Studs: Gay Erotic Fiction (25 page)

“
Ugh!
” The words were exhaled in a rush as he arched his back, all an involuntary response to the sensation of sudden penetration. “Yeah, Pa, I got some dick for you,” I said as I pulled all the way out and rammed back into his ass. My man let go off his asscheek and reached back to pull on mine, driving me further inside him. He pushed back on me as I boned him with long steady thrusts. We kept at this rhythm, and the sound of our bodies banging together echoed off the tiled walls.

In defiance of our public setting’s limitations, he began to wail loudly as I repeatedly jammed my dick into his fleshy ass. Our sexual transformation of the train platform heightened the urgency of our horny aggressions. Bending over him, I laid my chest against his broad sweaty back, and wrapped my hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. My fingers were sucked into his mouth as he grunted: “Fuck me! Fuck me!” His hand still clung to me but had slid down my leg, his fingers digging deeper into my hamstrings. Both of us pulled on each other, frenzied with lust. “Take this dick, man. Take this dick!” I demanded as my hips pounded against him. He flexed the muscles in his ass, squeezing my dick and tickling all of my nerve endings.

In his current bent-over position, and with both of us throttled by sensations, neither of us noticed that we were not alone. Walking up the platform toward us was a guy I’d seen cruising before, immediately recognizable by his dark complexion and Trinidadian flag handkerchief tying back his shoulder-length dreadlocks. I kept fucking so as not to alarm my partner.

The newcomer arrived, proceeding with a cautious pace, and stopped a few feet away to watch. He looked around thirty, slim, and roughly six feet tall. A light beard complemented his handsome angular features and conveyed a sense of appealing masculinity. He was wearing gray sweat shorts with a matching zip-up short-sleeved shirt that was embroidered in red with a simple graffiti-style crown across the chest; it was the logo for the hip-hop clothing company PNB, whose acronym had many original meanings, such as “Post No Bills” and “Proud Nubian Brothers.” Tonight, it meant “Poppa Needs Bicho.”

Triniman’s dick was already raising the right leg of his shorts by the time his hand grabbed hold of his trade and gently shook it. I raised an eyebrow and jerked my head in my direction, inviting him to come over. As he did, the guy I was dicking down saw him and stood up to better view the dude and assess the situation. Just then, we heard the train as it screeched through the tunnel leading into the station. Quickly, hard-ons were tucked away and clothing was pulled back into place as we dispersed.

From our separate locations, we instinctively took inventory of the passengers on the passing J train, looking for uniformed cops or transit workers who might get out and investigate our reasons for loitering since we had not boarded the train. One woman with a large plastic shopping bag exited the middle of the train and left the platform, presumably to transfer to one of the other subway lines. No one got on the train, and only the three of us remained. Before the last few cars of the J snaked out of the southern end of the station, we were already positioning ourselves to resume our tryst.

The dread’s bulge was still present, and both me and the guy I was fucking were eager to sexplore his package. He unzipped his shirt and its two sides parted, uncovering a hairy chest and solid, worked-out stomach. The bottom again raised his jersey, and my tank top also came up. Fingers tweaked nipples, and hands fondled growing dicks through our pants. I liberated my dick and started to pull at it. The heavyset guy unbuckled and lowered his jeans, and bent over to start sucking on the Trini’s dick, which came out for the first time. His cock was fat like a cucumber and about nine inches long. A thick foreskin hung over the tip, laced by ropelike veins, as much of his body was. He started tugging at my dick while I played with his nipples. The light-skinned dude slobbered on the new cock for only half a minute before turning around to take it up his horny ass. I gave the baller a condom to put on, and they started fucking.

As Trini’s dick pushed into the beckoning hole, the bottom began moaning loud enough to get us all busted. I wrapped up my piece in a mint-flavored hood and maneuvered in front of him so he could give me head. This shut him up. He reached for my leg to brace himself as he started beating his meat, and I steadied his shoulders. The blow job was messy and not as methodical as before since his concentration was on his back getting banged out. Drool leaked out of my sucker’s mouth as he gasped for air. He intermittently choked on my dick as the stud plowing him forced him forward every time they crashed together.

“Fuck that ass!” I hissed to turn them on more.

“Yuh dun know,” the Trini confirmed in an accent as thick as curry stew from Sunday night cook-up as he juked the man in front of him harder. Sweat began to form on the top’s skin. I wanted a taste of the glistening sweat droplets in his body hair, so I arched my back over the man between us and planted my face in the Trinbagoan’s bulky tits. Surrounded by coils of black hair, his nipples stiffened inside my mouth as my tongue wiggled over them one at a time. His breath blew forcefully past my ear as he fucked our bottom brother. The top’s hand buried my head in his muscular chest as his momentum grew faster. The guy getting screwed was moaning in high pitches, almost crying, getting ready to cum as his body jerked powerfully. He yelped as his whole body shook with the fury of busting his nut. The spray of his gray-white cum flew everywhere, coating my lower legs and the cement floor.

Resuming normal posture, the bottom retrieved a washcloth from his back pocket and wiped off his sweat-soaked body. After his breathing normalized and he gathered himself, he smiled at us and said, “This shit was mad hot. One.” Then he bounced from the scene. This left me and the man with the big bamboo. He’d taken off the condom and tossed it into the tracks, and was now playing with his long cock, rolling his foreskin back and forth on his big dickhead. His trade bowed downward and curved to the left, and was still hard. He laid his hand on my shoulder and pressured me downward to blow him. “Your time to taste de cocoa,” he asserted.

Squatting in front of him, I stretched a condom over his piece while I licked the insides of his hairy thighs, passing my tongue over the many veins detailing his skin’s surface. With one hand wound around the base of his shaft, I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips and tongue around his glans, sliding my mouth down as far as I could go until he hit the back of my throat. I repeated this a few times before swallowing his cock whole, gagging on its girth and length. “Mmmmm…” he groaned. I looked up at him as I brought my lips all the way to the base of his cock again. He grasped the sides of my head and started to fuck my face. The strength of his motions almost knocked me down, so I slid my hands up beneath his shorts, laying my palms on his quads to steady myself.

After a couple of minutes, my man pulled me up so we stood face-to-face. My heart was racing. In one movement, the dread cocked his head, parted his lips, and we started kissing. Our tongues braided together in a passionate electric charge. I closed my eyes and opened up to this sexy stranger, forgetting about the stifling heat, the decrepit plaster ceiling falling apart above our heads, and the dangers we flirted with tonight in the subway—and every day—for being gay. We ignored the threat of hostility, and accepted our vulnerability by creating this pleasurable intimacy behind enemy lines. Fuck the police. We were going to fuck each other.

Arms searched for flesh unvisited by touch, eager to deliver affections. His hands found my backside and I found his interest. He started to pry at the opening of my ass, and I wet his fingers with lube. Gently, he entered me with an index finger and began massaging my insides as we continued kissing. I gripped his cock and lubed it up, because he wanted to lay some pipe, and it had to fit with ease. Our tongues untangled as he pulled away to spit on his cock. “I’m gonna mash up this bamsee, boy!” he declared.

“Ya promise?” I teased.

“Fuh true.”

I turned around and bent over, then backed onto his piercing fat cock. The initial pain of the penetration flashed up my spine, but soon was replaced with a flood of ecstasy. No balling in recent memory felt this good. “Yeah,” he breathed heavily as he jammed himself faster into my ass. I stretched my arms back to twist his nipples between my fingers, letting go when his chest pushed into my back as he folded himself over on top of me. Then one of my hands grabbed the column that we hid behind while the other worked my dick.

He gripped my waist roughly, pounding his hips against me, and I took all of him inside of me. My nerves were more stimulated each time he forced his cock into my ass. “Damn, this dick is good. Pump that ass, Pa!” I half whispered. Brother man kissed me as he massaged my prostate with his strokes. His tongue ran up my neck and into my ear. His mouth was on my ear as he asked, “You like this cockstand, baby?”

“Hell yeah! Give me all that dick. No mercy on my ass.”

The grindsman let go of my waist, and hugged me with great strength, grunting as he bucked more powerfully than before. He rushed into me faster and harder, and built up so much speed that I began biting his arm to keep from screaming out loud. My ass surely was going to ache from the beating, but the sensory overload felt so good. I tilted my pelvis upward to provide better access to my hole, and I jacked my dick. “You got some cum for me? I wanna see you shoot it.” I managed to get the words out between gasps for air. My man loosened his grip on my shoulders and climbed off my back. He yanked off the condom to beat his flesh raw. My mouth instinctively found itself on his nipples, and I pumped my own cock as we both edged toward the explosion of orgasm.

“Oh!” He strained to drag the breath from the depths of his spasming frame as he busted. His brawny arms and hairy pecs tensed as he heaved forward, pressing himself into my side while he beat his dick faster and tighter. Streams of cum shot across the platform and down into the darkness of the tracks. The end of his load dribbled down his fist and into the wiry black pubic hair at the base of his thick cock, now resplendent with the iridescent liquid. I furiously jerked my dick until I came, lacing his stomach with liquid pearls that streamed down the contour of his tight abdomen.

I pinned the dread against the I-beam, our moist bodies connecting in the heat. We kissed and squeezed each other with exhilaration until the familiar smell of burned diesel fuel from a work train began to fill the air. Both of us scrambled to assemble ourselves before the train made it through the tunnel and into the station. I wiped off my hands on my chest and legs before lowering my shirt and pulling up my pants. My partner in sex crime rubbed his hands together in an attempt to dry them off before zipping up. He slapped my ass and grinned as we left the scene.

The soot-covered yellow work train winded through the station after blowing its deafening horn twice. Black exhaust clouds billowed into the air. The train was comprised of about eight cars, most of which were flatbeds that carried dozens of dumpsters. The containers were full of trash that had been collected from all of the other stations along the J line. The poignant smell of rot was overwhelming.

I asked where my man was headed, and he said he was going to Brooklyn on the #2 train. “Me too,” I said with a feeling of serendipity. He facetiously asked if it was because I was coming back to his place. The answer would always be yes.

Copyright © 2014 by Richard Labonté.

Introduction copyright © 2014 by Emanuel Xavier.

 

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

Published in the United States by Cleis Press Inc.,

2246 Sixth St., Berkeley, CA 94710.

 

Printed in the United States.

Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink

Cover photograph: gilaxia/Getty Images

Text design: Frank Wiedemann

 

First Edition.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

 

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-082-7

 

“Confession Angel” © 2007 by Shane Allison. “Funeral Clothes” © 2007 by
Tom Cardamone. “Capturing the King” © 2006 by Wayne Courtois, first appeared
online in Velvet Mafia, Issue 20. “My Boy Tuesday” © 2007 by Arden
Hill. “Orange” © 2007 by Lee Houck. “Come to Light” © 2007 by Rhidian
Brenig Jones. “Snowed in with Sam” © 2006 by Jeff Mann, reprinted with
permission from A History of Barbed Wire (Suspect Thoughts Press). “Underground
Operator” © 2007 by Andrew McCarthy. “Short Sad Sordid Sexual
Encounters” © 2007 by Sam J. Miller, first appeared online in Velvet Mafia,
Issue 21. “Sex Head” © 2007 by Tim Miller. “The Best Sex between Them”
© 2006 by Andy Quan, reprinted with permission from Inside Him, edited by
Joël B. Tan (Carroll & Graf). “Frank Fudgepacker, Teenage Whore” © 2007
by Simon Sheppard, reprinted with permission from Dorm Porn 2, edited by
Sean Fisher (Alyson Books). “Minimum Damage, Minimum Pain” © 2007
by Jason Shults. “Breeding Season” © 2006 by Taylor Siluwé, first appeared
online in Velvet Mafia, Issue 19. “Donuts to Demons” © 2007 by horehound
stillpoint. “Rushing Tide of Sanity” © 2007 by Charlie Vazquez. “Release” ©
2007 by Alana Noël Voth.