SEVENTH CHALLENGE: HELIOS

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Calypso is fucking me now.

I feel as though Calypso has always been fucking me. Before my creation, long before the Earth itself was formed, there was Calypso, and there was I. A cock and a hole. A man, and his lover.

I have cum so many times that my stones ache terribly.

I have stretched for him, received his holy sacrament in every orifice I possess, and still I crave more.

I was made for this.

“Arghhh,” he groans in my ear.

I feel the familiar trembling in his legs. His body, so hirsute against mine, rages like a fire. For an older man, his strength knows no bounds. He collapses into me, a delicious, sweaty mess, and then he gives me his gift.

I shall cherish it forever.

“Odysseus,” he whispers in my ear. He playfully nips my lobe, pulses his staff inside me in three short bursts, then rolls over, leaving me vacant.

“Calypso,” I whisper back.

I trace my fingertips through the gray hairs on his chest, memorizing each and every one by touch.

“Can I have some more ale?” I ask after a moment.

I do not need to achieve climax, but I would enjoy a libation nonetheless.

Calypso shakes his head. “No more ale, Odysseus. Thou hast partaken enough of the lotus flower.”

I frown. “But I like it.”

Calypso reaches forth, twirling strands of my hair beneath his fingertips. “Thou art so young and beautiful,” he says, gazing at me like I am a precious thing. “I wish I could keep thee forever.”

“And why not?” I sit up, wincing slightly at the ache in my bowels. “Why can’t I stay with you, Calypso?”

He intertwines our fingers together, then brings them to his lips, kissing each one individually.

“I should like that very much,” he says. “But thou must remember, Odie. It is time. The final challenge.”

I scowl. “Who cares of challenges when you have a cock and I a willing receptacle? Let us make love again—I will forget about this foolish nonsense and so will you.”

I reach for his phallus, but he stays my hand.

“It was the sun god, Helios,” he says. “That was the challenge that claimed thee.”

The name awakens something in me. Helios…

Images come back to me all at once. The grazing cattle. The unending feast.

And the sun god’s wrath, almighty and terrible.

My eyes widen.

“Helios…”

I limped along the hallway, my legs still shaky from the full-body orgasm I’d had just minutes ago.

How long had I been in this club? It was getting harder to gauge time in here. It felt like only a few hours, but then, I had no idea how long I’d been asleep in that bathroom.

The Sirens had said something about me changing. I could feel it. The resistance I once felt toward gay sex had all but evaporated. A week ago, I would have been disgusted at the thought of sex with a dude. Since I’d arrived I’d gotten a blowjob, been eaten out, made out with a dude, swallowed cum, been pissed on, fucked my best friend, blown a femboy, gotten railed by a big hairy feral man, and been Eiffel Towered by two beefy bears.

Each time the voice in my head that said this was gross or disgusting had gotten fainter and fainter. If I didn’t get out of here soon, I wouldn’t get out at all.

I opened the door at the end of the next hallway, and to my surprise, I heard something I actually recognized.

Dance music. Beautiful, thumping, bass beats that rattled the walls and made my teeth chatter.

Oh my God—I was almost out of here!

I kept going, every step taking me closer toward the music and toward my freedom. If I’d had the energy, I would have run, but I hadn’t eaten in hours (maybe even days) and I was seriously exhausted.

I turned a corner, and there, at the end of the hallway, was my salvation. Through the archway, I could see flashing lights illuminating the fog from a smoke machine as dancing, shirtless bodies writhed around inside.

It was the dancefloor. I was saved.

I hobbled toward it, already feeling lighter, but each step felt harder to take. It was like slogging through a dream, worried I would awaken before I reached the exit.

But I was determined.

I passed a few unmarked doors, and one of them opened just before I was about to pass it.

I didn’t know if the person coming out was friend or foe, but I wasn’t about to risk it. I threw myself back against the wall, hiding behind the open door and praying I wasn’t seen.

“...has regained his sight a little, but he still wants his revenge.”

“Wilt thou givest it to him?”

The door started to swing shut, so I grabbed the doorknob to keep it open so I could hide myself behind it. As I stood there waiting, however, I could hear the two figures walking in the other direction, toward the dancefloor.

“I think the lad has suffered enough. Zeus wishes for me to release him. He doesn’t want to get raided again—you know shareholders, always thinking of risk. But if the lad offends again, even I cannot protect him from the wrath of the gods.”

It took me a second to realize they were talking about me. Sure enough, when I peeked my head out, I recognized Poseidon from afar, his rippling gray hair and tall, muscular frame towering above the other man. The guy beside him was about my height, and looked to be older as well. I didn’t get a good look at him, except to see the dull golden suit he was wearing.

“Tis a shame,” said the second man. “I should have liked to have sampled him.”

Poseidon chuckled. “I would think you have your hands full with your cattle, Helios.”

The two men disappeared into the crowd of dancing bodies. I waited a moment, then stepped forward to follow.

As I went to let go of the doorknob, however, I was distracted by movement inside the room. When my eyes landed on the figures inside, I gasped.

There were four of them, each clad in the tiniest of skin-colored thongs. They reclined on a velvet chaise longue, limbs draped over one another as they dangled large clusters of grapes above each other’s heads.

They were beautiful. Even more beautiful than the femboys, if you could believe it. Each one was smooth, and trim, with rippling abs, soft, silky hair, and cute, button noses.

One of them, a dark-skinned young man with beautiful lips and a smile that made me want to cry, was feeding grapes to a man lying on his stomach across his lap. The man on his lap had a perfect, gorgeously round bottom, with a pale flesh-colored thong that ran between his cheeks and disappeared into his crack. His hair was messy in a cute way, and he laughed so beautifully as he plucked a grape between his teeth and swallowed it whole.

“Wow,” I said softly.

All four of them looked at me at once. They seemed shocked, almost like baby deer being startled by the presence of a human.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s no disturbance at all,” said the handsome black man. He slid his friend’s legs off his lap, then trotted over to me, taking short, delicate steps.

“Oh no,” he said as he got closer. He reached for my hand, and when I felt his soft fingers in mine, I trembled. “You look so weak. Have you had nothing to eat?”

I shook my head. I could hardly take my eyes off of the shape of his cock inside his thong. It hung slightly low, and I could see a hint of neatly trimmed pubic hair sticking out above it.

He tutted. “Poor thing. You must regain your strength.”

“I can’t,” I said weakly. “I have to leave.”

“But you can’t leave like that,” said the man on the end, a slender, handsome Asian man with a jaw that looked like it could cut glass. “You won’t make it out the door.”

He grabbed my hand, pulling me to the chaise longue. “Come, you must let us feed you.”

“Yes,” said the man with the round bottom. “We have grapes. You must eat.”

The fourth guy, who had dark eyes and a moody expression that reminded me of James Dean, slid beside me on the couch. When he put his hands on my shoulders, I moaned, relaxing into them.

“You’re so tense,” he said. “Let me help you.”

“Eat, please.”

“You poor creature.”

“What’s your name?”

“Odysseus,” I said, letting the angelic Black man feed me one grape after another.

They tasted sweet, sweeter than any fruit I’d ever had before. I swallowed them hungrily, too starving to even fully chew.

“Odysseus,” repeated the Asian beauty.

“You’re so handsome, Odysseus.”

I smiled shyly. “You’re sweet.”

“Not as sweet as you.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen another man.”

“Helios keeps us locked away like cattle, we never get to play.”

“Will you play with us, Odysseus?”

The man with the round bottom was rubbing my chest, while the guy who looked like James Dean was kissing my neck. His soft lips on my skin made me start to get hard in my boxer shorts.

Their touch felt so good, and the taste of the grapes was intoxicating. But something they had said spurred a memory, a warning:

Helios.

You must not feast on the cattle of the sun god, Helios, Tiresias had said.

He is a jealous god, and all who eat from his supply will be cursed.

Cattle… was that what these men were? They were so sweet, I could understand why he would want to keep them all to himself. I’d never known men to be so beautiful, so soft and warm and enchanting as this. The femboys had entranced me with their feminine beauty, but these men weren’t feminine—they were young and gorgeous, strong and smooth, with slender muscles carved from stone and lips redder than the reddest berry.

I mustn’t eat them… but why would I eat them? All they wanted was to play, and play sounded so nice.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, I will play with you.”

“Oh, Odysseus,” whispered the Asian man, and then his lips were on mine.

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We also talked about the kind of fetishes we like to see in erotic fiction that, if our mothers found out about, would lead to the awkardest of family dinners. We talked about which characters we’ve written that we most identify with, and we ended with some lovely recommendations.

Freckleman64 recommends MaxTylerStories on Patreon (he has AMAZING cuckolding stories), while Zack recommends a very naughty sex toy he’s grown to love.

Also, I briefly mention the story “Judge Ordered Slavery” on Literotica. Check it out if you’re a real freak like me!

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SIXTH CHALLENGE: SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS

Somehow I have ended up on my stomach, hands fisting the bunched up sheets, jaw agape in ecstasy as Calypso’s tongue worms its way inside my cavern.

I still drip with his essence, leaking the fluid of too many inseminations to count. The old man does not seem to mind, and in fact devours every drop as if it is the nectar of the gods. His tongue does feel divine on my outer ring, and I cannot help but rub my stiff mast against the soiled sheets.

“I could dine on thy pussy for a fortnight,” Calypso growls, giving my ass cheek a playful nip.

“Do not stop, Lover,” I moan. “It tingles so good.”

He laughs, then runs his thick tongue across my swollen ring. I have been empty too long; I need his scepter once more.

“What happened when thou awokest?” he asks, planting a soft kiss on my pucker.

“I’ll tell you, but only when you’re lodged inside me once more.”

He chuckles. “Thou knowest exactly how to manipulate me, dear Odie.”

He kisses my neck, just below my ear, and I feel the head of his engorged phallus poke at my well-used entrance. I let out a high-pitched moan as he docks inside me, his shaft sliding through my oiled insides like a spindle through its whorl.

“Can thou feelest me, Odysseus?” he whispers in my ear. “Art thou satisfied?”

I squeeze my weakened muscles around his spear, and he is pleased with my response.

“Tell me of what happened when thou awokest,” he repeats, as his hips slowly begin to rise and fall, his ministrations thrusting me into the bed.

The soreness in my bottom is the first thing I remember—the same soreness I feel now.

And the cool tile, ice-cold beneath my skin…

My first thought was that I’d passed out taking the world’s biggest shit.

It made sense—I was lying on a bathroom floor, alone in a stall, naked, and my ass was fucking killing me.

But as I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, it started to come back to me.

The gloryholes. The Sirens. The wild, feral man who had torn my ass apart and jizzed deep inside me.

I reached back and felt my ass, wincing as my finger brushed across my sore hole.

When I looked at my finger, it was wet and sticky with something clearish-white.

Gag.

I got slowly to my feet, looking around for my boxers. I supposed I might as well leave my piss-soaked boxers, considering they weren’t offering me all that much protection, but it felt like a bad idea to wander around naked and gaping with another dude’s cum leaking out of me, so I put them on anyway.

Fuck, how was I gonna explain all this to Penelope when I got out of here? She’d never look at me the same way again.

By now, she’d have probably left the gay club and gone home. Maybe she’d even have the police looking for me! Not that they’d find me in a place like this. I’d have to shower before I went to her place, for sure. Come up with some story that leaves out the part where I got boned by a big hairy dude, sucked some pretty boy’s cock, and fucked the shit out of my best friend.

Yeah… she didn’t need to know all that.

When I got back out to the hallway, it took me a second to get my bearings and remember where I was going next.

What had Tiresias said came after the Sirens?

Go past the door with the engraved mermaid… Do not go inside…

Too late for that, but whatever.

Continue along until you reach a set of blue metal doors. Take the one on the right. You will be tempted to take the other, knowing what challenges lay ahead, but that will only lead you back to the start. You MUST go through the door on the right if you wish to leave this place.

Well, I might as well get moving.

I walked along, limping a little since my ass was still kinda hurting. My friends and I used to joke about how you’d walk funny afterward if you took it up the ass. I had no idea I’d one day find out how true that was.

Strangely, when I thought back to that hairy brute fucking me, I got a little hard. It had felt… weird. Bad. No, not bad. I mean, it hurt, but the pain was… kinda good. And there’d been that part where it started to feel REALLY good, when he’d been fucking me for a while, and I was nice and relaxed, and his cock brushed up against something that made me feel all tingly.

Plus I’d been getting a pretty stellar blowjob, and making out with that sexy girl…

Fuck, that wasn’t a girl. I KNEW that, even though I kept forgetting. He was just so damn pretty.

I decided to put it all out of my mind and worry about it some other time. I kept on until the hallway reached a corner. When I rounded it, my eyes landed upon the two blue metal doors, right in front of me. They looked identical, and if I hadn’t gotten the warning from Tiresias, I would’ve had no idea which one to take.

But looking at them now, there was something… off about the right one.

Maybe it was just what he’d told me lay ahead. Or maybe my body was telling me not to go through it.

Either way, it didn’t matter. It was the only path forward.

I opened the door on the right and stepped through.

The hallway here was different—more dimly lit, with the walls painted a dark blue that made me feel like I was underwater. I walked along, trying to keep a quick pace, going over what Tiresias had told me again in my head.

Scylla and Charybdis. Guardians of the pass. No way around them, only through.

Scylla is the Six-fingered Menace. Charybdis, the Devourer of Men. It would be a tight squeeze, but the choice was simple: which way do you face?

“Fuck, what was it he’d told me?” I said aloud.

Something about one direction being easier than the other. But which was which?

“Think,” I said, smacking myself on the forehead. “Think, Odie!”

If I face toward Scylla, he’ll jerk me off, while Charybdis will fuck me up the ass.

Okay, that one definitely sounds worse. What was the other?

If I face toward Charybdis, he’ll make out with me, while Scylla will… finger me?

Gods, why can’t I remember!

Okay, the second one definitely sounds preferable. I mean, I’d already made out with a dude, and while getting fingered wasn’t ideal, it was better than getting boned again.

I rounded another corner and stopped dead in my tracks.

There, at the far end of the hallway, were two massive dudes. I could tell they were dudes because they were shirtless and kinda hairy. Both of them had big, full beards, and bellies that hung slightly over their shorts.

They were both staring forward, at each other. Neither seemed to notice me.

I walked slowly toward them, wondering if it would be possible to escape their notice.

Neither looked at me as I approached. The closer I got, the better I could see them.

The one on the left had dirty blond hair, a thick brown beard, and a large belly covered in a light dusting of hair. He was wearing cargo shorts, of all things, and sandals. His thighs were massive, and he had arms the size of my waist.

The one on the right had dark red hair, a matching beard, and the same large, hairy belly. He was also wearing cargo shorts and sandals, and, like his friend, didn’t look at me as I approached.

I stopped in front of them. Then I ducked down, trying to see if there was a way to crawl underneath them. Maybe I could get through without having to get fingered?

No such luck. The hallway was narrow, and they were standing so close together that I would only be able to pass sideways.

I would have to bite the bullet.

I was about to squeeze through when I realized I had no idea which one was Scylla and which was Charybdis.

Fuck, why couldn’t I remember what Tiresias said?

Scylla has hair like fire, Charybdis like the sandy shore.

Or had it been the other way around?

“Fuck,” I swore softly. “I don’t suppose you two will tell me who’s who?”

They ignored me, continuing to gaze forward.

I sighed. “Here goes nothing.”

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This is the first offering in a new, recurring segment I like to call Speed Humps.

Basically, every once in a while I’ll release a short, one-off scene. Something quick, dirty, and horny to get you off. I’m known for my longer chapters (usually at least 5K and sometimes as much as 12K), but these will be more like 2-3K. Just something to make sure you’re getting the most out of your subscription every week!

Anyway, enjoy Straight Boy Locked Out :)

Dude, this workout was brutal.

I’d been training at Weston Gym in North Hollywood for about two months now, and still hadn’t gotten used to the heat. Tell me why, in the hottest summer on record, I chose to get a membership at the only gym in the city with no AC?

I guess the answer was simple. I wanted to look good and get laid. I wasn’t Mister Buff, but I had abs and a good amount of muscle definition for a 19-year-old. I didn’t have much of a problem nabbing chicks, but I was tired of being called “cute” and “baby-faced.” I wanted to look more like the muscly dudes at the gym who looked like they could snap you like a twig.

Weston gym closed at eight, and I had just finished my workout a few minutes before they locked up for the night. I didn’t even have time to shower, since the girl behind the desk was shooting me daggers all throughout my last set, reminding me they definitely closed right at eight and she had a party in the Hills to get to.

I powered through my last few reps, letting the weight crash loudly (sorry, lady) as I lifted to failure. I was covered in sweat, and pretty sure I reeked, but I’d shower when I got home. I was supposed to have a date with my girl tonight, but she dumped me last week, so I’d probably stay home and jerk it to some porn.

I was halfway to my car when I realized I forgot my keys.

“Fuck,” I said, pulling my hands out of my pockets and coming up empty.

They must have fallen out while I was working out.

Of course, by the time I got to the doors, they were locked. I tried knocking, but I could already see all the lights were off, and the parking lot was empty.

I’d missed my chance.

FUCK.

I needed those keys to get into my car, not to mention my apartment. I lived alone, so I couldn’t ask a roommate to let me in.

And it was a holiday weekend, so the gym was closed tomorrow. I’d be fucked till Monday.

I was spiraling until I remembered the card in my wallet.

The owner, a friendly, burly guy with a shaved head and a dangly cross earring, had given it to me when I’d signed up. It was part of the initial sales pitch, trying to sell me on a training session—I didn’t need some dude telling me how to work out—but I took the card just to be polite.

“Call me anytime,” he’d said, giving me a big smile.

I was pretty sure he wasn’t anticipating this, but fuck it. I needed my keys.

I pulled out my phone and dialed. The line rang for a few seconds, and I prayed silently for him to pick up.

“Hello?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey, Roman. It’s Matt Caynor, from Weston.”

“Matt! Good to hear from you, man.”

“You too, you too. Listen, sorry to call like this, but I locked my keys in the gym. I can’t get into my car or my apartment without them. The girl behind the desk already left for the night, and there’s no one inside–”

“Say no more. Give me twenty minutes, I’ll let you in.”

I exhaled in relief. “Seriously?”

“Of course! I’d hate to see you locked out on the street.”

God, this dude was so friendly. What a lifesaver.

“I owe you big, man,” I said.

After I got off the phone, I sat on the shaded curb by the entrance. The sun hadn’t fully gone down yet, and it was still hot as balls. I could feel my nuts sticking together from the sweat, and I had huge pit stains from working out. I couldn’t wait to be sitting in my apartment under the cool AC, relaxing with some stepmom porn and my hand wrapped around my cock.

About fifteen minutes later, a car pulled up to the parking lot.

I got to my feet, waving as Roman got out of his car.

He was a little shorter than me, with a buzzed head and a short blackish-gray beard. I think he might have been in his early 40s, but I kind of sucked at telling people’s ages.

“Hey man,” he said jovially. “Locked yourself out, huh?”

I rubbed the back of my head. “Yeah,” I said sheepishly. “Dumbass, right?”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Naw, man. You’re fine.” He squeezed my shoulder and went, “Damn, you must have been working out hard. Upper body day?”

“Um, no,” I said. “Leg day.”

He squeezed again. “You’re kidding. This is how you are without a pump? Sick, man!”

I chuckled. “Yeah thanks.”

“Your girlfriend must me pleased.”

“Not enough to keep her from dumping me,” I said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Aw, that sucks.”

“It’s fine,” I said. It was still pretty hot, and the sweat was dripping down my abs underneath my shirt. I wanted to get home soon, but I didn’t want to be rude. “Um–”

“I got you,” he said, pulling out a ring of keys. “Follow me.”

He unlocked the door, then led me up the stairs to the workout room. When he flipped the switch, the fluorescent lights flickered on overhead.

He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Where’d you leave ‘em?”

“I think by the leg press.”

I knelt beside the machine, crouching low to inspect the ground around it. I couldn’t see them, so I got on my hands and knees, poking my head underneath the press to see if I could find it.

“Damn,” I said. “Nothing here.”

When I got out, Roman was smiling at me, but there was something different about his smile this time.

Shit. Had he been looking at my ass? I was only wearing a tank top and a pair of basketball shorts (I’d forgotten to wear underwear today). I hope my crack wasn’t hanging out. That would’ve been hella embarrassing.

“Maybe it’s over by the glute machine,” he said casually. “I’d bet the whole farm you used that one today.”

He winked at me, turning to walk back over to the glute machine.

I blushed. Fuck, he must have been staring at my ass. I knew he was gay, but I wasn’t used to getting checked out by another guy. Still, he was doing me a favor. I guess it wasn’t a big deal.

When I got to the glute machine, he was crouched beside it, frowning. “I don’t see anything,” he said.

I crouched down next to him. “You sure? I don’t know where else it could be.”

“Feel free to look, but I don’t–”

He stopped talking, his eyes glued on the front of my basketball shorts.

When I looked down, I saw the head of my dick was hanging out the leg hole.

“Oh, shit,” I said, standing quickly. “I’m sorry, dude.”

He grinned. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll never turn down a chance to see a pretty uncut cock.”

I covered my crotch with my hands, blushing. “Dude… I’m straight.”

He laughed. “So? Everybody knows guys give better head. You don’t have to be gay to realize that.”

For some reason, when he said that, I felt a jolt in my dick.

What the fuck?

“Roman… I have a girlfriend, man.”

“I thought she dumped you?”

Fuck. Why had I told him that?

“I drove twenty minutes to get here,” he said, his hand brushing against my thigh. “The least you can let me do is suck your dick.”

His fingers slid underneath the hem of my basketball shorts, and I shivered as I felt them rub against my foreskin.

“Dude,” I said quietly. “I’m not–”

“Shhh,” he said, dropping to his knees. He looked up at me, his eyes piercing blue. “Just let me taste you.”

He pulled the leg of my basketball shorts up a little to release the tip of my cock, which was starting to get hard. I knew I wasn’t gay, but I was still young enough that any sexual stimulation was enough to turn me on.

“Roman–”

The words died in my throat as he licked the tip of my dick. My legs immediately went weak, and I braced myself against the glute machine as he sucked my foreskin into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” I moaned. I put a hand on his shaved head, my eyes fluttering in the back of my head as he took more of my cock into his mouth.

It felt really good, better than it should have considering it was a guy blowing me. He was still crouching, his head angled up to get as much of my dick in his mouth as he could without taking my shorts off. I just moaned, feeling my balls tingle as I started precumming in his mouth.

“Mmm,” he moaned around my dick, then pulled off and licked his lips. “Love the taste of your precum. So sweet.”

“Man,” I said weakly, “I don’t know about this.”

He ran a hand underneath my tank top, feeling my abs and pressing me back against the glute machine. “Don’t worry about it. You owe me, remember? There’s worse ways to return a favor than getting blowies.”

He pulled my shorts down, and my fully hard dick sprang out. I hadn’t trimmed my pubes since my girl dumped me, so my bush was a bit out of control at the moment, but he just grabbed my cock and slid it back into his mouth, burying his nose in my curly brown pubes.

“Oh, FUCK,” I moaned.

His throating skills were incredible. He was taking me so deep, deeper than my girl could, and his tongue felt amazing on my shaft. As much as I hated to admit it, he was totally right—guys did give better head.

I was sweating from the heat and the blowjob, so I stripped off my tank top, tossing it to the side as I let Roman blow me. He was grunting hungrily, and it sounded like he really loved my dick. Was giving a blowjob really that fun for him? Eating pussy certainly wasn’t for me, and my girl never seemed to love giving head, so I always just thought oral sex was something you loved to get and you endured giving.

But he had his own cock out of his shorts and was jerking it, and from how hard he was, it seemed like he was just as turned on as I was.

“Fuck, dude,” I said, thrusting a little in his mouth. “Your mouth feels amazing.”

He let my dick slide out of his mouth and grabbed my shaft, pumping my foreskin as he ran his tongue along my balls. “Your balls smell like salt ‘n’ vinegar chips,” he said, sucking one of them into his mouth. “You must have worked out really hard.”

I chuckled. I’d never really had my nuts sucked, and it kind of tickled. But it also made me leak like crazy. Roman had his nose buried in between my balls and my leg, and was huffing my nuts like gasoline.

“I didn’t get a chance to shower…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he said, giving my bush a good sniff. “Nothing smells better than a straight boy’s balls after a hard workout.”

Wow, he was so into this. Who was I kidding—so was I!

I closed my eyes, leaning back as I focused on the pleasure he was giving me with his mouth. I was surprised a blowjob from some hairy, masculine dude would feel better than one from my sexy, smooth girlfriend, but if I was honest, I’d take this blowjob over hers anyday.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” I warned, but he just grabbed my ass and pulled me in deeper.

Fuck, he wanted to swallow my cum, too? Jackpot.

“Ungh… Roman, I’m gonna… Gonna…”

My knees buckled as I blew in his mouth. He just swallowed it all hungrily, his tongue swirling around my cock as he sucked out every drop. The pleasure was blinding, and for a moment, the only thing keeping me from toppling over was the glute machine keeping me propped up.

He kept sucking long after I was sure my nuts were empty. His shaved head was slick with sweat, and his hand was flying on his cock. I watched, curious, as his eyes scrunched, and then he moaned around my cock.

Suddenly he was shooting, jets of cum splattering on my shoes as his dick pulsed in his hand. I’d never seen a guy cum before, and it was crazy to think I’d just been doing the same thing in this dude’s mouth.

Finally, when he finished cumming, he let my dick fall out of his mouth. He leaned back, giving his cock one last slow stroke as a thin string of jizz oozed out.

Then he looked up at me and grinned.

“I’d say we’re even now. Should we keep looking for your keys?”

I nodded. I pulled my basketball shorts up while he grabbed some paper towels to clean his splooge off the ground. I was just pulling on my tank top when he said, “You know, if you can’t find them, you’re welcome to crash at my place.”

I turned to see him leaning against the wall, smiling at me.

“It is a holiday weekend, after all,” he continued. “Might be tough to get a locksmith out there.”

Before I could respond, I noticed a glint of metal on the ground behind him. There, underneath the ab machine, were my keys.

I was about to say something when I stopped. He was still smiling at me, and I felt my dick pulse as I remembered how good his mouth had felt around my cock.

“Are you sure?” I said finally. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

He grinned. “It’s no trouble at all. As long as you don’t mind that I only have one bed.”

I laughed, then adjusted my growing cock in my basketball shorts.

“Hey man… As long as you have AC, I’m good.”

I followed him to the exit, leaving my keys where they lay.

He put his hand on my lower back, his fingers brushing the top of my ass through my basketball shorts.

“Don’t worry,” he said, holding the door open for me. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and cool all weekend long.”

My dick was hard already just thinking about it.

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FIFTH CHALLENGE: THE SIRENS

I am on my knees, worshipping at the feet of Calypso.

He sits on the edge of the bed, resting back against his forearms as I savor his cock with my mouth.

His staff is flagging, but it soon regains its might as I do that special trick with my tongue. I do not remember where I learned it, only that it makes him groan, fist my hair, and whisper What a good boy thou art…

“Odysseus, thy tongue,” Calypso moans, gently petting my head like I am his faithful hound.

I say nothing, but hold his rod in my hand as I slurp his heavy sack of life.

His orbs are tiny treasures I roll on my tongue, the folds of his pouch wrinkled and hairy between my lips. I wish to consume his seed again, to imbibe his life force as readily as I guzzle the Lotus Flower ale.

“Odysseus… Odysseus… Odysseus!”

It is only when he pulls me away from his jewels that I realize he has been trying to capture my attention.

He smiles down at me, then slips his thumb inside my mouth. My lips close around it readily as I await his command.

“Thou were about to tell me of Tiresias’s warning.”

“Was I? I don’t remember.” I grab his hand and suck another finger inside my mouth.

He chuckles, then pulls his hand beyond my reach. “I should like to know how thee prevailed against the trials.”

“But how can I speak with my mouth full?” I ask, leaning in to lap at the head of his engorged cock.

He tilts my chin and gazes in my eyes. “Let me, sweet creature.”

He spins me around until it is I who recline on the bed. Before I can protest, his mouth is on my stick, having swallowed it to the root.

“Daaaaaaddy,” I moan, falling back onto the pillow like a fainting maiden. “Daddy, Daddy, Daaaaaddyyyyyy…”

Calypso’s mouth is softer than silk and sweeter than honey. It feels so intoxicating that I forget what he has asked until he slips my sword out of his mouth and says, “Tell me, Odysseus. What was the first trial thee had to resist?”

I open my eyes, staring at the torchlight on the ceiling, and the spinning fan casting moving shadows on the wall.

In the shadows, I see their forms. The graceful movements, so sweet and seductive.

“The Sirens…”

I climbed out of the Underworld, rushing past the door with the skull, the whispering still ringing in my ears as I emerged out of the stairwell and into the light.

The Sirens.

Scylla and Charybdis.

The Sun God, Helios.

Three temptations, two of which were easily avoidable, one of which would be a tight squeeze, but manageable.

I hurried through the hallways, repeating the directions he’d given me in my head.

Go straight until you reach a crossroads of three. Take the path in the middle, then a hard right as soon as you see the painting of the ship run aground on jagged rocks. Continue down the hallway, past the door with the engraving of the mermaid.

Do NOT go inside, no matter what happens. Once I hear the Sirens’ call, it will already be too late.

Should be easy enough. I was ready to get the hell out of here, so I didn’t mind not checking out whatever weird little side rooms were in this place.

I reached the crossroads after a few minutes of walking. Instead of meeting at a cross, they branched out at narrow angles, like the limbs of a tree.

I glanced down the paths to the left and the right, wondering what could possibly lurk in such a cavernous space.

“What are you doing, Odie?” I chastised myself. “Who gives a shit what else is here, just get a move on.”

I hurried down the hall, breaking out at a light jog until I got to a section with rows of paintings on either side.

They were long and ornate, stretching nearly from floor to ceiling. In between each was an entrance to a different hallway, all identical.

Again, who designed this fucking place, and how big could it possibly be?

I walked slowly, studying the paintings one by one to make sure I didn’t miss the one with the ship.

I stopped in front of a ship on stormy waters, but there were no rocks in sight. Could this be it? No, it was in the middle of the sea, and Tiresias had definitely said it was run aground. Keep moving.

I walked past paintings of towering gods, naked men and women, and frolicking animals. It was fucking weird, and seemingly out of place for what was supposedly a gay club.

Who was I kidding. I knew by now that the Trojan Whore was definitely not just a regular gay club.

When I finally found the painting of the ship run aground, I breathed a sigh of relief. I studied it carefully to make sure it was the right painting.

It was. The ship had crashed into a bunch of jagged rocks, the front of it shattering into a million wooden pieces.

On the rocks, three mermaids reclined lazily, as if watching the show.

Weird.

I took the hallway to the right, breaking back into a jog now that I had the right path. As I ran, I could feel my bladder start to weigh heavy.

Oh, well. I could piss when I was out of here.

The more I ran, though, the more full it felt. It was starting to grow painful, and I was kind of worried I’d piss myself. My boxers had only just gotten dry, and I wasn’t looking forward to dousing them with fresh piss.

Just as I was about to burst, I spotted a door on the right-hand side. Maybe I could duck in there real quick, just to piss.

I was about to push it open when I noticed what was on the door: a golden mermaid, her hair long and flowing, her lips cherry-red and full.

Fuck. Tiresias’s warning. No way I was going in there, no matter how bad I had to piss.

Just as I was about to pull my dick out and piss in the hallway, I heard the sound of footsteps.

Oh shit. Someone was coming.

I looked around, but the hallway in front of me stretched on endlessly. There were no other doors nearby, and I had to piss so bad there was no way I could run far enough to get away from whoever was coming.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

With no other option, I plugged my fingers in my ears, kicked open the door, and ran inside.

It was a bathroom.

A normal bathroom.

Thank God.

I was so relieved I nearly unplugged my ears, but I remembered Tiresias’s warning about the Siren’s song.

Once you hear the Sirens’ call, it will already be too late.

I would keep my ears plugged, quickly piss, peek outside to make sure the hallway was empty, then book it to the exit.

Unfortunately, this bathroom didn’t seem to have any urinals.

Probably one of those weird mixed-gender bathrooms you were starting to see now.

I headed for the stall in the middle, nudging the door open with my foot as I slipped inside.

The walls were covered with graffiti—call Aglaope for a good time, Thelxiepea gives good head—but the toilet was clean and I needed to piss like nobody’s business.

I took my finger out of my left ear long enough to latch the door, then quickly pulled down my boxers.

When the piss started flowing, all was right in the world.

“Mmmmmm,” I moaned, enjoying the stream that cascaded out of my cock into the toilet.

The relief at emptying my bladder was almost as good as it had felt fucking Agamemnon. I still couldn’t believe I’d done that. He was my best bro, and I’d fucked him up the ass and cum in him. And loved it.

Was I gay now? Or bi? No way. I still dug chicks, and all I wanted was to get back to Penelope so I could fuck her brains out.

I wasn’t gay. I just liked getting my dick wet, that’s all. Anyone in my position would have done the same exact thing.

I’d nearly finished pissing when I noticed the hole.

It was small, about the size of the bottom of a soda can, carved into the side of the wall to my left. Through it, I could see two pale, dainty fingers, and an eye with long lashes staring at me.

“Fuck!” I yelled, falling sideways and sending the last spurt of my piss flying.

My fingers slipped out of my ears, and that was when I heard the figure behind the hole giggle.

“Careful,” they said, and the voice was so sweet and melodic that it gave me pause.

I wanted to plug my ears again, but for some reason, that didn’t seem as important right now.

“You scared me,” I said, laughing sheepishly.

The person behind the hole giggled again. “Sorry. You’re really big, you know. Down there…”

The eye trailed down to my cock, which was still hanging out of my boxers.

I rubbed the back of my head, then gave it a few tugs. “Aw… I dunno. I’m not THAT big.”

“Are you kidding?” The figure pulled back, and now I could see two eyes with big, long lashes staring at me. “You’re hung like a stallion. I bet girls love sucking on such a big, thick cock.”

I smiled, rubbing the head of my dick with my thumb. “Yeah, I guess. My girlfriend’s not all that into giving head, but–”

“What?” The eyes looked aghast. “That’s crazy. If you were my boyfriend, I’d be on my knees in front of you 24/7. Draining your balls while you relax with a beer. Rubbing your feet, kissing your balls…”

I cleared my throat. My dick was starting to get hard now.

“Does that please you? To hear what I want to do to your dick?”

“I mean… yeah,” I admitted. “But… I have a girlfriend.”

“That’s what’s so beautiful about the gloryhole,” said the voice. “It’s not cheating if you don’t know who’s blowing you. Just stick your cock through, let the person on the other side blow you, and get the best head of your life.”

I was fully hard now. That did sound really good. But still.

“I dunno,” I said. “It feels kinda weird, not knowing who’s sucking my cock.”

“Well, come take a look, then, handsome.”

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A Nightmare on Elm Street 2… The Gay One!

On this week’s Smutstack, and I interview a writer who knows a thing or two about couples who like to blur the line of monogamy:

Alex’s stories read like a juicy soap opera, with interconnecting storylines, characters that weave their way through one story to the next, and a dash of cheating/cucking thrown in for good measure.

Tune in to hear us discuss such gems as:

• What is Alex Cunning’s writing process?

• What the hell is up with the cuckolding kink??

• What are the “rules” of the BDSM community???

• Is Zack Alexander a masochist????

RECOMMENDATIONS:

• Zack Alexander re

  commends erotic fiction writer Ashe Moon, who writes MPreg stories.

• Alex Cunning recommends The Nira Chronicles by Kora Knight, a story about aliens with giant cocks who keep human sex slaves.

• Freckleman64 recommends A Nightmare on Elm Street 2, the gayest one in the bunch! There’s tighty whities, jockstraps, crop tops, leather, and a very naughty spanking scene in the shower. Who doesn’t love homoerotic horror!

Please, leave a comment and let us know what questions you’d like us to discuss… or what guests you want us to interview!

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Cris took the steaming mug of tea, holding his palm underneath to keep it steady as he brought it to his lips.

The taste of Earl Grey instantly soothed him.

“Thanks for letting me in,” he said, blowing on the hot tea before taking another sip.

“What was I going to do, leave you standing on my door? This is ridiculous.” Fernando settled into the EZ-chair across from him, folding his hands over his swollen belly.

Cris laughed. “Fair point. But you’ve been very welcoming to me, even when I showed up here with no notice.”

Fernando’s place was cute, but cramped. A half-assembled crib lay in the middle of the room, while unopened boxes sat in the corner, stacked halfway to the ceiling.

Fernando noticed him looking.

“Some friends are a little… how do you say, “gun-happy” with the gifts. I told them I didn’t want to do a baby shower, but they send things anyway.”

Cris smiled. “Sound like good friends.”

Fernando studied him for a moment. “Why are you here, Cris?”

He raised a hand. “I don’t mean that you are not welcome. Only that it is a long drive from Albany; I should know that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call–”

“That is not my concern. My concern is the look on your face. Has something happened?”

Cris stared at his tea for a moment. “I had a fight with Frank.”

He waited for Fernando to say something, but clearly he was content to just listen, so he sighed and continued.

“It’s my fault, really. It always is. I keep doing this to people. Pushing them away, shutting them out. Getting angry when they call me out on it. It’s childish.”

“Why do you do this, then?” asked Fernando. “Why shut people out?”

“It’s complicated.”

Fernando laughed.

“What?”

“You drive three hours to see me in Boston, to tell me you are angry with yourself for shutting people out, only to do the same to me when I ask why.”

Cris smirked. “Okay, point taken.” He looked around for a second. “Is, um… Is Trynell–”

“He is at his mother’s,” said Fernando. “I stayed home because my back is aching me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Cris. “Do you–”

“I took an aspirin,” he said quickly. “Now please. You were saying?”

Cris took a deep breath and, with no other option, began talking.

“It’s my ex,” he began. “His name was Paul. We met at NYU about seven or eight years ago. I was going to Tisch, he was at Stern studying business. He had this fiery red hair, long and wild. And he was so charismatic. I got talking to him at this party, just chatting about Sam Shepard or something, then before I know it we’re hooking up in one of the bedrooms.”

Cris shook his head, chuckling softly. “I’d never done anything like that. Paul… he just brought out this wild side in me, I guess.”

Fernando just nodded, listening as Cris opened up about the early days of their relationship, the whirlwind courtship and passionate sex that left him feeling breathless. He spoke way too much, sharing facts that weren’t even relevant, that he hadn’t known he’d remembered.

It had been a long time since he’d last talked about Paul.

“When we graduated, I wanted to audition for Broadway, and his father had an apartment on the Upper East Side where he was staying. He offered to let me move in with him, and I said yes.”

“Hold on a second,” Fernando said for the first time, raising a hand. “You were on Broadway?”

Cris nodded. “Mostly ensemble stuff in the beginning. I had a small part on a couple of off-Broadway shows, but then I got cast in the revival of Mamma Mia.”

“Crisanto! This is incredible.”

Cris smiled sadly. “It was. I mean, it would have been. I didn’t end up performing. Things with Paul…”

He looked down at his cup of tea, cooling on the table. Fernando didn’t rush him.

This was the part Cris dreaded reliving. How stupid he’d been for so long. Ignoring things, obvious warning signs that would have sent any sane adult running for their lives. His therapist had told him there was no shame in it, that many people in abusive relationships stayed well past when they should have left, but he couldn’t help but feel naive.

“There were signs from the beginning,” he said slowly. “He didn’t always have a temper, but there was always this cruel side to him. Like, his sense of humor was really harsh. He would say things or post stuff on social media that just made my skin crawl. And I’d talk to him about it, and he’d apologize, but I could just tell there was this side of him that was very dark. He would be vindictive about the littlest of things. Everything was a sleight, real or imagined, and he would always need to get back at people. At me.”

Fernando’s hands rested on his belly, gently rubbing it, probably without even realizing it.

“What did that look like?”

Cris shrugged. “I dunno. Inconsequential stuff, mostly. Like, one time, we were supposed to go grocery shopping together. He wanted to nap, so I asked if I could just take his card, grab a few things for the both of us, and split it. Then when I got to the store, his card was declined. I thought there had been some mistake, but when I got home, I found out he’d called and canceled it.”

Fernando’s eyes narrowed. “What? Why?”

“He wanted to punish me. For going without him.”

Fernando shook his head. “That is… not okay, Cris.”

Cris laughed. “I know that now. At the time, it was just one of a bunch of little things. Things that unsettled me, but weren’t enough on their own to pull the plug.”

“Why did you stay? If you found him vindictive and cruel?”

“He wasn’t always that way,” said Cris, almost defensively. “Sometimes he was really sweet. Also, about a year or so after we graduated, his mother died. He was going through so much grief and I told myself that people in that situation tend to lash out, to deal with their trauma in unexpected ways.”

“Grief is not an excuse for abuse,” said Fernando.

“I know I made excuses for him. I knew I didn’t want to stay in the relationship. When I tried to get out… That was the first time he ever hit me. And not just a slap. He put me in the hospital.”

“Jesu Cristo.” Fernando grabbed Cris’s hand.

The touch made Cris’s throat grow tight. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Anyway, after I got out, I moved to Albany to stay with my parents. He tried contacting me, but I changed my number and blocked him on everything. Deleted all my social media. I haven’t seen him since.”

Cris shrugged. “That’s everything.”

“I am so sorry. That’s horrible.”

Fernando let go of his hand, leaning back in his chair and staring at him with the exact look Cris had been hoping to avoid.

“Have you talked to anyone else about this? Professional people?”

“I’ve been seeing a therapist. Not consistently enough,” he admitted. “But it’s helped.”

“Can I ask you something?” Fernando looked at him gently. “Why do you not tell Frank? He is the father of your child.”

“I’m going to tell him,” said Cris. “I know I can’t keep this from him forever. It’s just… I’m so tired of being the victim. That’s how my parents see me. How my cousin sees me. I can’t have Frank see me that way too. If I tell him about Paul, about how he treated me, how he hit me, he’ll want to fix it. Want to fix me. I just want to forget about it.”

“Maybe you can’t. Maybe you need to remember.” Fernando leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Perhaps Frank will not react the way you think.”

Cris snorted. “Trust me. I know Frank. He was a cop. He’ll want to find a way to solve things, if he doesn’t rush right out and shoot the guy.”

“Does he not deserve a chance to react differently? Or to have a reaction at all, whatever it may be?” said Fernando. “You’re building a life together. He is not Paul. It’s not fair to force him to carry the weight of your past.”

Cris frowned. “Won’t telling him do just that?”

Fernando gave him a small smile. “Not telling him is doing it more.”

He winced, then grabbed his lower back.

Cris leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

Fernando nodded. “Is nothing. Back pain from being a thousand pounds.”

Cris chuckled. “I know how you feel. It takes twice as much effort to get up from a chair, and I’m not even as big as you yet.”

“You are skinny minny. If you did not tell me you were boypregnant, I just think you ate extra big lunch.”

Cris laughed. He put a hand to his belly.

“Crazy how I forget sometimes. Sitting here, talking to you, it completely slips my mind that there’s a life growing inside me.”

“It is God’s design,” Fernando said simply. “All of it. The baby, Frank. Even Paul. We may not understand, but we must trust. We must. Otherwise, we are lost.”

He looked away, his gaze lost somewhere in between the crib and the unopened boxes.

“Who knows what the future holds? Babies change things in ways we cannot imagine. Perhaps Frank will surprise you. Or my parents will surprise me. It is not for me to say. Only to have faith.”

“Sure,” Cris said half-heartedly. “I mean, if Jesus could part the Red Sea, I suppose he can handle my shit.”

Fernando frowned at him. “Jesus did not do this.”

“Right. Sorry. Abraham.”

Fernando shook his head. “Just drink your tea,” he said, sighing.

The drive back to Albany was quiet.

Cris didn’t turn on the radio, too absorbed in his own thoughts to listen to music.

He was going to tell Frank. He knew he had to. It wasn’t fair to keep it from him, not any longer.

He thought back to the restaurant, how he’d cursed at Frank and stormed off.

And he wondered why Frank treated him like a child.

Even before that, in the car, snapping at Frank the way he did. The way he’d been treating the father of his child was inexcusable.

The man was obviously trying. He’d been patient with Cris, weathering his freakouts and not prying too hard when Cris shut down at the slightest bit of discomfort. He actually wanted to try, crazy as it may seem. Even though Frank could have washed his hands of the whole thing (he wasn’t the one carrying the baby, after all), he’d chosen to go all in. That talk about a nursery, supporting him and the baby, being a family…

It felt too good to be true. Which, Cris supposed, was why he was so determined to destroy it before it even had a chance to blossom.

Leave it to him to fuck up a perfectly good thing.

By the time he got back to Frank’s, it was after midnight. He’d debated going back to Angelica’s, but the thought of running into Paul lurking outside was the only thing scarier than facing Frank.

The light was on in the window. Frank must have been waiting up for him.

Cris felt another pang of guilt. The worry he’d put this poor man through.

Frank opened the door before he had a chance to reach for his key. The old man stood there, his weathered face lined with worry.

Cris swallowed. “I’m sor–”

Frank pulled him in for a hug.

Cris froze for a moment, then relaxed into it. Before he knew it, he was crying.

“Come inside,” said Frank.

He shut the door behind them and walked Cris through to the living room.

Cris wiped his eyes, trying to get his shit together.

Without saying anything, Frank walked over to the kitchen, filled a glass of water, and brought it to him.

“Drink,” he said.

Cris did. He sat on the couch, still sipping the water, until he’d finished it in one long gulp.

Frank sat down next to him, a foot away. He studied him for a moment, as one would an abused puppy they’d just rescued.

Cris hated the way that made him feel. He pushed it down.

He set the glass on the coffee table, keeping his eyes on his hands.

“I owe you an explanation.”

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Characters

SCOTT PIERSON: 23, recent college grad and DC transplant. He got a recommendation for this job from the congressman whose campaign he interned for the summer before. He is a young Republican and an idealist. He wants to climb his way up the ladder and make a name for himself. He is finding out the hard way what it will cost him. He is somewhat stocky, dirty blond hair, and has an ass like nobody’s business.

Opening Belief System: I can succeed in politics without compromising on who I am.

Challenges:

• His idol is revealed to be a creep

• His agency is taken away

• He is forced to debase himself

• He is turned on by being humiliated and used

• His girlfriend is also pretending to be virtuous while playing the game

• The only way to get ahead is to give in and work the system

Closing Belief System: The ones who succeed are those clever enough to work the system.

Alternate Closing Belief System: Success in politics is not worth compromising who I am.

What is scott’s internal journey? He is humiliated by everything that he’s having to do, but he finds himself turned on by all the humiliation. He’s also finding a burgeoning same sex attraction, and that goes against all his morals. I want him to have cognitive dissonance, but how do I write that? I should have him express more strongly a moral disgust for homosexuals and same sex behavior. I need him to be revolted by Tim and by Adrian. When he resists the congressman, he gets punished for it.

THOMAS ADRIAN: 45, Congressman from Texas. He is hiring a new houseboy and wants someone discreet, loyal, pliable, and who is his type. He has a beard and dark brown hair. He has a wife who is 15 years younger than him and he has two small daughters, 3 and 5. He is the head of the Financial Services Committee but wants to be head of Appropriations.

What is his whole relationship with Scott? He wants someone to satisfy his sexual needs. He likes breaking Scott down and feeling like he has control over the boy. He thrives on humiliating him and taking stuff out on him.

MICHAEL DOWNING: 40, Adrian’s chief of staff. He is thin and balding. He oversees the hiring process and does the initial screening of Scott until Adrian gives the okay. He is used to procuring boys for the congressman, but with him jockeying for Appropriations, they want to make things a little more discreet.

PATRICK O’BRIEN: 45, Congressman from Kentucky. Went to college with Adrian Thomas and have been friends ever since. Hired Scott during his reelection campaign last summer and was surprised by the boy’s ability to adapt to any crisis. Recommended him to the position of houseboy.

ASHLEY FARLEY: 23, Scott’s girlfriend. She works as an intern at the Washington Examiner. She’s secretly fucking her boss to get ahead.

STEPHANIE: 25, a thin redhead who works as Adrian Thomas’ secretary. She knows he gets up to some shit, but she does her job well.

TIM OLSEN: 24, Assistant to the Speaker of the House. He tops the Speaker but he wants to bottom for Scott. He’s self-obsessed, catty, narcissistic, but very sexy. Ends up getting fired after Scott blackmails his boss.

ADAM SMITH: 70, Speaker of the House.

LEX CASTILLO: 28, Assistant to General Michalka (Secretary of Defense). He is a tall, beefy latino guy with long curly hair he wears ties up in a man bun. He tops the General and is attracted to Scott. He represents an outsider perspective on Scott’s relationship with the congressman. He understands the sex worker angle, but feels as though Adrian is taking advantage of him. He encourages Scott to pursue something for himself.

GEO: 25, Assistant to Senator Duff (ranking member of the finance committee). He is one of Tim’s friends.

TREY: 25, Assistant to Jesse Carter (head of the RNC). He is perma-locked and a little sub. He starts to hate Scott after he gets Tim fired.

Timeline

- September he does the ground work for a run: meeting with Texas GOP chair to clear it with them, reaching out to gauge donor interest, etc.

- October he starts doing more soft launch stuff (meeting donors, writing op-eds, hiring a campaign manager).

- He holds a town hall as someone “exploring a run” in Texas where he wins over the crowd with his immigration stance

- Late October he gets approval from the head of the RNC

- November 8 he files to run.

- Late November he gets the idea to screw over the congressman

- On December 7th he withdraws his name to “focus more on the congressman”

- In July, once the primary is over and they’re at the RNC, he releases damaging information that forces Adrian out of the race. He then immediately meets with the head of the RNC to secure the party’s nomination for Adrian’s district.

- In November, he wins the general election.

Plot

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• One of our favorite erotic fiction stories we’ve read. is particularly fond of enslaved straight boys on forbidden islands, while I have a soft spot for straight fiancés who get enticed into becoming slutty, big-assed strippers!

• The best sex scenes we’ve written and why—whether they’re super hot, super emotional, or just damn well-written!

We also throw in a brief chat about the Bible and the AIDS epidemic, because why not?

RECOMMENDATIONS:

• Freckleman64 recommends the British TV show It’s a Sin by Russell T. Davies—NOT Russell Tovey, as I inaccurately name him during the show (what can I say, I have dick on the brain!)

• Zack Alexander recommends the erotic fiction writer Josh Hunter, in particular his story “Jocks For Sale.”

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FOURTH CHALLENGE: TIRESIAS

The memory of Circe stirs something in me.

I am still in Calypso’s lap, his sword firmly lodged in my sheath, but now my face is buried in the crook of his arm, imbibing the smell from his hairy pits.

“Gods, that feels divine,” says Calypso, pulsing his cock inside me. “Thou art such a good boy.”

I can barely hear him, so intoxicated am I by the scent emanating from his armpit. It is not magical, like Circe’s musk, but it is the smell of a man, and it reduces me to a quivering, leaking mess.

When I breathe him in, my mind feels floaty and free, as it does when I drink the Lotus Flower ale. I know that I must remember, but at that moment, I do not care for my old life.

What is Penelope compared to the musk of an older man? The feeling of a hard cock throbbing inside you, releasing its seed deep in your bowels and reminding you of your true worth?

Calypso’s hand wraps around my cock and squeezes. A small jet of precum oozes out.

“I could stay inside thee forever,” Calypso murmurs, his lips pressing gently upon the crown of my head. “But thou must remember, Odysseus. Thou must.”

“I do not want to remember,” I moan, running my tongue along the patch of sweaty hair inside his pit to distract him from these silly botherations.

Calypso moans, and for a moment, I think I have beguiled him.

He thrusts hard inside me, so deep into my bowels that I think he must have reached my center. Then he pulls me in for a kiss, and it is I who am beguiled.

“Odysseus,” he says after a moment, when I am soft as clay. “Thou must tell me of Tiresias. What did the prophet have to say?”

Tiresias. The blind man in the Underworld.

I can still recall his foggy gray eyes, his rugged beard.

And another, someone familiar…

My eyes shoot open.

“Oh gods,” I say.

I reeked of piss as I crept down the corridor. I wished more than anything to find some sort of bathroom to wash off in, or at least rinse my mouth out so I wasn’t still tasting Circe’s cum.

I couldn’t believe the things I’d done in the last few hours. Letting two dudes blow me, letting a bunch of hairy giants lick and suck every part of my body… But the worst, the worst was how utterly powerless I’d been over Circe. One huff of his pits and I was on my knees, begging him to cum in my mouth and piss on me.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I shook it off, determined to keep pushing on. Worries about my sexuality could wait until after I’d gotten the hell out of this place. For now, I needed to focus on finding Tiresias without encountering Polyphemus or incurring Poseidon’s wrath any further.

After the third turn, I spotted the unmarked door at the end of a long hallway. I was shocked at how many hallways there were in this place, considering I saw so few doors anywhere. Who the hell designed this gay club?

When I pushed the door open, I saw a long staircase spiraling down into the dark. I peered down the center, trying to see how far down it went, but the light didn’t reach all the way.

Well, here goes nothing.

I started to descend. The deeper I went, the colder it got. I was still only in my boxers, and the piss had gone cold on my skin, so I was shivering like crazy.

I briefly debated taking off my soaking wet boxers, but figured I’d rather be cold than naked.

When I got to the first door, I nearly went through it before I remembered Circe’s words.

A black door with an engraving of an eye on it.

This door was green and had a flower on it.

Okay. So definitely not Tiresias.

I kept walking, descending further away from the light and into the cold.

The next door down was white. It had a gray skull on it, which gave me the chills.

Despite knowing it was the wrong door, I stood outside for a moment, unable to move my gaze.

I felt like I heard whispering coming from behind the door. For some reason, I wanted to hear what they were saying.

I reached for the knob, just to crack it open, just to listen…

BAM!

The sound of a door slamming shut from somewhere above snapped me out of my senses. I heard cackling from above, high and shrill like a witch’s.

I yanked my hand back and hurried down the stairs, away from the strange door and the frightening cackling.

I kept going past several more doors, not stopping until I saw one that looked black. At first glance, I thought it was perhaps a dark navy or purple, but when I got closer, I saw it was obsidian.

A gold engraving of an eye sat in the center, right at eye level.

I stood there for a second, trying to calm my nerves long enough to open the door.

This was ridiculous. What was I so afraid of?

I opened the door.

The smell was the first thing to hit me.

It was tangy and kind of basic, like bleach.

As I stepped inside, I heard the sound of moaning, and that’s when I realized what the smell was.

Cum.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” a deep voice groaned. “Pound me… fucking destroy me!”

The voice sounded almost angry, so animalistic. It echoed off the walls as if we were in a cave, which, this far down, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were.

I rounded the corner, the sound of grunting and flesh slapping against flesh growing louder.

When I entered the main room, I could see the thick, muscular back of a man thrusting back and forth. His muscles were huge, like a bodybuilder’s, and his ass was coated in a thin layer of fur.

At first, I thought he was naked, but then I noticed the lines of the white jockstrap stretched across his ass. He must have had the front lowered beneath his balls, because he was clearly fucking someone.

“Argh… take it, little cumdump…”

“Ungh… give it to me, Tiresias!”

So, this was the guy I was after. What a time to walk in on him, looking for a favor!

As I got closer, I noticed he was standing in front of some kind of black sling hanging from the ceiling. I could see two pale feet on either side of his ass, bouncing wildly as he fucked the shit out of whoever was on the swing.

“Thou little slut,” Tiresias growled. “Thou dost protest, but thou art only a tease…”

“I want it,” the man in the sling moaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

Something about that voice sounded eerily familiar. It was like it was hovering just at the back of my mind, like a song I could barely remember.

I took a step closer, and my jaw dropped in surprise.

“Ugh… fuck me… Oh, hey, Odysseus!”

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CONNOR

Things were never the same after Mom caught us.

It wasn’t just Graham’s life that blew up. All of us were shattered.

Mom filed for divorce immediately, putting Graham out on the street without offering up a penny of her assets.

I tried pleading with her, telling her that it wasn’t his fault, it was mine, I seduced him.

She was done with me, too.

“I’ll pay for the rest of your tuition,” she’d said coldly. “Once you graduate, you’re on your own.”

I could tell she meant it. She’d never looked at me the way she did that day—like I was a snake, something to be feared and despised.

I didn’t come home anymore after that. I finished out the last year of college, spending holiday breaks in my dorm like fucking Harry Potter or something. Christmas, New Year’s, my birthday—all of them went by without a call or a card from Mom.

My Aunt told me that she started seeing a new guy. Last I heard, they were engaged. Mom didn’t invite me around, for obvious reasons.

I left Graham alone, too ashamed of what I’d done to reach out to him. I didn’t know anything about what happened to him after Mom left him. I hoped he was okay. He was a hard worker; I was sure he would land on his feet.

Or at least I hoped, if only to assuage my guilt.

When I graduated, I received a letter from the trust fund attorney informing me that I would not, in fact, be receiving the money my grandparents had allocated for me. Apparently, my mother had contacted them and convinced them to rescind it.

I was furious.

But worse than that, I was resigned.

Because I knew I deserved it.

I’d been stupidly banking on my trust fund, so I hadn’t done much to find a job after college. With nowhere to live and no money to tide me over, I ended up taking a gig waiting tables, something I had never before done in my life and, until now, could not believe I ever would do.

I sucked at it.

“Pick up the pace, Connor!” my manager yelled at me. It was a few months into the gig, and I was still struggling like a newbie. “You’ve got three tables that need refills, and table seven’s food is sitting here getting cold.”

I was dripping sweat in this stifling uniform, trying to balance plates like everyone else seemed to be able to do, but was too scared to carry more than two at a time for fear of dropping everything and making an even bigger fool of myself.

At the end of each night, I went home exhausted with barely any tips, retreating to the cordoned-off section of the living room in the three-bedroom apartment I shared with four roommates.

Even at 2 am, the music was always blaring, and party drugs were passed around like candy.

A year ago, I’d have been partaking more than any of them.

Now I just wanted to sleep and block out the noise so I could get a few hours of sleep before my opening shift the next morning.

I was like a zombie at work the next day. I couldn’t understand how people managed this—working eight hours a day, five days a week, doing physical labor that left you too tired after your shift to do much more than collapse on the couch in front of the TV.

Graham never seemed depleted by it, in the short time I’d known him. I’d thought he was such a hillbilly, having to work with his hands in a blue-collar job. Now I had a new appreciation for the value of a hard day’s work.

By the time I left the restaurant in the midafternoon, I was wiped.

I decided to walk home, even though it was sweltering, because I couldn’t afford an Uber and I still hadn’t worked out how to get a bus pass.

A few blocks in, I passed a large construction site. The sound of jackhammers blared through the fence, and a cloud of dust blew out through the bottom, covering my work pants and shoes with dirt.

Fantastic.

As I walked past an open section of the fence, I paused.

Standing a few feet away, in a neon orange vest, was Graham.

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We told several dirty stories, including:

• Strangest place to j*rk off

• Hooking up with Brazilian men in spas and men three times our age in the Hollywood Hills

• Our die-hard kinks (yes to spanking, no to pup play… for now!)

It’s dirty, it’s twisted, it’s WAY more than you want to know about your favorite gay erotic fiction writers.

What are you waiting for?

RECOMMENDATIONS:

• Freckleman64 is obsessed with The Toned Stoner on X, the best southern boy who ever did put on a chastity cage.

• Zack Alexander loves the Eric Lesh Gallery on Instagram, a naughty painter who displays men and their best… assets

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THIRD CHALLENGE: CIRCE

I do not know how much time has passed since I began to remember.

Now I am on top of Calypso, pierced by his stake, mine own erect and flat against my stomach.

“Faster,” he commands. “I love when thee ridest me.”

Exhaustion creeps into every muscle, but I quicken my pace, feeling his thick cudgel slide in and out of my well-greased hole.

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His hands grip my waist, pressing into my flesh as a hungry man tears apart warm bread.

I brace myself against his furry chest, my fingertips intertwining with the gray and white hairs that adorn his skin. His lips are slightly parted beneath his thick gray beard, a low groan escaping them as he basks in the pleasure of my body. My sack beats uselessly against his pubic jungle as I bear down on his cock, sheathing him inside me with such force that breathing becomes arduous.

When I close my eyes, I sink into the abyss of the flesh.

My worries, which seemed so important just a moment ago, have washed away with my memory, until all that is left is him inside me, and the pulsing, overwhelming need for release.

“Odysseus…”

His voice calls out to me like a lighthouse beacon.

“Odysseus… but what of Penelope? Of Agamemnon, and Clytemnestra?”

When I open my eyes, Calypso is looking at me curiously. His hand comes to my cheek, rubbing me gently.

I suck his thumb into my mouth without thinking.

He chuckles. “You were telling me of the Laestrygonians.”

I frown. The word is familiar. It brings with it the sensation of warmth, of hot tongues on my skin.

Of course. The giants, with their insatiable hunger.

And me, fleeing into an even worse trap thereafter.

He sits up, keeping himself in me as he pulls me in for a kiss.

When he breaks it, he puts our foreheads together and gazes into my soul.

“What happened next?”

I crept through the hallway, trying my best not to make a sound. I didn’t know if Polyphemus was still looking for me, but I couldn’t take any chances.

At the end of the hallway was a large blue door, a dark navy that reminded me of the ocean at night.

The sign had told me this led to Circe. I didn’t know who that was, or whether they’d be friend or foe. I briefly debated taking my chances in the halls again, but at this rate, I was only likely to get even more lost.

I put my ear up against the blue door to see if I could hear people screaming inside—or worse, moaning.

Nothing.

I could only hope that whoever this Circe was, he or she would be able to tell me how to finally get the fuck out of this place.

When I opened the door, I was relieved to see that at least it wasn’t another dark room.

The room had impossibly high ceilings, and every inch of it was washed in violet and electric blue. Blacklights hung from the walls and ceiling, making my boxers glow as brightly as the graffiti on the walls. Thin strips of neon ran alongside the floor, giving it the effect of looking like a plane landing strip.

It led to a raised dais in the back–

Wait a second.

Dais? How did I know that word?

It sounded old-timey, yet somehow I just knew that’s what it was called. An hour ago, I would have called it a “platform with stairs.”

Anyway, in the middle of the dais was a large throne, upholstered in dark velvet.

Sitting on the chair was a man.

“Who enters the palace of Circe?” he asked in a loud, booming voice.

At first, all I could see of him were his legs, which were crossed against his lap. He wore black leather pants, which looked almost liquid under the reflected neon.

“P-please,” I said, trying not to sound as frightened as I felt. “I’m just trying to find the exit.”

“Come closer.”

I approached nervously, and as I got within sight of him, two shapes from either side of him began to stir.

Amazingly, I noticed that it was two naked men, much like the ones in Polyphemus’s polycule. Only this time, their heads were covered in black leather dog masks.

Whaaaaat the fuck?

“Do not be afraid, traveler,” said the man (Circe, I guess).

He stood, and for the first time, I took in the sheer size of him. He was a little over six feet, but muscular and ripped. The only things he wore aside from his leather pants were a pair of combat boots and a black leather harness strapped tightly to his hairless chest. His hair was golden, as were his eyes, which shone almost supernaturally in the light.

When I got to the foot of the dais (again, that word that I somehow suddenly knew), he grinned.

“Well,” he said, almost approvingly. “And who might you be?

“I’m Odysseus.”

He nodded, as if he already knew that. “You wish to find the exit.”

I felt a tickling sensation on my leg and pulled back to see one of the “pups” sniffing me.

“Um… yes,” I said, taking a step away from whatever the fuck this dog guy was.

Circe seemed amused at my discomfort. “You are lost. You will not find your way out until you are no longer lost.”

I frowned. Was I having a stroke, or was he stating the obvious?

“Yes,” I said, trying to be friendly. “Maybe you can help me not be lost anymore? By telling me where the exit is?”

He chuckled. “You have offended Poseidon. He will not let you leave the way you came.”

I felt coldness trickle down my neck. “What? How–”

“You have blinded his son, Polyphemus.” Circe turned and sat back on his throne. He reclined like a king, reaching out to stroke the head of one of the pup guys that trotted over to his side. “You have also denied him the pleasures of the flesh. He is angry with you.”

My eyes widened. “What are you talking about? The old dude in the bathroom who wanted to touch my junk?”

Circe looked up toward the ceiling, as if he were afraid a bolt of lightning might strike us down. “Be careful. You can do much worse to offend the gods.”

“I don’t understand. How is the owner of this gay club keeping me from getting out of here? Unless he’s got some sort of–”

“The ways of gods are unknowable to man,” Circe said simply. “If you want to leave, you will need help. Help that I cannot provide.” He leaned in, then added, “But I know who can.”

“Who?”

He smirked. “I will tell you, but first, you must accept my offering. After all, you are a guest. It is only customary.”

“Dude, I’ll accept whatever. I just wanna get out of here.”

Circe leaned back in his chair, regarding me with that same sly smirk. Then he lifted his arm, exposing one of his hairy pits.

“Drink your fill.”

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CONNOR

Graham’s cock slipped out of me as he jumped back. The last few jets of his seed showered my lower back, spraying warm droplets of jizz across my skin.

“Fuck,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Fucking fuck.”

I felt my own pulse race as the figure at the door stared at the two of us, the smell of sex hanging in the air like a smoking gun.

For a moment, none of us said anything.

Then Steve erupted.

“How fucking dare you do this to Gail?” he seethed. “I always knew you were a douchebag. But this? It’s real fucking low, man.”

I pulled my pants up, tucking my hardon inside my waistband.

“It’s not what it looks like, Steve.”

“Then what is it, Connor? Because it looks to me like you’re cheating on Gail with your stepdad.”

Graham winced. He had zipped up his own erection, and his still-leaking cock left a small wet patch in his jeans.

“Please,” Graham said, his voice choppy. “You can’t tell my wife.”

Steve looked at Graham in disgust. “What is wrong with you, man? Connor, I get. He’s a piece of shit rich kid who thinks he’s entitled to whatever he wants. But how can you screw over your lady with her own son? It’s fucking evil.”

Graham just hung his head in shame.

I glared at Steve. “Shut up, dude. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, okay?”

Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re gonna tell me to shut up? After what I just saw?” He huffed. “I oughta go out there and–”

“You’re not gonna do anything,” I said smoothly. “You’re gonna go out there and say nothing. Graham and I are gonna clean up, we’re gonna join Gail and my mom for shitty Mexican food, and then we’re gonna go home.”

“And what makes you think I’m not gonna say anything to Gail?”

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First and foremost, the AI question. It’s been timely with Substack’s release of the new AI detection software Pangram, which allows you to test an author’s posts or notes to see if they were AI-generated/assisted (unless the author turns it off, in which case it displays as “AI Detection Not Available”).

Zack and I talk about how we use AI as a writing tool, our thoughts on using it to generate content, and whether or not the machines are all taking us to hell in a handbasket.

We also talk about where we find our inspiration, what our significant others think of our writing, and whether or not we’ve ever jerked off in a coffee shop bathroom because the writing was just that hot!

Recommendations:

• Heath Grayson, author of MM fiction like “But We’re Bros!”

• Jack Hornwood, author of gay cuckold erotica that leans heavy into betrayal, degradation, and cheating. He is available on Patreon and Amazon.

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Second Challenge: The Laestrygonians

“What befell after thou fleddest the Cyclops?”

Calypso lies behind me on the bed, trailing kisses along my arm.

I feel his girth pressed against the flesh of my lower back. My body remembers his. It wants more of the intoxicating pleasure that comes from his manhood inside me, carving me open, piercing me like a Trojan spear.

“I ran down the hallway,” I say, my body sinking back against his.

His lips press against my neck. “Thou must have been so frightened.”

I cannot remember how I felt. Not with his lips on my skin, nor his cock against my ass.

He turns my face and brings our lips together. He tastes of ale, of sex, of man.

Now he is on top of me. His shaft leaks a trail across my belly. His lips are so warm, his manhood so hard.

“Can I be inside thee again?” he asks, his fingers already sliding through my weakened ring.

“Yessss,” I breathe.

He spreads my legs and regains his rightful place between my thighs. The first thrust is the hardest. Then he is home again.

“And what of Penelope?” he whispers in my ear, biting the lobe with gentle force.

“Who?”

“Thy woman,” he says with a chuckle. “Didst thou ever find her?”

I see a glint of her hair flickering amongst the torchlight on the ceiling.

Fair as honey, thick as wheat.

“Penelope,” I repeat.

He buries himself inside me and groans. “Penelope.”

“I cannot remember,” I say, pressing my heels against his ass and working him deeper into me.

“Try,” he says, then kisses me.

I ran down the hallway, not caring which direction I took, just wanting to get the hell away from that one-eyed fuck as fast as possible.

“Penelope!” I called out, rounding yet another corner into an empty hallway. “Agamemnon! Clytemnestra! Anybody!”

I couldn’t hear anything—not the calls of my friends, the pounding of the music, or even the shouts of Polyphemus.

I slumped to the ground, catching my breath from running so hard.

What the hell just happened?

I’d let two dudes suck me off. I’d nearly let a guy stick his dick in my mouth. And I’d cum so hard from it that I shot over my head.

I’d never cum that hard before!

“I’m not gay,” I said aloud, to no one.

I wasn’t, right? I mean, anyone who’s getting their dick sucked by two mouths at once is gonna get hard. It’s not rocket science.

Sure, I didn’t know why I’d opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out for Polyphemus to put his dick in my mouth. I just wasn’t thinking, that was it! No way was I actually going to suck a dude’s cock.

I heard footsteps and got slowly to my feet.

“Penelope?” I said hopefully.

A shadow appeared around the corner. When the figure came into view, my heart sank.

“There you are,” Polyphemus said, his chest heaving with anger. “Get over here, you little shit!”

I took off running again. I didn’t look back, no matter how loud and scary his yells were.

I didn’t know what this guy was planning on doing to me, but I wasn’t sticking around to find out.

I came across a sign at the end of the next hallway.

LAESTRYGONIANS ←

CIRCE →

“You better hope I don’t catch you, you little slut,” I heard Polyphemus say. “I’ll rip you limb from limb and feast on your bones!”

That settled it.

I took a left, running down the hallway toward a large red door at the end. The sign on it read St. Andrew’s Room.

Well, that didn’t sound so bad!

I opened the door and jumped inside, slamming the door shut and leaning back against it to catch my breath.

For a second, I thought the place was empty.

Then I noticed a single spotlight illuminating a large wooden X in the center of the room. A thin, pale blond man in his mid-20’s stood in front of it, his ankles and wrists bound to the frame.

He was naked.

When he saw me, his eyes widened in panic.

“Help me!” he said desperately. “Please, you have to untie me. Before they get back.”

I looked around the room, but didn’t see anybody.

Fuck, what kind of a gay club was this? They had some poor guy prisoner in here? What the hell! I was totally calling the police after this.

I briefly debated running back out into the hallway, but the guy looked at me with pleading eyes and added, “Come on, man! Don’t leave me here.”

Goddamn my conscience.

I crept over to the X-frame. The rest of the room was shrouded in shadow, and I looked around to see if there was anyone lurking in it, but saw nothing.

“Hurry!” he hissed.

As I got closer, I noticed his skin was coated in something wet and sticky.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“The Laestrygonians,” he said, his voice haunted.

“The who?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He looked around the room, eyes wild. “Hurry up and undo the straps before they return.”

I started with the ones around his ankles, then did the one on his left hand. The second it was free, he started undoing the right one himself.

“Do you know how to get out of here?” I asked. “I’ve been trying to find the exit and–”

“There is no getting out of here,” he said calmly.

I frowned. “What do you mean? We can’t be trapped here.”

He looked up at me, and this time, he was smiling. “We’re not. But you are.”

Then someone grabbed my arms.

“What the fuck? Let me go! Let me go, you assholes!”

Two giant men stood on either side of me, both naked but for a pair of vintage boxer shorts. Even in underwear, I could see huge dicks flopping around in there. These guys had to be at least 6’5” and seriously built, with muscles the size of boulders and pecs covered in thick, dark hair.

“What are you doing?” I asked as they turned me around and spread my arms.

As they moved me, I could see more of them coming into view. Six more men came out of the shadows, grinning like wolves.

The man I’d untied stepped back, his own face stretched wide in a malevolent grin.

“You motherfucker,” I said as the beefy giants began strapping me to the wooden X. “You son of a bitch!”

“Have fun,” he said cheekily, then slipped out the door into the hallway I’d just entered from.

When all of my limbs were fully restrained, one of the men, a burly, bald man with a thick black mustache who had to be nearly seven feet tall, stood in front of me.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, sounding braver than I felt.

He said nothing, just leaned in and sniffed my neck.

“Mmmmmm,” he said, his voice deep and booming. “Fresh.”

I did not like the way he said that.

“Let me go, man,” I said nervously. “I don’t know what kind of kinky sex stuff y’all are into, but I’m straight.”

The man just smirked. He grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me forward as much as my restraints would allow.

“Antiphates is hungry,” he said, sounding like a caveman. “Antiphates wants to feast on straight boy.”

I had a sinking feeling that he was referring to himself in the third person.

“Let go of me, faggot!” I said.

In response, he tore my shirt, ripping it off my body in one quick yank.

Jesus, how strong were these guys?

“You naked now,” he said as he tossed the scrap behind him.

Two other men reached for the rips in my jeans, tearing them open and ripping the denim from my body.

“Get off me! Leave me alone!”

They ignored me, pulling at my clothes until I was left in nothing but my boxers, shoes, and socks.

Antiphates knelt in front of me, placing his hands on my thighs and smiling up at me.

“Wh-what are you gonna do to me?” I asked, my voice high and trembling.

“Eat,” he said simply.

He leaned in and breathed in the scent of my crotch. The feeling of his nose against my dick felt weirdly good. I’d just cum a few minutes ago, but I was already starting to get hard again from all the stimulation.

Antiphates got back to his feet, then smirked as he walked around me and out of view.

“Where did he go?” I cried out.

The other Laestrygonians just leered at me, rubbing their hands together like they were preparing for a meal.

Fuck… were these guys actual, real-life cannibals?

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt Antiphates’ hot breath on my neck.

“I eat now,” he said.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.

Then I felt his strong hands on my hips, grabbing my boxers and pulling them down to mid-thigh.

“Oh God,” I whimpered. “Please…”

I heard the sound of him kneeling, then felt his warm breath on my ass.

Jesus Christ. He was going to take a bite out of my butt!

His thick fingers roughly grabbed my cheeks and spread them apart.

Um… okay. Not what I was expecting.

I stayed still, frozen by fear, but also terribly confused as to what was going on.

Then I felt it.

The moan poured out of me involuntarily.

“Ohhhhhhhhh… what…?”

Antiphates’ tongue ran along the inside of my crack, leaving a trail of saliva between my cheeks.

“Taste yummy,” he grunted.

Listen—it may not have been something I’d ever considered, but I’ll take the compliment!

His tongue swiped against my hole again, making me moan once more and causing my dick to jump a little.

“Why are you doing this?” I said weakly.

“Antiphates hungry.”

He spread my cheeks apart even further, running his tongue along the underside of my balls and all the way up to my lower back.

Holy fuck… I wasn’t gay, but this felt fucking incredible. Why had I never asked Penelope to eat my ass before? This shit was awesome.

Another one of the giants, a blond man with a thick mane of hair and matching beard, knelt in front of me and gave my penis a tug.

“Whoa, dude,” I said. “Hands off my junk.”

He just kept tugging me, stroking my foreskin back and forth as if he’d never seen it before.

“So much skin,” he said dumbly.

His touch made me hard again, which was embarrassing, but I stopped thinking about that when he wrapped his lips around my cock.

“Oh, shit,” I moaned. “Fuck…”

Antiphates was now wiggling his tongue deeper into my hole, while the blond giant was sucking my cock like a starving man.

I rolled my head back and looked up at the light, the pleasure making my legs wobble.

Soon I felt hands on my left foot, then my right.

When I looked down, two more giants were crouched with their heads to the ground, their wide mouths open to devour my feet.

They sucked in the ends of my feet all at once, tongues writhing in between my toes. I’d never had my toes sucked either, but the feeling was honestly otherworldly, especially when getting my dick sucked and my ass eaten.

I just hung there and moaned, my body reacting involuntarily to having four men sucking all over me.

Soon I felt more tongues on me.

A man to my left had his face buried in my armpit, greedily sucking and licking the hair as a man to my right did the same.

I felt half a dozen tongues on me, all licking and devouring me, and the sensation was so overwhelming that I could feel myself getting close to cumming again.

My head rolled back as the pleasure began to crest. As I stared upside-down behind me, I caught the gaze of another giant. He was standing directly behind me, or over me, as I should say, as he stood over seven feet tall.

He was grinning, his red lips stretched wide underneath a thick black beard.

“Pretty boy,” he said.

Before I knew what was happening, his lips were pressed against mine, and we were kissing.

“What the fuck?” I said.

Or, at least, I wanted to say. In reality, I just moaned into his mouth, my protests swallowed by his thick tongue.

He was a wet kisser, and I wanted to hurl as he dripped saliva from his mouth into mine, but I was so intoxicated by all these tongues on me that all I could do was drink it.

I moaned weakly, allowing these men to use my body as I had no other choice. Antiphates had his tongue several inches inside my ass now, so deep that I wondered whether he’d replaced it with his finger or something deeper.

The two men sucking my toes were now running their tongues along the soles of my feet, tickling me. The man on my cock was bobbing his head up and down hungrily, pausing every so often to suck on my nuts and give them a good tongue. The men licking my armpits were groaning loudly, and I could feel their hard cocks rubbing against my side as they thrust against me.

All the while, the tallest giant continued kissing me, taking my breath away and keeping me from being able to focus on anything but the white-hot, blinding pleasure.

“Mmmf… mm cmmng!” I moaned into his mouth.

I felt my balls contract as I fired jets of hot semen all over the Laestrygonian’s face.

He stuck his tongue out, swallowing it hungrily as the others knelt beside him and did the same.

One by one, each of the Laestrygonians took their mouths off of me and instead focused on catching droplets of my semen, mouths open like baby birds.

They smacked their lips hungrily, groaning and grunting.

I heard a knock at the door.

“Hello? Anyone in here?”

Quicker than you’d think based on their size, the giants retreated into the shadows, until suddenly they were gone and I was seemingly alone.

The door creaked open as a tall, thin young man entered. He had wiry red hair, freckles, and looked absolutely terrified.

“Hello?”

His eyes landed on me and widened. “Jesus!”

“Help me,” I said. “Please, you have to untie me. Before they get back.”

He looked at me, then back at the door.

“Come on, man! Don’t leave me here.”

The young man sighed, then quickly crept over to me. His head turned on a swivel, looking around the dark room, but seeing nothing.

“Hurry,” I hissed.

“What happened to you?” he asked as he looked at my naked, saliva-covered body.

“The Laestrygonians.”

“Who’s that?”

“Forget it.” I looked around the room, a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized what the young man’s fate would be. “Hurry up and undo the straps before they return.”

He undid my wrist straps first, then I reached for the left ankle while he undid the right.

“I’m looking for the exit,” he said.

“Good fucking luck with that,” I said, then ran for the door as fast as I could.

“Dude, what the– WHOA!”

I didn’t look back, not even as I heard the sound of pounding footsteps and deep laughter, nor the weak protests of whoever the fuck that guy was.

I slammed the door shut behind me, blocking out the noise of his demise and the weight of my own guilt.

I felt like a piece of shit for bolting, but I had to focus on myself if I had any hope of getting the fuck out of here.

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FIRST CHALLENGE: THE CYCLOPS

“Oh, fuck yes, little slut. Open up thy pussy for Daddy. That’s it. Gods, how many loads wilt thou milk out of me today? Such a greedy boy thou art. Fuck… Daddy’s gonna cum!”

The old man pulls me in by the hips and blasts another load deep inside me. I’ve lost count of how many by this point. My own dick is soft from cumming so many times in such rapid succession. But as the warm fluid fills my bowels, it jerks limply to life, ekeing out a thin drool of seed barely worthy of impregnating even the most fertile of whores.

How long have I been here? Where is here, exactly?

The walls are covered in a rich-looking tapestry, woven from what seem to be the finest silk fibers. With how expensive it looks, the design is jarring: a massive orgy of men, given over to their hedonism, laughing at the gods as they pump and dump and fornicate to their heart’s content.

And yet, the sight seems so familiar. As if I am one of those men. Or were once, long ago.

Why do I have no memory? How long have I been in this room? Is it even a room?

“Darling boy, thy pussy is magnificent,” says the old man as he falls on the bed beside me.

His cock is still hard, somehow, despite his advanced years. His bush is almost entirely gray, with just the barest hints of color remaining in the scraggly jungle above his dick. But he looks strong and masculine, and he runs a hand through my hair as if I am the most prized sheep in his flock.

“Dost thou want more ale?” he asks, sliding off the bed and walking toward the kitchen.

I watch his ass as he goes, his balls swinging heavy underneath him.

It is then that I notice a mirror opposite the bed.

I stand, taking two paces over to the looking glass.

I am naked. My brown hair is matted with sweat and cum. My chin bears several days’ growth of beard. My nipples are red and swollen from suck and pinch. I turn and inspect the cleft of my cheeks. My outer ring is bruised and purple, leaking man’s essence like the sewer pipes in the outer walls of a city.

I look like a madman.

The old man brings me back another ale without waiting for me to answer. I take it and sip.

I like this ale. What kind is it again?

Lotus Flower Brewery.

“This is nice,” I say, taking another sip.

He chuckles. “It’s thy favorite.”

“What is your name?” I ask.

He laughs again. “How many times must thou ask? I am Calypso.”

Calypso. The name sounds familiar. Or does it?

He kisses my shoulder. “Thou art so fucking sexy, Odysseus. Keep looking like that, and I’ll have to mount thee again.”

Odysseus. Is that my name? That one sounds less familiar.

But the man seems so sure.

“How did I get here?” I ask.

“We took a carriage from the bar.”

The bar.

For a moment, I see a brief flash.

Bodies writhing against one another.

Loud music, the sound of pounding drums coming from all around us.

And seed. So much seed: in my hair, my mouth, my ass.

“This bar… What was it called?”

He takes another sip of beer and sets it on the nightstand. “The Trojan Whore.”

More flashes.

A crowded dance floor.

A man with wild black hair, a mass of curls that cascaded down his shoulders as he danced.

And a woman, fair-haired and pretty.

That woman… her face…

“Odysseus? Is thou okay?”

I turn to Calypso, and for the first time in ages, I feel clarity return to me.

“I think I’m beginning to remember…”

Seven days earlier

“Baby, come on. You promised you’d try to keep an open mind.”

Penelope pouted at me, her pink lip gloss shining in the fluorescent light from the bar.

She’d done her hair up nice and sexy, with a smoky eye that she knew got my cock hard. I was pretty sure if I gave in, she’d be bouncing on my dick before the night was through.

But still—a gay bar?

“I dunno,” I said, staring at the bar sign that read The Trojan Whore. “It just doesn’t really seem like my scene.”

“C’mon, Odysseus,” said Agamemnon. He had his arm around his girlfriend Clytemnestra, his leather jacket spread open to reveal a vintage t-shirt with The Eagles on it. “Let’s do it for the chicks.”

Clytemnestra ruffled Agamemnon’s curls, then said to Penelope, “See what a good boy I have?”

Agamemnon stuck out his tongue and panted like a dog. “Woof woof! I want pussy!”

Clytemnestra giggled and slapped him playfully on the chest.

Penelope took a step closer to me, running a finger down my arm. “If you hate it, we can leave. But I just wanna dance a little, Odie. The gays are such good dancers. And at least this way no one will be trying to grab my ass!”

“I’m more worried about someone trying to grab mine,” I grumbled.

Agamemnon laughed. “Don’t worry, bro. I’m sure between the two of us we can take on any of these little fruitcakes.”

He seemed so carefree, I felt silly being so worried about some dude groping my junk. And the girls were smiling at me, Penelope biting her lip in that way that meant she’d let me cum in her pussy if I said yes.

“Fine,” I said. “But just for one drink.”

I followed the gang inside, where the sound of the pounding music and the mist of the fog machine enveloped us. We paid cover, which Penelope and Clytemnestra insisted on taking care of. I saw them hand over what looked to be strange bronze coins. Maybe some kind of token they’d gotten as a bar credit?

Whatever it was, the man waved us through without looking at our IDs. I thought that was kind of strange, since I was still in my early 20s, but I didn’t complain.

The inside of the club was, for lack of a better word, labyrinthian. The dancefloor had several levels, with staircases leading up four stories and a series of interconnecting hallways branching off on each level. Most of the people on the floor were dudes, and a majority of them were in such good shape it put me to fucking shame. But there were also a few girls there, and it made me relax a little thinking some of these guys might be their straight boyfriends, like me.

We gave our coats to the coat check, leaving Agamemnon in his Eagles T-shirt and jeans and me in my black tee and ripped jeans. I tugged the T-shirt down, trying to cover more of my belly, but the waistband of my boxers still hung out no matter how much I pulled.

“You look fine, babe,” said Penelope. “Stop worrying. No one’s even looking at you!”

She ran a hand along my abs, fingering the treasure trail that led into my waistband.

“I don’t know why you insisted I wear this shirt,” I said, “when you’re the one who shrunk it in the wash!”

She just laughed and kissed me on the cheek. “Come on—let’s get drinks!”

We headed over to the bar, where Penelope and Clytemnestra ordered shots for the four of us. Again, they paid with some weird sort of bronze coins, but before I could ask about them, Penelope was handing me a shot of tequila, and soon I’d forgotten.

The four of us danced for a while, me grinding on Penelope and Agamemnon dancing with Clytemnestra. The girls were laughing and linking hands, while I focused on rubbing my hard dick against Penelope’s ass.

The shots were making me seriously horny, and something about the vibe of the room made me feel loose and uninhibited.

I don’t know how long we were dancing, but soon the smoke from the fog machine made it difficult to see much beyond a small circle around us. I was hard as a rock as I ground into Penelope’s ass cheek, thrusting against her little minidress and wishing I could just take her home and pump her pussy already.

“Dude, I gotta piss!” Agamemnon yelled into my ear over the music.

“Me too!” I said.

I leaned in to Penelope and said, “Where’s the bathroom?”

She pointed to a neon sign over in the corner, the only thing visible through all the mist.

I followed Agamemnon through the crowd, almost losing him with how many sweaty, shirtless gay dudes were dancing all around us.

Someone must have been smoking pot or something, because even though I didn’t smell it, I was starting to get a little lightheaded. I’d only had two shots—not nearly enough to make me drunk—so I didn’t know why I was so affected.

When we reached the sign, I noticed it was hanging over the entrance to one of the hallways. As we reached the end, another sign pointed us down another hallway. By the time we rounded the third corner only to reach another sign, I was starting to lose my patience.

“Jesus, I’m gonna piss myself,” I said. “Where the fuck is this bathroom?”

“There!” said Agamemnon.

At the end of another winding hallway, we finally found the men’s room.

When we went inside, it was a pristine white. The walls must have been quite soundproof, or else we were far from the dance floor, because I couldn’t hear any music from outside.

It was the cleanest bathroom I’d ever been in, which I found weird considering the state of the club we were in. The lights shone so brightly that it actually hurt my eyes.

The place was empty, so Agamemnon took the urinal at one end, and I planted myself at the one at the other. It felt good as the piss streamed out of me, finding that sweet relief that came with emptying my bladder.

I heard the door swing open, then loud, thumping footsteps. I felt a presence as someone took the urinal beside me.

What the fuck—there were at least a dozen urinals, and this guy had to take the one right next to me?

When I looked over, I saw a tall, beefy older man with white hair and a long, flowing beard.

“Greetings,” he said, nodding at me.

What an odd thing to say to a dude that you’re pissing next to.

I nodded politely. “Uh, hey, man.”

“First time here?” he asked.

He pulled his dick out, and I reflexively looked at it.

Holy shit! The thing was massive. He had long, droopy foreskin and a shaft as thick as my forearm. I couldn’t help but stare as piss started shooting out of it.

He noticed me looking and chuckled.

“Wanna touch it?” he asked.

I blinked in surprise, then narrowed my eyes in anger. “What the fuck? No, man! I’m not gay.”

He frowned. “Thou says it like an insult.”

His use of old-timey language caught me off guard for a second. But the way he was looking at me made me realize I’d made a mistake. It was probably a bad idea to piss off a gay dude twice my size and three times my age in an enclosed space.

“I don’t mean anything by it, man. I’m just not into dudes.”

He huffed. “Right. That’s why thou is in my gay bar.”

Oh shit. I’d gone and pissed off the owner.

“I’m sorry, man,” I said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Odysseus.”

I held my hand out for a shake.

He stared at it for a moment, then shook it. “Poseidon.”

His grip was crushing.

“This bar’s pretty cool,” I said awkwardly.

“I can give thee a tour. Perhaps show thee my private office?”

Fuck. This dude was getting the seriously wrong impression. I needed to get outta here.

“Maybe another time,” I said, catching the eye of Agamemnon, who had finished washing his hands at the sink and was standing by the door. “I gotta get back to my girlfriend.”

Poseidon smirked. “Yes. Thou must not keep thy lady waiting.”

I walked over to the exit, not bothering to wash my hands in my hurry to leave. I could feel Poseidon’s eyes on me as I joined Agamemnon back in the hallway.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked.

“I dunno,” I said. “I think I almost got picked up.”

Agamemnon cackled. “Dude, that’s so fucking funny. That guy would have wrecked you!”

I frowned. “Yeah, yeah. Any idea how we get back to the dance floor?”

I looked around the hallway for the signs that had led us there, but couldn’t see them anywhere.

“I think it’s this way,” said Agamemnon.

I followed him around the corner, then down another hallway, but still no signs. What was even weirder was that we couldn’t hear any music either.

“This can’t be the right way,” I said. “The music should be getting louder.”

“I’m telling you it’s this way.”

“And I’m telling you you’re wrong.”

Agamemnon laughed. “All right, dude. I’ll keep going my way, and you go yours. But when I get back there first, and you’re still wandering around lost, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck off, dude. See you.”

I headed back in the opposite direction, trying to retrace my steps from the bathroom. After a few turns, however, I felt even more lost than before. I would have asked someone how to get back, but the hallway seemed totally deserted this far out.

I walked for what felt like ten minutes without seeing a single person. Finally, I happened upon a door. The sign on it read Dark Room.

Maybe there would be someone inside I could ask for directions?

With no other options, I opened it.

The room inside was almost pitch-black. I should have figured that from the name, but I didn’t think they’d take the term “dark room” literally.

I could hear movement and some sounds of whispering from around me, but couldn’t see anyone.

“Hello?” I said quietly. I put my hands in front of me, waving them side to side as I tried to find someone to talk to. “Is there a light switch in here?”

I heard moaning coming from nearby. I headed toward the sound and ended up accidentally kicking someone who was crouched on the ground.

“Ow!” said a voice in the dark.

“Sorry! Sorry.”

I heard more moaning, and realized with a sickening feeling that dudes were having sex in here.

I kept walking, now trying to head back to the door to the hallway, but couldn’t find my way back in the darkness.

Great. Now I’d locked myself in some kind of pitch-black orgy room!

Thankfully, I saw a flash of light in the corner of the room. Someone was lighting a cigarette.

“Oh, thank God,” I said to myself.

I walked over to the light, careful not to step on anyone who might be crouched or lying around.

As I got closer, I noticed the person smoking was a man in his 30s, wearing a maroon velvet suit jacket with nothing underneath. He had his arms spread, elbows resting on what looked like some kind of booth he was sitting in. I could only see him chest up from the light. He had long brown hair, a five o’clock shadow, a crooked nose, and a large black eyepatch over his right eye.

He took a deep drag from his cigarette, then blew out the smoke, leaning his head back and shutting his one good eye.

“Excuse me,” I said as I approached.

His eye shot open and fixed on me. He sat up a little, his lips curling in a smile.

“Well, hello, traveler,” he said. “Come have a seat.”

“Oh, I’m good,” I said. “I’m just looking for–”

“It’s considered rude for a guest to deny a host the pleasure of his company.”

I blinked. “Okay,” I said warily.

I slid into the booth beside him. As I got closer, I noticed someone was kneeling on the ground in front of him.

It took me a second to realize the guy was naked and blowing him.

“Oh, fuck,” I said, going to stand, but the man in the eyepatch grabbed my arm.

“Don’t mind Heath,” he said, gently petting the guy’s hair with the hand that held his cigarette. “He’s just one of my flock.”

Heath had the guy’s dick down to the root, and I watched in awe as he slid up and down on it without gagging. He wasn’t using his hands, but he managed to tilt his head to take the guy’s cock in and out of his throat, his lips massaging the shaft like an expert.

Damn, I’d never gotten a blowjob like that from Penelope!

“What’s your name, stranger?”

“Odysseus,” I said, my eyes fixed on the naked guy blowing him.

“I’m Polyphemus,” he said casually. “This is Heath, and that’s Quentin and Simon.”

For the first time, I noticed two more naked men on either side of Heath. They were running their hands along Polyphemus’s stomach, kissing his thighs and feet in adoration.

This was seriously fucked up.

“Are they your… friends?”

“They’re my polycule,” he said with a smirk.

Whatever that meant.

“Cool… Well, I’m looking to get back to the dance floor,” I said.

“You’ve traveled a long way from there, little lamb,” he said, gently stroking my cheek.

“Dude,” I said, jerking back. “Don’t touch me.”

He frowned. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever I please. It’s my club.”

Well, that had to be a lie. I’d just met the owner in the bathroom. Plus I didn’t like the way he said that.

I went to stand again, only this time I felt another hand clamp down on my wrist.

“Don’t go,” said Simon.

“Stay,” added Quentin.

Polyphemus smirked. “Seems they want you to join my little flock.”

My eyes widened at the implication. “No way, I–”

Simon pulled me back down into a sitting position, and before I knew it, his hands were on my fly.

“Whoa, what the fuck–”

He was too fast for me to stop. Before I could say any more, he had my dick out through the fly of my boxers and his mouth was on it.

I opened my mouth again to protest, but what came out instead was a long, deep moan.

Fuck. His mouth felt incredible.

“He’s quite good, isn’t he?” Polyphemus said, stroking Simon’s hair. “He loves sucking a man’s cock. And a god’s.”

My eyelids fluttered as my dick grew hard in Simon’s mouth. Jesus, this guy was so talented. I had never been attracted to men, but in less than fifteen seconds he’d managed to bring me to full hardness.

“You like this,” Polyphemus said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yesss,” I hissed.

“You want to feel what Quentin can do?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know…”

Polyphemus nodded, and I soon felt Quentin’s mouth on my cock alongside Simon’s.

The two of them made out on my cock, sliding their tongues along either side and making me writhe in my seat. Heath was still sucking Polyphemus, but he kept his eyes trained on the guys who were sucking me off.

“I wonder how your mouth would feel,” Polyphemus said, sliding his hand underneath my shirt.

I felt paralyzed as he kissed my neck and the inside of my ear, running his hand along my abs and pinching my nipples.

I was leaking so hard in Simon and Quentin’s mouths, it felt like I was gonna bust.

“You want to suck my cock,” Polyphemus said.

Again, not a question.

“N-no–”

“Shhh,” he said softly. “You do, Odysseus.”

I was so hard now. I thrust my cock up against Simon and Quentin’s tongues. I felt my orgasm building, so powerful I could hardly stand it.

“Open your mouth and let me in,” said Polyphemus.

I opened my mouth to say something in protest, but instead of speaking, I stuck my tongue out just a little.

Polyphemus took that as an invitation.

He slid off the seat, about to stand and shove his dick in my mouth, when my cock erupted.

“Oh, fuck!” I groaned.

My load shot up into the air, high enough to douse my shirt in cum. I watched in shock as it splattered all over Polyphemus’s jacket, then his bare chest, then his face.

The last shot hit him directly in his good eye.

“AARRRGGHH!” he yelled, clasping his hand over his eye and staggering to the side.

He tripped over Heath and went barreling into Simon and Quentin, who scattered, their cries coming out as pitiful bleats.

The cigarette fell on the booth, and I quickly grabbed it and jumped to my feet.

“You get back here!” Polyphemus yelled, still clutching his eye as he tried to get back to his feet.

I held the cigarette out in front of me like a torch as I headed in the direction of where I thought the door was, my heart thumping as I fled.

I could hear him raging behind me, as well as the little cries of his flock, huddling naked together and crawling after me on the ground.

Finally, I spotted the exit. I stubbed out the cigarette under my foot and raced over to the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut behind me.

The hallway was still empty, but after everything that had just happened, I was glad for it.

“Agamemnon!” I called out.

No response.

I could still hear Polyphemus shouting behind the door, so with nothing else to do…

I ran.

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Family members growing closer.

Alabama-style lovin’.

Any and all things related to in*est.

As someone who dabbles in that storytelling niche, I was overjoyed to get the chance to talk to him about his writing process, his Cum Canyon High series, and what exactly draws us freaks to find the fantasy of fictional fathers getting it on with their sons so goshdarn erotic.

Buckle up with and I for a wild ride in this week’s podcast!!!

And don’t forget to Like, Comment, and Subscribe to Freckleman64, JohnValjean, and The Gay Erotic!

Please let us know what you’d like us to talk about on this little podcast. Your engagement lets us know that anyone’s listening!

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This week’s recommendations:

• true crime Substack, Good Luck Getting Rid of Me, a gripping tale of one man’s triumph over a narcissistic monster and “crazy ex-boyfriend.”

  Good Luck Getting Rid of Me

  Darkly funny blogs and a true story of digital obsession, narcissistic abuse, and survival. Based on terrifying real events. Gritty, dark, unsafe, and painfully real.

  By Fox Emerson

• Madonna’s Confessions II album

• The timeless gay coffee table book, Loving, featuring vintage photos of gay male couples

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GRAHAM

My heart slammed into my chest, then seemed to climb into my throat as I flew off the bed. My foot caught the twisted bedspread, sending me flying forward headfirst toward the bathroom.

Luckily the door was already open.

I skidded across the cold bathroom tiles and slammed shoulder-first into the shower screen. Tempered glass shuddered beneath the impact, the metallic rattle echoing around the bathroom.

For a second, I couldn’t hear anything except my own pulse hammering in my ears.

Jesus Christ.

Had she heard that?

I stood frozen, one hand gripping the edge of the shower screen while I fought to breathe through the panic. Every muscle in my body trembled as adrenaline flooded through me, refusing to let me think straight. Sweat prickled across my back despite the cool air. My mouth had gone dry enough that swallowing hurt.

Sarah’s voice was just outside the bedroom.

Too fucking close.

I couldn’t tell if she was in the hallway, or already standing outside the bedroom door. My heartbeat drowned out everything else, turning every muffled sound into something far more terrifying than it probably was.

I slowly leaned toward the bathroom doorway.

Connor hadn’t moved.

He was still lying face down on the bed, ass in the air, as though we hadn’t just heard her come into the house.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

My fingers wrapped around the bathroom door, ready to slam it shut if I saw so much as a shadow cross the bedroom.

I wasn’t sure if the voice drifted closer.

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Frank sat on the living room couch. The glass of whiskey sat on the coffee table in front of him, untouched.

The liquid was still, catching the moonlight. The room was silent, insulated from the traffic outside and even the usual creaks of an old house.

But in Frank’s mind, everything was noisy.

As a police officer, he’d grown used to living in a constant state of fight-or-flight. Low-grade stress, fear, and panic had become old friends. Things you learned to live with, to accept but not ignore.

Now it was becoming too much.

It started the second Cris had collapsed in his arms. At first, he’d thought it was some kind of medical emergency. He’d wanted to call an ambulance, had carried Cris over to the couch and pulled his phone out of his pocket before Angelica came bursting back into the room.

She had pushed him out of the way immediately, crouching beside Cris and squeezing his hand tightly. “Cris, breathe. Tell me what happened.”

Cris’s face crumpled. He turned away, hiding his face against the couch cushion.

“I think we should take him to the hospital,” Frank had said, but Angelica just glared at him.

“What he needs is breathing room. Give us some space, policeman.”

Frank had fled to the kitchen, telling himself Cris needed water, though really he just didn’t want to incur Angelica’s wrath. His hand shook as he held the glass beneath the tap.

He needed to hold it together. But what could he do? He hadn’t felt this powerless since–

“Frank.”

Angelica’s face had been deadly serious as she stared at him from the doorway.

“What is it? Is he–”

“He’s fine,” she said curtly. “He just had a panic attack.”

“Are you sure? You don’t think we should–?”

“I’m a nurse. I know what a panic attack looks like.”

He was about to protest more when she said, “Can he stay with you for a few days?”

That had taken Frank by surprise.

Before he could respond, she quickly interjected, “I don’t want him to be alone. I’m working doubles the next two days, and you’re retired, so you’ve got fuckall to do. Right?”

“I don’t… I mean, yes, of course he can stay with me, but–”

“Good.” She turned before he’d finished speaking. “I’ll pack him a bag, and you can take him with you.”

By the time they got Cris to Frank’s car, the boy was still so weak that Frank asked three times if they should take him to the hospital. Cris kept darting nervous glances around, as though something might come out of the sky and attack them at any moment.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” Angelica had warned him just before they’d left.

Cris barely spoke on the car ride to Frank’s house. The whole time, Frank had shot him nervous glances, checking for any signs of emergency.

But Cris just stared out the window, gazing through the droplets of rain that had started to form and saying nothing.

When they got in, Frank put him to bed immediately. He wasn’t sure whether Cris would want to share a bed while he was there, but he’d put him in the Master bedroom anyway. The boy had curled under the blanket, rolled over, and gone right to sleep.

It was still early, so Frank had gone out to the living room, poured himself an inch of whiskey, and sat in the dark.

He hated how worried he felt. That had been the only comfort after Georgia died: he no longer had to fear the worst. It had already happened.

Now he’d opened himself up again. He’d let this young man slip past his defenses and carve out a place deep inside his heart. Suddenly, every wall he’d spent years building felt thin as paper.

He finally reached for the glass and brought it to his lips. The whiskey was lukewarm, but it burned his throat as it went down.

He leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face before letting his head fall against the couch. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He tried to shut out the fear in his brain, to focus on the comforting silence.

Instead of darkness, all he saw was Cris’s face.

The panic in his eyes.

The way he’d gone pale, looking past Frank like he hadn’t even existed.

There was something he wasn’t telling him. Frank could tell that much from the hushed conversation he’d had with Angelica while Frank was in the kitchen.

It was more than just a panic attack.

Frank wanted to call up Angelica, demand more information. Hadn’t he earned that right? They would be raising a baby together. He needed to be able to protect his boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Was that what they were? Cris had called him that, but then—

Frank’s eyes opened as a horrible thought came to him.

What if it had just been a panic attack?

What if Cris had panicked because of what they’d said? He’d accidentally called Frank his boyfriend, and Frank had jumped on it like a dying man on a flimsy reed. Cris had gotten cold feet, and the thought of tying himself to a man twice his age–

“Frank?”

Frank’s head snapped up.

Cris stood in the hallway. He was only in a pair of gray briefs, his skin almost translucent in the moonlight. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and the look of innocence on his face almost took Frank’s breath away. He looked like someone who’d woken from a nightmare, found themselves alone, and gone searching for comfort.

“Cris,” Frank said, slowly getting to his feet. “How are you feeling?”

Cris shrugged. “I’m okay. Are you coming to bed?”

Frank swallowed. “Um…”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be there. Just let me brush my teeth.”

Cris nodded once, then turned to walk back to the bedroom.

Frank took a deep breath, then followed him.

Once he’d brushed his teeth, he stripped off his clothes, leaving himself in just a pair of striped boxers. Cris was lying on his side, facing the wall.

Frank pulled back the covers, the boy’s bare back half-illuminated by the moonlight. He climbed in behind him.

At first, he kept his distance. But after a few seconds, Cris scooted backward, pressing his back against Frank’s chest.

Frank wrapped his arm around the boy, pulling him in close and pressing his nose into his hair.

The familiar scent of Cris’s pineapple shampoo steadied him. Frank was starting to know things about this man that he wasn’t even aware of. He knew exactly how he fit in his arms, their bodies settling together like puzzle pieces. As his hand drifted over Cris’s belly, he could trace, even in the dark, just how quickly the baby was growing. The bigger the swell, the more real it felt.

Frank kept his hand pressed against Cris’s belly, wanting to ground the boy, but really looking to ground himself.

They lay there for several minutes, simply breathing together, their warm bodies just being.

Then Frank felt it.

He pulled back, breathing in sharply.

Cris turned his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Cris rolled over, pressing his hands together and resting his head against them. “Frank.”

Frank sighed. “I’m hard.”

A slow smile crept across Cris’s face.

“What?”

Cris just grabbed Frank’s hand and pressed it against his crotch.

Frank’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

Cris was grinning widely now. “I can’t help it.”

The boy leaned in and kissed him, his lips soft and parted. He pressed his bulge against Frank’s, frotting their cocks together through the fabric of their underwear.

His pulse raced as they ground their hard dicks against each other. His hand went automatically to Cris’s ass, squeezing the round flesh and pulling him in closer. His fingertips slid beneath the boy’s waistband, feeling the soft skin of his bottom and making his dick swell even more.

Then his mind got the better of him, and he pulled away, summoning whatever remained of his willpower to push Cris back a little.

“We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You should sleep. You’ve been through a lot.”

Cris’s face went flat. “I’m not some fragile thing, Frank.”

“You just had a major panic attack. I’m just trying to be safe.”

Cris slid his hand to Frank’s bulge and squeezed it softly. “This makes me feel safe.”

Frank put his hand on Cris’s wrist. “Cris.”

“I’m serious.” Cris stroked him slowly underneath his underwear. His fingers were so damn soft.

“I never feel safer than when I’m with you. Making love to you… It’s the only time I feel like I can just breathe. Nothing else matters. There’s just me, and you. Us. Two bodies making each other feel good.”

Frank’s hand went to Cris’s stomach. “It’s not just us anymore, Cris.”

Cris put his hand on Frank’s. “I know.”

When he looked up at the old man, Frank knew that whatever feeble protest he could muster, he was powerless over this boy.

He pulled him in for a kiss, feeling desire surge through him. Cris slid his legs around his waist, crushing their cocks together.

They lay on their sides, thrusting against each other, not needing to be naked just yet, but content just to feel the other person. Frank’s fingers went to Cris’s nipples, gently pinching them. Cris moaned in his mouth, his own fingers trailing down the hair on Frank’s chest to the treasure trail on his belly.

Frank’s breath hitched as Cris’s touch tickled his stomach, his fingers slipping underneath his waistband to brush the back of his knuckles against Frank’s bush. His cock was so hard, so painfully hard, but he didn’t want to rush it, wouldn’t fast-forward the tape even a second and risk missing this: just being, just exploring.

The fear was gone, fled, hiding somewhere he didn’t care to consider. All that mattered was how soft Cris’s skin was, his gentle kisses, the way he smelled and the desperate, overwhelming need to join their bodies together.

They kissed for what felt like hours, hands sliding across each other’s bodies, as if they were discovering each other for the very first time. Frank rolled onto his back, pulling Cris on top of him. Their mouths never parted, their tongues never slowed. Frank rolled his hips, bucking against Cris’s ass while he held the boy firmly by his waist.

Cris’s belly pressed against his, and Frank couldn’t help but cup the sides of it with his hands. He was so beautiful, such a perfect man, absolutely made to be a Momdad. If anyone in this world should be able to get pregnant, it was Cris. He was brimming with life, so maternal, or paternal—whatever the terminology was with a pregnant man.

Not like Frank. He’d given up on being a dad so long ago that the idea felt like some dusty, forgotten thing lying in the back of the attic. But being here with Cris, so close to this living, breathing miracle, he was starting to believe that anything was possible.

Cris broke the kiss, leaning back to kick off his underwear.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he breathed.

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