Cameron D. James – Indie Erotica Collective

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Category: Cameron D. James

Dominated in the Hot Tub

Posted on May 5, 2021 by indieerotica

Jay was supposed to be on a romantic ski getaway with his boyfriend Carl…only to have Carl dump him days before for some brainless twink. Not willing to lose money on the ski resort’s “no cancellations” policy, Jay hits the slopes as a sort of makeshift one-man “Get Over Carl Party”.

But that only gets him so far. At the end of it all, Jay realizes he needs something, even if he doesn’t know what it is. Something in his life just feels…missing.

As he soaks in the outdoor hot tub late at night in privacy and quiet, he contemplates all of this. Then someone joins him in the tub.

At first, Jay is pissed that he no longer has privacy, but then he sees who it is. A burly, hairy, hunky daddy that obviously has eyes for Jay. And after a little bit of flirting to test the waters, Jay makes his move.

He knows what’s missing in his life—it’s this anonymous hot tub man with the dominating personality and the sexual appetite of a teenager.

Dominated in the Hot Tub is a 3,500 word short story.

I sunk in the hot tub until the steamy, bubbly water tickled at the bottoms of my ear lobes. I let out a sigh and just closed my eyes, letting that warmth seep into my aching body. But the pain was good.

I was supposed to come to Tahoe and ski the slopes with Carl…but then he dumped me for some brainless twink. I’d considered cancelling the reservation, but with this place’s “no refund” policy, I decided to make it a Get Over Carl Getaway for just myself. I brought my work BFF Jennifer with me, but while she lounged in the chalet all day, I’d kept myself busy.

Carl had been wrong for me anyway. He had wanted love and romance, whereas I wanted to be dominated and treated like the stubby pig I was. It had been far too long since I’d had a good dicking.

There were some hot guys here at the ski resort, but since I was here with Jennifer I had to behave. Besides, some skiing, sun, and late night hot tub soaks would do me some good. I leaned my head back and looked up at the stars above. The air was cool and crisp and snow covered most of the surfaces except for the paved path leading up to the hot tub.

And it was quiet. So blessedly quiet. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the silence.

And that’s why I groaned when I heard the soft pat-pat of footsteps coming my way. I kept my eyes closed, hoping that whoever it was would just pass on by or, if they were sticking around, not bother me.

Then I heard the quiet rustle of a towel falling to the ground, followed by the gentle splash of someone getting into the hot tub with me. I couldn’t help it. I groaned.

“Hey,” said the person—a man. His voice was deep and sexy, even with just that one word. When I opened my eyes, his face and body had better be as sexy as his voice if he’s going to interrupt my solitude like this.

When I did open my eyes…he was a hot daddy.

Hot daddies are my type…even if twinks consider me a hot daddy too. Dominant hot daddies were even more my thing, and there was a glint in this guy’s eye that told me he might like to shove my face into a wall while pounding me from behind.

“Hey,” I said. I sat a little more upright so that it didn’t look like I was trying to ignore him. Like, that was my original plan, but now that I was seeing the potential of getting some daddy dick, my plan had changed.

“Nice night,” he said. Then he sighed as he sunk into the tub. He was clear on the other side, but this was a fairly small tub. So small that when he fully relaxed, his toes brushed against mine. And neither of us pulled back.

He looked at me and smiled in a way that told me his toes touching mine was a little bit of a test. And I passed. With flying rainbow colors.

“You vacationing with your boyfriend?” he asked, likely using this as an opportunity to confirm he had my orientation pegged right.

“Single,” I said. “The asshole dumped me for some nineteen-year-old twink.”

“That sucks,” he said. “I’m here with my BF. It was supposed to be the romantic getaway to fix our relationship, but I’m not sure it’s working.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Eh, don’t be. I knew he was an idiot when I bought him a drink six months ago, but it was that hot ass of his that helped me see past that for a while.” I watched as the steam from the hot tub coalesced in little beads of moisture on his facial scruff that glistened in the bright moonlight. He was so rugged and handsome, way more than Carl ever was.

“So he’s up in your room?” I asked, testing the waters.

“Unfortunately. How’s your room?”

“Can’t. Sharing the room with a friend.”

He looked around, checking out our surroundings. “Why don’t you sidle up a little closer?”

I glanced around too. I had no idea how I had lucked out with deciding to hot tub on such a quiet night, but there was nobody around. There was lots going on in the chalet—I could see dozens and dozens of people having a blast through all the large windows. But out here in the hot tub? It was just me and this hunky daddy.

I shuffled around, sliding across the seat that ringed the hot tub until I was next to him. We were facing the chalet windows and behind us was the peaceful and dark mountains. From this position we could be sure of our privacy since we’d see anyone coming our way from the chalet.

“Let me see what you’re packing,” he said. He slid a hand over my leg and groped the front of my Speedo. I was already semi-hard, but his rough touch only served to make me fully hard.

Academic Discipline: The Complete Series

Posted on May 5, 2021 by indieerotica

Few things are as taboo as a student seducing a teacher. But when the teacher is sexually dominant, it quickly goes from taboo to scorching hot.

Spanking, bondage, and kinky toys are all ways these older men teach their younger male students about the pleasures that can be had if they just give in and submit. And when the boys do finally grab hold of their submissive natures, their teachers take them even further than they ever thought possible.

From a college freshman being dominated by his professor, to a newly eighteen-year-old twink accidentally encountering his teacher at the bathhouse, to a college baseball player giving in to all of his secret gay urges with his dominant coach…these men enter into the most forbidden of relationships.

Academic Discipline collects Dominating The Freshman, Schoolboy Secrets, and Team Bottom into one steamy volume.

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.

Team Bottom

Posted on April 4, 2020 by indieerotica

Andrew, one of three coaches for a college men’s baseball team, gets the short straw and has to buddy up with one of the players when the team goes out of town for a tournament. All of that would be fine except for the fact that he’s bunking with Cole, the cocky, moody, infuriating jock who is also extremely attractive. Plus, Andrew is a closeted gay man and Cole is certainly homophobic. Andrew knows this whole trip will be hell.

But after the team goes out for a night of drinking, Cole comes back to their shared hotel room more than a little buzzed, and he does something that Andrew never thought would happen. Cole kisses him.

When the next morning comes, both men are stewing in guilt and uncertainty. Did that kiss mean something? Or would pursuing it lead to disaster? One thing is for sure, though — Andrew is unable to rid his mind of the image of Cole’s perfect butt and all the punishment and pleasure he wants to inflict upon it.

This forbidden erotic romance between athlete and coach goes from scorching to kinky as both men embrace their roles of dom and sub and learn to trust each other with their secret desires.

A rattling interrupted me, resounding through the room. I stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the door. Someone was trying to come in. My heart beat heavy and hard and felt like it was lodged in my throat. I quickly shut off my phone and pulled my pants up, zipping them closed right as the door swung open and Cole entered.

He paused in the doorway, wavered, and looked at me. He had such anger and resentment in his eyes. Fuck, like, seriously. Of all the players, why did I get stuck with him?

Cole closed the door behind him, wavered again, then stumbled toward his bed. But instead of collapsing on his mattress, he came around it and stood in front of me. I looked up at him. God, he was drunk — and I wasn’t much better than him.

“Cole?” I asked after he’d been standing there for what felt like minutes, just staring at me, not saying anything.

The look in his eyes was no longer anger and resentment, but I couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t say anything, didn’t respond to me.

Then, before I could even process what was happening, he leaned forward, put his hand behind my head and kissed me. His mouth was soft and warm, tasting like all kinds of alcohol. I didn’t respond at first, but then he kissed me deeper, pressing his tongue into my mouth.

I let out a soft groan and he took that as permission to get closer. He climbed onto the bed with me, straddling my legs. I put my hands behind his head, ran my fingers through his soft hair, and kissed him back. I shouldn’t be doing this, I kept telling myself. But I was too drunk to care.

Cole reached for my crotch, grabbed my hard dick through the jeans, and squeezed. I groaned in pleasure and leaned my head back. He kissed my now-exposed neck, nibbling along the base of it, sending sparks of pleasure through my whole body.

I need to stop this, I told myself. I was starting to sober up, these kisses drawing me out of my drunken stupor. This is wrong.

But it feels so good.

Gay Love and Other Christmas Magic by Dylan James

Posted on February 16, 2020February 16, 2020 by indieerotica

It’s been six months since Benjamin finally came out and publicly declared his love for his long-time best friend Jordan. And in those six months, so much has changed. They’ve both moved out, living in the university dorms, and they’re both overloaded with homework.

Although heading home on separate flights for the holiday, they still plan to spend this Christmas—their first as a couple—together, making up for the months of limited boyfriend time. But, when the snowstorm of the century hits New York City, Benjamin is stranded at the airport, with Jordan trapped at school. Unable to get in contact with each other, this very special first Christmas seems destined to be the worst one ever.

While Jordan is devastated, believing Benjamin to have already left the state, Benjamin is determined to get back to the dorms and into the arms of his boyfriend. The perilous trek through New York City is beset with obstacles all along the way, and he worries he’ll never make it back to Jordan. Yet, a little Christmas magic, and help from a few strangers, teach Benjamin not only is the impossible within reach, but that his relationship with Jordan is the best Christmas present of all.

This very special holiday follow-up to the bestselling Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales is a heartwarming journey that uncovers the true meaning of Christmas.

I grabbed my suitcase and exited the airport. The icy cold wind slammed into my face and snowflakes pelted my cheeks. I could barely open my eyes because every time I did, I got snowflakes in them. However, I could vaguely make out the taxi stand in front of me. I walked forward, making stumbling footsteps with all of the slushy snow.

After managing to reach the taxi, I opened the back door and got in. It took a moment to stop shivering and then I dusted the snow off my jacket.

The driver looked back at me. He had to be no more than a few years older than me, but with a full beard across his jaw. “Dispatch says I’m not supposed to take any fares.”

“Seriously?” I asked, disbelieving. “I need to get home to my boyfriend.”

After realizing I’d uttered the word “boyfriend”, something I tried not to do when I didn’t know if the person I was talking to was homophobic or an ally, my gaze darted toward him and then away. Crap. I should just get out.

As I reached for the door handle, the driver said, “Hang on. Where’s home?”

My heart hammered in my chest. I looked at him and I didn’t see the look of disgust I feared I’d see. “But what about dispatch?”

He shook his head. “Man, if I didn’t make a solid effort to get home to my man on Christmas Eve, he’d probably leave me.” He chuckled and I suddenly felt very comfortable in his presence. He was more than an ally, he was gay like me. “Now, where’s home?”

“NYU.”

His gaze drifted up to the ceiling between us and his lips moved as he muttered some words. I recognized them as street names — he was running through the route. Then his gaze snapped toward me again. “If we take all the major streets between here and there, we should be fine. The plows are out in full force.”

“Okay,” I said, suddenly smiling. This was going to work after all! Soon I’d be hugging Jordan.

The driver shifted in his seat, facing forward. “Now,” he said as he shifted into drive and pulled out of the taxi stand, “tell me about this boyfriend we’re braving the blizzard for.”

Thunder by Dylan James

Posted on August 11, 2019August 11, 2019 by indieerotica

Grant Peters is sixteen and wants nothing more than to just compete in calf roping at rodeos and keep winning gold. But there are two obstacles in his path.

The first is Logan Summers, also sixteen, and also into calf roping. Logan is Grant’s only real competition and every time Logan wins, he gives Grant a smug little smirk that sets Grant’s blood boiling.

The second is Grant’s parents being close to selling the family ranch and moving to the city, away from rodeo, and away from his horse, Thunder.

So when Grant discovers evidence of a deadly cougar stalking the ranch, he decides to take it upon himself to hunt down what would undoubtedly kill the little business his family has left if word got out. Of course, as soon as he sets off into the woods, he runs into Logan, who is undertaking the same hunt to save his own family’s ranch.

Now, these two teenage rodeo nemeses have to not only overcome their uncertainty about themselves, but also their hatred for each other, if they have any hope of coming together to save their families’ businesses.

My heart thundered loud in my chest and the sound of blood pumping filled my ears. Everything seemed so loud now. I tried to calm my breathing, which was now rapid and shallow, and did my best to get my nerves under control. I stared down the barrel, choosing to aim between the men. If Logan decided to shoot one, that was on him. Me? I’d hit the dirt at their feet, rip a hole in their tents, that kind of thing.

Logan slowly turned his head to look at me and I did the same to look at him. I was weirdly relieved to see sweat beading on his brow — it wasn’t hot enough for that kind of sweat, so it had to be nerves. It made me feel better to know that he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer or something. He looked back down the length of his rifle barrel and I did the same, aiming for a spot between the feet of two of them.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Logan’s finger move to the trigger and rest on it. I did the same. He opened his mouth, ready to shout something at them.

Then I heard the click of a safety being taken off — behind us — and felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the base of my skull.

“Drop it,” said a gruff voice that had somehow snuck up behind us, “or pretty boy here gets his brains blown out.”

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.”

Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales by Dylan James

Posted on January 20, 2019February 16, 2020 by indieerotica

Jordan Ortiz decides he can no longer hide who he truly is. He’s gay. He comes out to his family, then he comes out to everyone, and it goes well. Like, way better than he thought possible. But that’s about where it ends. There aren’t enough out gay kids at school for him to build a queer social life or even consider the possibility of dating. For now, he’s happy to be the gay bestie for his BFF, Hannah.

Benjamin Cooper is the captain of the football team and has known Jordan for almost his whole life. And he has a secret. When they won an award at the science fair in grade nine, Jordan hugged him—and that’s when Ben realized he had feelings for Jordan. As he watches Jordan come out and flower into who he is, he can’t help but feel ashamed—ashamed at what a coward he is compared to Jordan.

When a broken leg and fair-weather friends leave Ben feeling lonely on Christmas break, he spends New Year’s Eve with Jordan, just hanging out in his basement like they used to years ago. But as the countdown to midnight happens and the ball is about to drop, Ben has something else in mind. At the stroke of midnight, he kisses Jordan.

What starts with a surprise kiss leads to a year of shared secrets, hidden love, relationship troubles, and broken hearts. Through it all, one fact holds true—Jordan loves Benjamin and Benjamin loves Jordan. But is that enough to carry them through when Ben wants to stay firmly in the closet, to the very point that this might destroy what hope they have of true love?

Nineteen minutes and thirty seconds.

I can’t keep counting down like this. I’m going to drive myself insane. I’m going to kill the mood if I’m glued to the clock. I hear some rustling beside me and I see that Jordan has pulled out his phone and he’s scrolling through Instagram. He suddenly angles his phone away from me.

“What?” I ask.

He hesitates, then says, “Nikki’s posting pics of her and Winston.”

“I’m not her boyfriend,” I say automatically. I’ve never actually said that to anyone. I’ve always just let people make their own assumptions and I was happy to play along with it. “We were never together.”

“Really?” Jordan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I make her look good in photos, but I have no interest in her,” I say. I can feel a bead of sweat forming at my temple.

He scoffs. “You put on a good act then.” He goes to her profile and scrolls down until he finds pictures of me and Nikki. Together. Kissing.

“That’s exactly what it is. An act.” My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to punch through my ribs.

He looks at me like he’s assessing me. “She’s gorgeous,” he says. It’s like he’s pushing me, like he knows what I want to say, even though I don’t think he has a clue. “She’s a control freak sometimes, yeah, but she’s gorgeous.”

“Not my type,” I say.

“Oh?” He shuts off his phone and tosses it on the couch between us. “What is your type?”

You. You’re my type. But can I say those words out loud? Hell no. Coward.

Instead, I turn my attention to the TV. Fourteen minutes left.

“I’m still figuring that out,” I say.

He seems to accept that as an answer, or at least accepts that I’m not ready to talk more about it. We silently watch the rest of the countdown and inwardly I’m kicking myself again — way to ruin the mood right before the hug! I’m saving my last mouthful of Bud Light for midnight, so I’m just sitting here idly holding an almost-empty can of beer.

Finally, what seems like ages later, we’re down to less than a minute. Slowly, the energy in the room warms up. I lean forward, like getting closer to the TV is going to somehow make this more exciting. Beside me, Jordan does the same.

“Ten!” he says out loud, joining the cheering people on the screen counting down.

I join in with him. “Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy new year!”

I take that final swig of beer, letting the alcohol give me a burst of courage. I stand up and hold my arms out and Jordan stands up and comes into them. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight.

“Happy new year,” I whisper.

“Happy new year,” he whispers back.

I know I should let go, end this hug, because it’s getting too long — it’s past the limit of how long friends hug. But I don’t want to let go.

I never want to let go.

Jordan feels so right in my arms.

But there’s something I want even more.

I loosen my arms a little bit and he backs up just an inch or two and he looks up at me. His eyes sparkle in the light and I can see a question behind those clear, brown eyes. He knows something is different.

With the alcohol pushing my decisions, I angle my head in and kiss him.

He puts his hands on my chest like he’s ready to push me away, but I keep kissing him, even though he’s not moving his lips, even though he’s as still as a statue. Panic starts to rise in me and I can feel myself starting to shake. Jordan isn’t responding.

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.

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“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, 2019February 18, 2020 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!

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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.