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Hot Tales of Gay Lust Two

By Landon Dixon

Hot Tales of Gay Lust Two
EPUB, 197 pages ebook Online Price:
ISBN: 9781908192462
Imprint: Xcite Books
Published: 9th June 2011

Category: Anthology / Bundle, BDSM / Fetish, Contemporary, Gay

Rating: 0 vote(s).

Hotter, harder, hungrier. Scorching man on man action from the 1800s to today. Tough guys and tender, bruisers and bum boys. All packing cock and unafraid to use it. Voyeurism, spanking, spitting, jerking, jacking, threesomes, orgies; cocksucking and ass reaming at colleges, truck stops, out in the open, in bedrooms, bathrooms, backyards, backseats of cars. These men are fuelled by lust and powered by passion, driven joyously greedy by all things blisteringly gay.

Shadow Over Southdale: ‘He thought no one was watching. He thought wrong.’ There was a man up in the tree overlooking Leneal Thompson’s backyard, as the studly guy stretched out and started jacking his donkey-dong. Voyeurism was running rampant in the Southdale subdivision, and that called for action – man-on-man action, up-close and personal.

False Fronts: Dick Polk, Hollywood PI. The dirtiest dick of the dirty thirties, willing to do almost anything to crack a case, or an ass. In this case, a movie extra swish name of Lavinder Folles hires him to find heel Tex Rodeo (a/k/a Dagskiell Goodmunderson), a fellow bit-part shadow player who’s stolen Lavinder’s heart – five hundred dollars cash, a pet snake, and ‘Grandma’s pearl’. The investigation leads Polk to a sweat-soaked marathon dance at Long Beach, where some of the contestants prove as phony as the prize money promised. Just like Hollywood facades are packed with false promise.

Stickhandling: They’d snagged third place in the hockey tournament that afternoon, were flying back to the States the following morning – and from there they’d disperse to their various college teams in the northern US. That meant tonight was the last chance for one smooth-skating finesse player to put the moves on his room and teammate Matt, the hard-checking puck hunk who might play the same game, or not. So, what was the game plan, that didn’t result in teeth going missing?

Troublemaker: Travis just can’t stay out of trouble. Whether it’s a solo handjob in a truck stop, a drive-by blowjob, or a lakefront butt-fuck; trouble just seems to follow him around. As he flees from the scene of his first great sex – in a hot tub with his one true love, the presumed drowned Donnie.

Dream Lover: It was a fetish: watching men sleep, kissing them, licking them, fondling them, fucking them while they sleep. Mancolepsy. Only, two can play at that game. Who says dreams don’t come true?

Campus See-curity: I’m a security guard. My beat is a second-rate college; my job, usually about as exciting as a Cop Rock re-run. One night, however, things really did heat up, and my nightstick got more than its usual palm piloting. This is how it went down.

Golden Boys: 1898, the Klondike – the gold rush! Jack ‘Tip’ Taylor – miner, adventurer, stock promoter, mule-skinner, sled dog musher and infamous con man – is on the trail of the Goldtwinkle Twins, Tommy Mulray and Dag Grunthle. And while he admires their body-mining technique, on one another, what he lusts after even more is the golden contents of their bulging saddlebags.

Hardboiled: Schiller is taking Hardboiled American Literature of the 1930’s, but his mind just can’t stop wandering in class, fantasizing about sexy Professor Convey. Because although the impressionable young student appreciates the hardboiled scribblings of Horace McCoy, Edward Anderson, James M. Cain and Raymond Chandler, he appreciates the hard, boiled body and hot good looks of Professor Convey even more. So, he carries his class observations out into the field, for some up-close and personal research on the hunky educator.

Dicked: A private dick surveils a scene he never wanted to see: his boyfriend getting cock-whacked by a bad-ass biker-type. He buries himself in his work to ease the pain, a woman after evidence that her husband is cheating on her with another woman. Only, things aren’t what they seem in this twisted case, and the dick’s pay-off is something entirely unexpected.

Hit On Me: ‘There was All-American athlete-academic Lester – naked as the break of day and twice as bright and beautiful. His muscular, water-washed body gleamed on full display through the clear-paned shower door. He was soaping up his ebony physique almost exactly as I’d fantasized, the needle spray of heated water cascading over his handsome, fine-featured face, his powerful, mouth-watering torso.’ A crunching tackle during a pick-up football game leads to some further rough play on the home field.

Teaming Up: When Malcolm hit fifty and flabby, he made a resolution to get back in shape before it was too late. He did not want to end up like a lot of his middle-aged insurance colleagues – nursing hernias and heart conditions and heavy loads over their belts that meant cock-sightings only with mirrors and sex on the pay-away plan. He’d run the actuarial charts, knew where he was headed unless he took action. So, he took up slo-pitch softball. There, he met Donovan, a young, free-swinging player who was out to recruit new talent for another team of guys who played a harder brand of ball. He invited Malcolm for a try-out. Play ball!

Classic: A car lot employee is hot for the owner of the dealership, a classic of around fifty with dark hair streaked white at the temples, clear grey eyes, a lush, red mouth, and a tall, lean body tanned a deep-brown. So he opts for the good kid program, trying to be the best employee a used car lot ever saw, in order to attract ‘Daddy’s’ attention, hopefully bum a ride. But when auto-man doesn’t respond, the kid decides to take the older guy for a ride, by dipping into his till. And that’s when the rubber really meets the rode.

Down On The Bayou: A plane has gone down in the steaming thick bayou, a single-engine Cessna loaded with stolen dough. Terrance Freeman is out to recover the loot, and he doesn’t care how many men he has to go through to get it.

Glory, Glory Hole: When the conversation amongst work pals turned to glory holes, Troy was more than intrigued, he was ‘in’. But when he shows up at Tony’s Sex Shop and hits the back washrooms with his bulging curiosity, he gets more than he bargained for.

Johnny Club: Johnny Club is one of Izzy Green’s bodyguards. He’s a big man, with a big reputation, for carrying a big rod. That sometimes gets the hard-loving lug in trouble, like when he turns his hose on a lad who turns out to be an operative for the Feds. That’s when things start to get really dirty. Only a good reaming will make everyone come clean.

Man Wanted: The sign on the flyblown restaurant window read: ‘Man Wanted’. To Chester, it had a double meaning, being on the run from the Law. To Russell, it had a double meaning also, needing a man to help out around his place, and his person. The wide-open spaces of 1930s Arizona sheltered all kinds of secrets, some of the best kinds.

Hood: What do you do when a young, hung man washes up on your private beach? Take him for a swim, of course, in the lake and in your bathtub. Take him deep and hard, and then deeper, and harder, until he stops making with the questions for good.

Nailed By Noir: One man’s raging Noir fetish suddenly becomes dark, dripping, black and white reality, when ‘Danger’ shows up on his doorstep.

Owner-Operator: He wrecked his truck a couple of months back, hasn’t got the cash for a new one, and his driving record is a little bumpy. So he came to Northern Roads Trucking, the discount outfit that runs on winter roads up north that are nothing more than frozen ruts on a lake, summer roads full of more craters than the moon, stocking the remotest reserves and docking at the crummiest tin can terminals. Could he handle that? ‘Let’s ride,’ was his response to the big, grizzled guy in charge.

Rendezvous in Porcelain: He was using the occasion of the week after his eighteenth birthday to attempt to progress on his personal journey to flaming gaydom, by staking out the men’s washroom/changeroom at the local beach that had a reputation for being a meet/meat market. But after four straight days of beach bumming, he’d gotten nothing more than a few glimpses of shrivelled prick at the urinals and one raging sunburn. Until the Nubian god’s bladder reached maximum capacity, that is.

The aches and pains in my body and head were instantly swept away by a raging sea of hormones. My sexuality had always been a bit of a question mark to me – and others – but now, staring at that shining, soap and water-streaked muscleman in the transparent shower stall, at his dripping, hanging horse-cock, all the awkward questions were finally answered. I wanted that fellow man like a toilet seat wants ass.
Lester ran the pink bar of soap in between his quad-bunched legs, under and around his heavy balls, his cock jumping, foam rising up and surging around his groin, as well as the edges of my mouth. And as I stared and drooled, I desperately tried to strategise some sort of game plan, some kind of seduction scenario that would put me where that soap was.
But I drew a complete mental blank, my usually rational mind running on empty thanks to a lack of blood. I couldn’t even get playback on one of the 1001 episodes of “Nelson Does Lester” that I’d spooled through my fevered imagination as I’d jacked gallons over the past two years.
My hand drifted down to my shorts, and I touched my yard-marker, gaping at the hunk running the bar of suds back and forth on his thick, veiny, night-shaded dong. I licked my lips, almost tasting the meat. I ran my free hand up into my T-shirt, over my heaving, hairless chest, and caught a flared nipple between my trembling fingers, rolled it. I groaned, my face and body burning, the steam from my ears and the shower billowing, the well-built man lathering his well-built genitals blistering my eye and other balls.
I moved my hand back and forth on my clothed cock, shifting into a familiar stroking motion; and accidentally knocked the door even further open. It creaked, I croaked. And Lester swung his head away from the spray and looked at the tall, goofy, redheaded guy with the blazing blue eyes staring at him from the doorway. His ears were evidently just as sharp as his elbows.
He grinned, waved me in.
My mouth clanged open and my hands dropped to my sides. I stayed rooted to the spot.
He rinsed himself off and opened the stall door and stepped out of the tub, gesturing at me again.
Someone – must’ve been me – finally broke through the shyness barrier and pushed the door all the way open, took a step inside the steambox. Then another, my feet moving all on their own.
‘Wanna use the shower?’ the ebony god asked, grabbing up a fresh white towel and rubbing his face with it.
‘Huh?’ I replied, lurching forward like Frankendork.
I was fully inside the humid chamber, 2/10ths of a first down away from the towelling stud. I ratcheted my zombie gaze down from his smooth, muscle-humped chest, his prominent, coal-black nipples, his ribbed stomach, all the way down to his oh-so-impressive cut cock and pubed balls. Time stood still, like my heart.
Lester glanced up at my bowed head from behind his towel, pearly-whites flashing. Then he flung the towel over a cinderblock shoulder and casually closed the gap between us, saying, ‘Guess you got a pretty bad bruise where I hit you, huh? Let’s see.’
He yanked my T-shirt out of my shorts, and before I could drop the ball and flee for the sidelines, I was trapped in the garment, helping the African-American Adonis pull it up over my head.
‘Hey, that’s not too bad,’ he said, poking at the small, cherry-red splotch under my right nipple.
‘That’s a birthmark,’ I mumbled through the stretched cotton. I pulled the T-shirt right over my head, revealing the large, purple blotch high up on my left pec that my arm had been hiding.
‘Ouch,’ Lester commented. ‘Does it hurt bad?’ He poked it.
Was there pain? Probably. But all that registered in my tingling body was the sweet kiss of the guy’s soft fingertip against my heated skin. I dropped my shirt on the black and white tile, my short, red hair standing up on my head like the even shorter hairs were standing up on my neck, and balls.
Lester’s fingertip traced the blue borders of the Oregon-shaped bruise, tracing fire in my loins every millimetre of the way, my body ablaze with sensitivity. Until he brushed rigid nipple, and my knees buckled. He played the tip of his finger over my erect, pink nipple, charging it even more erect, a thoughtful expression on his face.
‘You probably got a bruise when you hit the ground, too, huh?’ he said.
‘Wanna see?’ I rasped, head and mouth full of cotton.
He nodded, pulling his finger away from my puny chest which was a pale imitation of his broad chest. The things on the ends of my arms – hands, you’d call them – found the elastic waistband on my shorts and pushed down, kept pushing down. Until my outer and inner shorts were around my knees and my rock-hard cock bounced up and into the open, every pulsing, precocious, pink inch of it.
Lester looked at my twitching cock, my twitching face, then grasped my narrow shoulders and turned me around. ‘Ouch again,’ I heard him say. Before feeling his glorious fingers against my skin, gently touching the bruised tailbone that he’d planted in the turf so hard.
‘Sorry about that, man. Maybe I should offer you more than a beer to make up for things, huh?’ His fingers rubbed just above my crack, slid down into my butt cleavage.
I gasped. And then his warm, strong hands were on my clenched buttocks, rubbing, squeezing. ‘Geez!’ I groaned, leaning back into the guy, the jelly content in my legs soaring to 99.9 per cent.
Lester gripped and kneaded my trembling butt cheeks, his wet mouth on my neck, kissing and licking my brimming skin. I felt his cock against my ass, rising up and filling my crack, his tongue swirling in behind my ear. He gently pumped his hips, driving his hard prick further in between my cheeks, his wet tongue in my ear setting my head to buzzing. And then his hands were on my chest, cupping and squeezing my pecs, long fingers pinching and rolling my needful nipples. I burned with a wicked, tingling sensation, floating on Cloud Ten.
Lester spun me around and clasped me in his strong arms, our hard cocks grinding together. Then he pressed his mouth against my mouth, his thick lips moving against my lips, the blowtorch heat from our naked bodies melding us together. 
He pulled his mouth back, thoughtfully gauging my reaction. I couldn’t manage any words, though, the fiery first kiss, the super-sensual sensation of another guy’s pulsating prick against my prick, rendering me speechless. But when he licked at my quivering lips with a cotton candy pink tongue, I spoke volumes to the guy by grabbing on to his head and mashing my mouth into his.
I was flaming full-out homosexual for the very first time in my life, overcome with joy, a man actually in my arms, against my lips and cock. I jammed my tongue into his mouth and we swirled our slippery mouth organs together, surging with erotic energy.
‘How ’bout that shower?’ he eventually asked, after I’d chased his tongue back into his mouth. He grinned at me, slowly sliding his shaft up and down against my shaft. I bobbed my dizzy head.
And I just about lost my head, jumped right out of my skin, when the big guy closed his big mitt over my throbbing cock and towed me over to the shower stall. My whole body pulsed, the heartbeat in my hand-wrapped dick going like a rabbit.

This collection of short stories has something for everyone if you like your sex dirty, raw, and hot! Voyeurism, spanking, get the idea. Pick this one up if you're looking for variety with a heavy dose of spice.


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