Excerpt from “At The Glory Hole With Dad”

Here’s an excerpt from At The Glory Hole With Dad.

If you like what you see, click here to find out where you can get your copy.

The man and my dad both watch me as I awkwardly fumble for my wallet. My cheeks are burning and surely turning a deep scarlet. I hand my license over to him and he examines it, looks at me, looks back at the license, and hands it back.

“Happy birthday, kid.” Then he looks at my dad. “Birthday boys and their dads get in for free.” He nods his head to the side, indicating we can go in. He hits a button under the counter and I hear a soft buzz — dad leads me through the small gate and into the darkened hallway beyond.

“Closed doors mean a room is taken,” dad says. There are a series of doors with numbers on them, with each room surely not much bigger than a closet. Dad leads me to the far end, to room number ten, and we find the door slightly ajar. This room seems to be slightly bigger since the door is set a little further away, and the room contains two chairs in front of a dark flat screen TV.

Dad enters and I follow, then he closes the door behind us. I can’t look at my dad, can’t meet his eyes. He closes the door and the click of the lock seems intimidating.

“Dad … does mom know you come here?” I still can’t look him in the eye.

“No,” he says, without hesitation or even a hint of remorse in his voice. “What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. Besides, lots of married guys come here.”

I shake my head, simply not knowing what to say. I make sure the chairs don’t have any dried cum on them and then take a seat. I stare at the darkened TV, waiting for dad to just turn it on and get this over with. Like, are we going to just watch or are we stroking one out? Either way, this is too uncomfortable. Also, dad doesn’t know yet that I’m gay — I don’t want to watch some girl getting gangbanged.

“Jeff,” dad says, “this is what we’re here for.”

It takes me a moment to realize that he’s not sitting beside me. I turn to find him on his knees in front of a hole in the wall that separates us from the neighboring booth.

To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of At The Glory Hole With Dad.

Excerpt from “Trucker Piss”

Here’s an excerpt from Trucker Piss.

If you like what you see, click here to find out where you can get your copy.

I hurry out of the building and toward a thick stand of trees just a little ways off. Halfway there, I open my pants and let my cock hang out, but I hold off on pissing until I get behind the trees.

Right as I’m about to let loose and empty my bladder, I hear the shuffle of footsteps on gravel and dried leaves. I jerk my head toward the sound and spot a young man walking my way, wearing overalls. A plumber, I realize, the person who’s here to fix the washroom. But he’s walking toward me. I catch his gaze and he’s watching me with intensity.

I quickly pack my cock back into my boxers and zip up my jeans. I’m about to apologize to him, but then he stops several feet in front of me and falls to his knees. What’s this about? He opens his mouth, like he’s a baby bird, begging to be fed.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Sweat — from the urgency of my need to piss — pours down from my forehead, rolling down my face. If I don’t let loose any second now, my pants will be soaking and stinky.

He doesn’t answer — he just sits there, on his knees, with his mouth open.

“Are you some kind of fag?” I ask. I inwardly chastise myself for using such a word, as I think of my wife slapping my arm for it.

I look him up and down — he’s young, no older than twenty, skinny, and with dark hair. For all the gay men to hit on me, especially for something as disgusting as what I suspect he wants, at least he’s attractive. That thought freezes me for a moment — do I think he’s attractive? If so, what does that mean about me?

Before I can ponder that question further, I feel another drop of piss snake its way down my urethra and dribble into my boxers, growing the small wet spot. I have no time to think on this — I need to piss or I feel like I’m going to die.

Carefully and slowly, like I’m expecting him to call me perverted and pull out a cop badge or something, I unzip my jeans and nudge them down to the tops of my thighs, then do the same with my boxers. I lean back a few degrees, grab my cock, and angle so my piss stream should arc toward the young man’s face.

Almost reluctantly, I relax myself and let my piss stream out of me. It arcs through the air, looking both golden and magical as it catches the light as it dapples through the trees. With perfect aim, my piss strikes the guy in the face, square in his mouth. I watch as my piss puddles there. I’m entranced as he swallows it down, my piss splattering all over his face, and then he opens his mouth again for another drink.

To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of Trucker Piss.

Excerpt from “Cruising For Piss”

Here’s an excerpt from Cruising For Piss.

If you like what you see, click here to find out where you can get your copy.

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.

To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of Cruising For Piss.

Excerpt from “Pissing My Pants In Public”

Here’s an excerpt from Pissing My Pants In Public.

If you like what you see, click here to find out where you can get your copy.

“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.

To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of Pissing My Pants in Public.

Excerpt from “Taking My Son’s Butt Cherry”

Here’s an excerpt from Taking My Son’s Butt Cherry.

If you like what you see, click here to find out where you can get your copy.

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.

To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of Taking My Son’s Butt Cherry.

Excerpt from “Gay Sub Fisted”

Here’s an excerpt from Gay Sub Fisted, the fourth in my series of Gay BDSM Club stories.

If you like what you see, click here to find out where you can get your copy.

Master folded his arms across his broad chest. “I know you’re anxious, kid, but we have to warm you up a bit before we start you out in the sling.” He turned around and walked down the corridor behind him, his magnificent, hairy ass capturing my full attention. “Follow me, kid,” he ordered, without looking back to see if I was obeying.

I hurried after him, almost sad to be leaving the sling behind — but getting increasingly turned on because each step was one step closer to Master having his way with me. And I would be in the sling tonight — if Master said I needed to be warmed up first, then I needed it. He knew what was best for me.

He led me to a locked room near the end of the hallway and I followed him in. With the dim lighting in the room, the shadows played over his muscles, making them look harder and larger. My cock was so hard right now as I took in the full sight of his masculinity.

“Lie down on the bed — face down.”

“Yes, Sir.” I got on the bed — a thin mattress covered with a sheet that seemed to be partly made of rubber — and laid face down as instructed. I turned my head to the side so I could still watch Master as he rummaged through the black duffel bag he always had with him.

All he pulled out was a big bottle of lube.

He came and sat down next to me on the bed, near my ass. “We’re going to take it nice and slow, kid. We need to loosen up this ass of yours.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I was a little confused because I’d never had trouble taking Sir’s dick before, so I didn’t know why I needed to be loosened up. Unless he was planning to put something larger than his cock in my hole.

Before I could think further on it, Master pressed his finger against my knot. I moaned as he forced his thick finger, slick with cold lube, into my hole. He massaged it back and forth, not going in too deep yet, but just enough to relax and tease the edge of my hole.

To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of Gay Sub Fisted.

Excerpt from “Gay Sub Chastity”

Here’s an excerpt from Gay Sub Chastity, the third in my series of Gay BDSM Club stories.

If you like what you see, click here to find out where you can get your copy.

Like I’d been trained to do, I stood in the middle of the room, submitting to inspection. Master walked all around me, sweeping his hands over my smooth body, pinching my nipples, and slapping my ass again. When he came to my caged dick, he gently massaged my balls and examined the cage with his other hand.

“This looks beautiful on you, kid,” he said. “Has it been comfortable?”

“Yes, Sir. It took some getting used to because my dick kept wanting to get hard. But once I fully accepted that you owned my dick and that control of it was completely yours, it settled down. It’s been behaving ever since, Sir.”

He looked me in the eye. “And have you played with yourself?”

I thought about lying, about trying to tell him I’d been perfectly behaved, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to make him believe me. I also would feel badly for lying to Master.

“Kid…?” he said, when I took too long to reply. He knew I was hiding something.

“I may have touched myself a few times, Sir, but I didn’t come.” I looked at the floor and felt my cheeks warm with a blush of shame.

Master let out a breath that sounded like a disappointed sigh. “I expected better of you, kid, but at least you didn’t come. I’m going to alter our plans for today to include a little bit of punishment.”

“Yes, Sir.” I still looked at the floor, not able to meet Master’s eyes.

To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of Gay Sub Chastity.