’t even see.

As he heads out of the bathhouse, he runs into the last person he expects to see — his gym teacher, Coach Miller. And it doesn’t take long for Evan to connect the dots and realize that it was Coach Miller that Evan had done stuff with in the dark.

The situation is tricky — he had sex with a teacher — but there’s one thing Evan can’t deny. He enjoyed it. And he wants more.

Schoolboy Secrets is a 29,000-word novella.

I lingered at the coffee shop, watching the non-descript building across the street. Every time the door opened and a man entered or exited, my heartbeat surged. My coffee had grown cold as I sat there for far too long, with my leg bouncing in nervous anticipation.

It was my eighteenth birthday yesterday — my buddies had bought me a cake and we’d spent the evening playing board games. While it certainly wasn’t as wild as what most guys likely did on their eighteenth, it was the most we could do, what with us being at a private all-boys Catholic boarding school. But with my eighteenth now a day behind me, I was old enough to leave campus for short periods, and old enough to enter that building across the street.

My heart skipped a beat as the door opened again and a buff man came sauntering out. I watched him as he paused to light a cigarette, inhale, exhale, and walk down the street.

If I’m gonna do this, I better fucking do this, I told myself. I got up, ditched my cold coffee, and exited the coffee shop. Every step down the sidewalk and across the street seemed to make my heart race just a little faster. By the time I approached the front door, the sound of blood rushing filled my ears and my palms had started to sweat.

I reached for the door and just before I grabbed the handle, the door swung open, making me jump back and gasp. It was almost enough to send me scampering. An older guy, maybe in his thirties, with delicious scruff, came out. He paused and looked at me, gave me a wink, and then walked down the street. I watched him go, his bubble butt swaying in those tight jeans of his.

Taking another deep breath, I grabbed the door and opened it. The small foyer beyond was dimly lit and the walls were lined with posters that had sexy men in their underwear. A little trap door opened and a face peeked through, eyeing me up and down before buzzing me through to the actual entrance.

Along the wall to my left were more posters of men wearing next to nothing and to my right was a long desk where the man who had peeked through the little door stood. I stepped up to the desk.

“I-I’d like to ... uh...”

“Can I see some ID, kid?” the man said, his words carrying a whistle due to having a large gap between his front teeth.

Just past the desk, a buff guy wearing only a small, white towel wandered by, eyeing me up and down before turning down a dark hallway. I watched him for as long as I could see him, but he eventually disappeared from view.

“Kid? Your ID?” the older man said, another whistle rushing through his words.

“Right,” I said, and pulled out my wallet. I fumbled through it, digging out my license, then passing it over to him. He glanced at the birth date and then passed it back to me.

“Happy belated birthday,” he said. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward a bit. He was an attractive man. I think the light was aging him a bit — I originally pegged him at about fifty, but closer up, he really looked more like mid-thirties. “You’ve never been to a bathhouse, have you?”

I shook my head, hoping that the jerky movement didn’t telegraph my overwhelming nerves.

“You sure you want to jump into this right now?”

“Yes,” I said. “I want to do this.”

He looked at me a long moment, like he was deciding whether to actually let me in or not. Eventually, he turned around, grabbed a towel from the pile behind him and put it on the desk in front of me. Then he reached for a key off a rack and placed it on top of the towel.

“Your admission is on the house. Call it a birthday present,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He leaned forward on the counter, resting on his elbows. “I’ll run you through the basics. Lockers are right through there,” I looked where he was pointing, “and you’ll want to get totally naked, wearing only this towel. You’ll find a hot tub in the back, as well as a maze in total darkness, glory hole booths, a hallway lined with private rooms, and a sauna. You can have sex anywhere and everywhere — in a private room if the guy rented one or totally out in public. Just not in the hot tub. You shoot your wad in my hot tub and you’re out the door.”

I watched him as he spoke, trying to process all of this information, but I found it was all overwhelming me, making me wonder if I really should’ve just turned around and walked out. No, I told myself, if I walk out, I’ll just come back tomorrow when I’ve screwed up enough courage again.

“Kid?” the man said, pulling my attention back to him. “The most important rule, above everything else I’ve just told you, is that you have the right to say ‘no’. If somebody starts fondling you or sucking you and you don’t want it, just tell him you’re not interested. If he gives you trouble, you come to me and I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” I said. That managed to calm my nerves quite a bit. I could just say no. If I wanted to, I could just spend time here and not touch another man at all. Like I’m going to get out of here without getting some dick, my sarcastic self said in my head.

I picked up the towel and the key, which was on one of those elastic coils that I could wrap around my wrist or bicep. I followed where the man had pointed, finding a room of lockers at the end of the hall. I wasn’t alone. Two guys were getting naked. I stood in awe of the sight; two well-built and well-hung men were dropping their pants and their boxers. One of them caught me staring and winked at me — and before wrapping his towel around his waist, he turned slightly so that I could get a better view of his glorious cock. Moments later, they both had a towel wrapped around their waists and they walked out of the room, hand-in-hand.

When I was alone, I then realized just how fucking hard my cock was. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to shoot my wad within the first few minutes of being in here. I held my breath for a moment — a classmate had told me that if I get an awkward boner in class, holding my breath for ten seconds will get rid of it. I counted to ten, then started breathing again — my boner wasn’t gone, but it was a little less stiff.

Gotta get naked. Right.

I glanced at the number on the key and found my locker. I stripped naked and grabbed my towel, hurrying so no one would see my dick and balls, as if I were in the gym showers at school — even though in the back of my mind I was telling myself that my sole purpose in being at a bathhouse was to get some dick and to get a blowjob. To get those done, I needed someone to see my dick and balls.

Still, habits died hard. I cinched the towel around my waist, locked the locker, and strung the key around my wrist.

I awkwardly held my arms in front of my body, as if to hide my near-nakedness, and wandered back down the hallway toward the front desk. The man at the desk nodded encouragement at me, even as his eyes roved hungrily over my body. I came to a fork in the path — if I remembered right from what I’d read online, the hallway looped around, so it was more a matter of which direction did I want to do the loop in. The warm scent of a hot tub came wafting down the hall from my left, so I started in that direction.

As I wandered, I passed a small foyer with a leather futon and a TV playing porn. A guy sat on the futon, idly stroking his cock as I wandered past. My gaze locked on his meat and I couldn’t stop my eyes from going wide. I’d never seen such open display of sex outside of internet porn. He eyed me up and down, subtly inviting me to join him — I was tempted, but I didn’t want to just settle down with the first dick I found in my first five minutes in here. I wanted my first experience to be a more memorable one. I could always have fun with multiple men, but I knew there was a chance, given my nervousness, that I would run back to the dorms once I had my first dick.

Dominating the Freshman

Posted on January 20, 2019February 18, 2020 by indieerotica

Tyson is a college professor with a penchant for kinky sex. He loves nothing more than to dominate a submissive young man. He’s only into one-night-stands, though, as he knows love isn’t for him. Besides, all he wants out of life is the thrill of sex.

Then Brandon walks into his life. This submissive twink grabs Tyson’s attention and doesn’t let go. He’s gorgeous, enticing, delicious, and Tyson soon finds that he wants more than just a one-night-stand. He wants more than friends with benefits. In fact, he wants Brandon to be his boyfriend.

As their relationship develops a little more with every spank from a paddle, Tyson learns that Brandon has been keeping secrets from him. Brandon hasn’t been entirely truthful about who he is. These secrets could not only bring the end of their burgeoning relationship and reaffirm that love just isn’t for Tyson, but they could also bring the destruction of Tyson’s professional career.

But no matter the risk, Tyson knows one thing — he wants Brandon.

Dominating the Freshman is a 30,000-word BDSM erotic romance.

It’s like a dance. I’ve been through this many times; I make a subtle gesture of interest, he reciprocates, and we move closer.

The gym is nearly empty, save for him and I and some guy doing leg presses. The twink — my partner in this mating dance — eyes me as he walks across the room to the water fountain. After his drink, he looks at me again and water glistens on his pouty, cock-sucking lips. Before he looks away again, I pick up a pair of free weights, my biceps bulging as I carry them to a spot in front of the mirror.

I eye up my figure as I approach the mirror, ensuring I’m giving the twink a good view. My arms glisten with sweat and my tank is plastered to my tight body. My hairy legs look strong in the tight shorts I’m wearing. I shift my gaze to him, watching his reflection, and I catch him staring at me, slack-jawed. He blushes, but doesn’t avert his eyes.

Emboldened, he wanders over my way, trying to make it look casual despite both of us knowing exactly what’s going on and where this is leading. He picks a couple weights off the rack and takes a bench a couple over from where I’m standing.

With his closeness, I get a much better look at him — he’s a twink, yes, but he has some jock muscle to him. He’s shorter than me, skinnier, and has to be nineteen, at most. While his frame might be small, his dick certainly isn’t. The tenting in the front of his shorts tells me he’s hard and he’s big. But it’s not necessarily his cock I want.

“What are you working on?” I ask, as I start doing bicep curls. I keep my voice low, so that only he could hear. I glance at the reflection of the other guy, the one at the leg press — he’s taking a break and doing something on his phone, totally oblivious to the impending homosexual action on this side of the room.

He bites his lower lip, looking like he’s almost overwhelmed that I’m actually talking to him, then says, “Just going to do a few rows.”

Then he leans over the bench and props one knee on it, straightening his back to be parallel with the padded surface … leaving his perfectly round ass curved and ready for me. I want so much to pull down those shorts and lick all the salty sweat from his crack. If that guy wasn’t dawdling by the leg press and would just get the fuck out of here, I might actually follow through with it.

This is a quiet gym; I could fuck this twink in the middle of the room and no one would know. Even though my status as a professor gets me a free pass to the campus gym, I long ago chose to go to this one, as I couldn’t get caught up in gym hookups with students. Being on the other side of the city, the number of university students in this gym was near to non-existent. Although this twink could be a student, I highly doubted it.

I put my free weights on the floor and saunter over to him, admiring every inch of his body as I get closer. “Need someone to, uh, spot you?”

“That’d be nice,” he says. “And make sure my form is correct.”

He starts doing his rows, lifting the weight in his left fist, while using his right hand to brace himself on the bench. I come up beside him, standing beside his head, my crotch at height of his mouth, and I place a hand on his back. His body is sweaty and hot, but I can feel energy thrumming through him — the libido and lust of young men, I’m sure — and it only serves to turn me on even more. I push my hand further down his back, conscious that the other man was still in the room with us, and gently pushed my fingers under the back of his shorts. I find the band of his underwear, and then bare flesh — he’s wearing a jockstrap.

I clear my throat, steadying myself. I’ve never wanted a boy as badly as I want this one. Even with clothes on, his body is perfect.

By now my cock is thick and hard, standing prominent in my gym shorts. He turns to face me, those gorgeous, pouty lips only a breath away from kissing my shaft. “Thanks,” he says, his attention focussed on my bulge.

The loud clang of the other guy finishing a set of leg presses — the guy I wish would just disappear — breaks the tension of the moment. I feel like our slow dance toward wild sex was set back several steps. We need to get out of here.

I watch as the boy turns around and does rows with his other arm. As he turns, though, he brushes his body against mine — his shoulder rubs against my cock — and it sends a shiver through me. This boy wants me as bad as I want him.

I glance in the mirror at the other guy. He’s on his phone again, doing fuck knows what, while he takes a break between sets. I’d seen this guy here before and I seem to remember that he always did a long workout — I’d come and go and he’d still be working on his routine. Today, he had gotten here shortly after me, which means he’ll likely be working out for a while longer.

“That’s quite a workout,” I say, returning my attention to the twink. “You want to hit the showers?”

He smiles and stands up. “I think it’s about quitting time. A shower might do me good … help me relax.”

We quickly rack our weights and walk back toward the change room. I try not to hurry, to not give the guy any indication I was about to get some sweet ass. I nod as I pass, a mutual hello between two heterosexual gym-goers.

As soon as we enter the change room and the door closes behind us, I push the boy against the wall and kiss him. His lips are as pouty and tender as they’d looked, and his tongue is soft and velvety. I abandon his lips and kiss down his jaw and neck, tasting his salty sweat.

And then I fall to my knees and do what I wanted to do since I saw him climb on that bench. I spin him around and yank his shorts down to mid-thigh. His ass, round and plump, is framed perfectly by his white jockstrap, looking like art.

I take a cheek in each hand and massage his ass, then spread his cheeks, exposing his tight, pink hole. He’s smooth as fuck. I watch a bead of sweat collect on his lower back and then roll lazily down into his crack, getting caught momentarily on the wrinkled flesh of his hole.

Taking my opportunity, I dive face-first into his ass, starting with a lick up his crack, scooping up all of the sweat gathered there and brushing over his tight knot. He lets out the softest moan and leans flat against the tile wall in front of him. I take that as a good sign and press deeper with my tongue, brushing up and down and poking at the centre. Eventually, he loosens and I can push my tongue in, to taste the boy’s insides, which is just as sweet as his outside.

I stand up and slap his supple ass, the sound ricocheting through the small room. I walk away from him, toward the lockers and around a corner to where a wooden bench stands like a lonely island. Dropping my shorts and underwear and yanking off my tank, I sit down, naked but for my sneakers, and beckon the boy closer.

He leans in and I pull his face to mine and plant another kiss on his lips. Then, when I want him to get on his knees, I grip a handful of his hair and pull him down. The boy gets the hint and kneels in front of me, between my legs. He grabs my cock and looks up at me as he sinks his face down on it.

Fuck, his mouth is warm and wet and tight — almost as good as his ass would be. I keep my grip on his hair and use it to guide the speed and depth I like. I lean back and moan, letting this talented boy take me to ecstasy. The only thing that would make this hotter would be if I had some of my BDSM gear with me — but that’s all at home. And something tells me this boy, though obviously sexually experienced, might be intimidated by some of the gear I own. For today, for this boy, I would have to be content with his amazing body and the overwhelming lust we felt for each other.

“Get naked,” I say, my words and voice nothing less than a command.

He pulls his mouth off my cock with an audible pop and grins. “Yes, sir.”

I kick off my sneakers so that I’m fully and completely naked, then walk toward the showers. The boy, naked as me, follows. I turn on the water and push him under it, rubbing down his body and cleaning him off.

I spend an inordinate amount of time on his ass, massaging the cheeks, running my fingers up and down his crack, and probing his hole. Every press of my fingers against his tight knot of flesh proves him to be pliable, like with just another push I’d sink right in. So I push further and, yes, my fingers sunk in like nothing. The boy’s ass offers no resistance. He moans and shakes like his knees are going to give out, so I press my body close to his, trapping him between me and the tile wall.

I dig deeper with my fingers, feeling around until I find his prostate. I brush it, tickle it, play with it, and he throws his head back and gasps. By driving him wild I’m only doing the same to myself. My cock is raging hard and oozing precum, begging to get in on the action.

Slipping my fingers from his hole, I spit in my hand and lather up my dick, then press the head against his hole. He’s already slightly open from having my fingers in there — he’s so relaxed that his hole is sitting there, waiting for me. I push my hips forward and ease my cock into his hole, sliding in until I’m balls-deep and my pelvis is pressed flat against those round cheeks of his.

“Oh,” he moans as I pause for a moment, letting his body adjust to having my meat shoved inside him. “Sir, that feels so good.”

The fact that he calls me “sir” even without me asking and without him knowing I’m into BDSM makes me want to fuck him hard and mercilessly, to have him begging for me to fill his hole with my hot seed. I grip one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip, backing up a step so that he pushes his ass out, readying it for a serious pounding.

I start swinging my hips back and forth, slowly at first, being gentle mostly for the lack of lube, then I begin to pick up the pace, going faster and faster. And the boy takes it. He doesn’t groan in pain or put his hand against me to slow my rhythm — no, he takes it. He more than takes it; he starts rocking in time, pushing back when I truth forward, so that my cock shoves deeper in his ass.

Loosening my grip on his shoulder, I run my hand down his back, following the paths of water from the shower that’s cascading over us. I can feel the muscles under his skin — he has a mostly skinny twink build, but I can tell by touch alone that he’s no stranger to the gym. He’s strong and flexible, exactly what I like in young men.

But as good as his body is, his ass is better. The boy squeezes his cheeks together every time I pull out, creating glorious pressure on my cock, milking pleasure from me. He relaxes his buns when I push forward, allowing me to sink in fast and hard. He moans with every deep thrust I make into him.

“Sir,” he says suddenly, urgently, “Sir, I’m gonna come soon.”

Neither one of us has touched his dick — this boy gets off on bottoming alone. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more incredible, this pops up.

“Do it, boy. Come,” I order him. I grip his hips hard and I give his ass a punishing fuck, slamming myself harder into him than I’d done so far.

He lets out a guttural sound that echoes and rebounds off the shower tiles, and then his body quivers and tenses, his hole clamps down on my thick dick, and he gasps over and over. I hear the splatter of his hot cum hitting the tiles in front of him, rising above the sound of the shower itself. The boy’s legs quiver and shake some more, but with a few deep breaths, he steadies himself.

“You’re incredible, boy,” I say, appreciatively. I growl into his ear as I feel myself rushing head first into my own orgasm. But I don’t want to waste my seed in his hole. I pull out quickly and he looks at me over his shoulder with a whimper — he knows I haven’t shot my wad yet. Before he can complain, I clamp my hand down on his shoulder and push him down to his knees.

He knows what’s coming, so he shuffles backward a bit, so the shower isn’t cascading down on his face. He wants a different hot liquid splattering on him.

I grip my cock and I stroke it fast and furious, bringing myself the rest of the way toward orgasm. I grunt as it finally hits me and pleasure blooms in my core and rushes through my body. With my free hand, I grab the boy’s hair and hold on tight, holding him in place as cum rockets from my dick, landing in messy, creamy lines across his forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, and lips.

When the rush of orgasm subsides and my chest is heaving with heavy breaths, I look down at the cum on his face, looking like an X-rated Jackson Pollock painting. He sticks his tongue out between his lips and licks up as much of my load as he can. I help him, swiping my thumb across his face, pushing globs of my jizz into his waiting, eager mouth. He eats it all and I can tell that he wishes there was more.

I help him back to his feet and help wash the remnants of my semen off his face. After a quick rinse, we head back to the changing room, to our abandoned clothes. Thankfully, it seems no one else had come in the change room — though I’m sure they would have turned around and left as soon as they figured out what was happening.

Pulling a towel out of my locker and drying off, I feel a sense of embarrassment settle in. Like most gay men, I’ve had my share of sex in bathroom stalls and truck stops — but never have I done something more than a blowjob, and never in such a risky place as this. If we’d been caught, it could’ve meant the end of my career as a professor. I don’t have tenure yet; administration would just have to decide they don’t want me and I’d be out on my ass.

I swallowed down my embarrassment and looked at the young man as he towelled himself off. His locker was, fortuitously, only a few down from mine. His dick and balls swung low between his legs, contrasting against his tight abs and torso and developed pecs. I look further up, toward his gorgeous face, and I see him looking back at me — I’d been caught staring.

I smile and turn back to myself, focussing on getting dressed.

“Thanks,” he says, sounding almost hesitant. “That was hot.”

“It was,” I say. Part of me is itching to ask if he’s a student, if he might go to my university, but the larger part of me doesn’t want to know that answer. I need to just enjoy what happened, the spontaneous connection that had formed between us, and not wallow in unnecessary guilt and stress.

Fuck it, I decide. Fuck the university and their ethics.

“Want to hang out sometime?” I ask. “Maybe somewhere a little more private?”

“That’d be sweet,” he says. I force myself to swallow and ignore that niggling feeling that I’m doing something wrong. What’s the point of life if I can’t enjoy it?

When we pull on our pants, we pause to exchange cell numbers. I enter his digits. “And your name?”

“Brandon,” he says. I like that name. It fits him. I type it into his contact card on my phone.

“And you?” he asks, after typing in my number.

“Tyson.”

“I like that name,” he says. “Sounds so masculine, so … dominating.”

I wink at him, but before I can say anything more, we’re interrupted by the clatter of the change room door opening and closing. The buff guy from the leg press wanders to a locker behind us and starts stripping.

Brandon and I grab our bags and walk out. I wink once more at him. “See you soon,” I say, and we get in our respective cars. I drive home, already hard thinking of my next time with Brandon.

Episode 8: Changes at Amazon

Posted on November 25, 2018November 25, 2018 by indieerotica