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Author: indieerotica

New Heat (Ruff Times #1)

Posted on December 15, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

Suffering from more financial troubles than he cares to keep track of, Simon briefly considers taking up a somewhat shady ad put up by a person willing to pay a lot of money for a willing erotic hypnosis subject, but ultimately ends up rejecting it out of wariness.

But as luck would have it, he meets Adrian, the man who put the ad up, when he heads out to try and find solace in alcohol or sex. Desperate and with nothing to lose, Simon agrees to experience being put under just once, as a taste of what is possible, before he decides whether to take things any further. He discovers that he might like it much more than he thinks.

New Heat is a 9,900-word short story and first in a four-part series.

Project ALPHA — Part Four: The Studio

Posted on October 21, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

After capturing and binding BoiBubble Studios recruiter Collin Monaghan to his will, Alpha Thomas Crane, with the help of his omega Kenny Jamison sets out to settle the score with the president of BoiBubble studios Eric Walker.

Although it would be easy enough for Thomas to pick Eric up and snap the president in half over his knee, Thomas has different plans. Assuming a new identity, he walks right into the lair of the enemy with the intent to bind Eric — and all those who helped him take advantage of Thomas and others like him — to his will.

The Studio is a 10,000-word short story and part four in a four-part series.

Project ALPHA — Part Three: The Recruiter

Posted on September 23, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

Tommy Crane is dead. Thomas Crane has taken his place, a conscientious dominant man who cares for his omega Kenny Jamison. Although the two have settled into a picture of kinky domestic bliss, both have a desire for retribution against the men that drove Tommy to join a project where his death was almost guaranteed.

The first step of their plot to knock BoiBubble studios down a peg focuses on one Collin Monaghan, the man that recruited Tommy when he was still a broke college student. Wanting to leave nothing to chance, Kenny and Thomas lay a trap for Collin that they know he just can’t resist: a cute, sexy, young, especially gullible twink.

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

Project ALPHA — Part Two: The Change

Posted on September 9, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

Tommy Crane is the first resounding success of the Facility’s top-secret project, but Kent knows that things aren’t quite cause for celebration. Tommy has become a savage beast with nothing but breeding and rutting on its mind, a creature of pure instinct and sexuality.

Kent needs to escape the Facility in order to find a cure for Tommy, but with things rapidly escalating, it may be too late for him to do anything but try and save himself. Even that might be easier said than done when the pheromones get to him and the beast finds him in a compromising position.

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

Project ALPHA — Part One: The Beast

Posted on September 9, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

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

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

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

Cruising For Piss (Gay Piss Play #2)

Posted on May 22, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

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

5,600-word short story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on May 22, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The President And The Rentboy

Posted on May 22, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

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.

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.

Taking My Son’s Butt Cherry

Posted on May 22, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

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

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

17,500-word novella

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erotic Love and Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest

Posted on May 22, 2017May 6, 2025 by indieerotica

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.

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.”