Sometimes, though, it can be fun to let the entitled character get what they want. After all, they've developed that entitlement somehow -- likely through lived experience of getting exactly what they want.
The only time I've really explored entitlement in a character is through Ken in my five-part series, Go-Go Boys of Club 21. Ken and his buddies are go-go dancers in a hot NYC gay club. The series follow their sexual exploits both on and off the job.
Ken has long been my most favourite character I've written -- yes, he's cock and entitled, but he's also surprisingly sweet and a bit of a ditz. While he doesn't get the comeuppance that happens often in erotica (the spanking), he does have his sense of entitlement shattered over the course of the series, primarily through the process of falling in love. He learns that life is more about just him and what makes his dick feel good.
I thought that today I'd share a short scene from the Go-Go Boys. This is Ken's first scene in the first story, Bump and Grind. He's on his first break of the evening, having just danced up a storm and, Ken being who he is, finds himself horny and in need of a quick release.
(Heads up, there's gay sex in this.)
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The washroom door clatters closed behind me. I admire the hot asses packed in tight denim, lined up along the urinal wall like grocery store merchandise. I saunter to the lone empty urinal at the end, admiring. I’ll have a lick of that, a bite of him, and good God, I’ll bury my face in that one!
As tempting as each ass is, I’m not here to rim or fuck. No time for that and no way to clean up before going back out to dance. All I’m here to do is guzzle some fucker’s hot, salty cum.
I swivel on a heel as I stop at the final urinal and steal a glance at the cock beside me. It’s thick, semi hard, and has a fat, delicious vein snaking up the shaft. It unleashes a golden stream that splatters against porcelain. I look up at him and take in the rest of his gorgeous body. He’s all muscles and body hair and sweat; he is one hundred percent man—exactly what I lust for...except for his douchey ball cap, but I’ll let that slide.
He notices my stare of seduction and gives me the nod that says, “Game’s on.”
I recognize him from the dance floor. He knows how to use his body, how to move it in all the right ways. I’ve had my eye on him for most of the evening.
Around us, a symphony of flushes and footsteps fill the air, but neither one of us moves until the washroom empties out. Alone. Mmm.
Ball Cap finishes pissing, shakes his cock until it’s dry—and hard. Wide, not too long to take in my mouth, this is gonna be good.
I hook my shorts under my balls. My sac sticks out and pushes my hard prick upward. Now my to-be cum-donor’s stroking his rod, entranced as I let out a stream of piss.
A golden arc like half a McDonald’s “M” lingers in the air, reminding me of a particularly exciting hookup. When I’m done pissing, I shake it too, hand hard around my cock, enough to make it tingle. Ball Cap wants to make a move, but he’s holding back.
“Touch it,” I command. I back up half a step, angling my protrusion toward him.
He looks over his shoulder, checking that we’re alone. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he reaches out and grasps my cock. Poor boy is probably stunned that he gets to touch one of the go-go boys. We’re the stuff of dreams. His hand is warm and soft on my dick.
“You’re really great out there,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You’re so hot when you dance. I’ve watched you so many times.”
I reach out to tug his dick. He moans, closes his eyes. This is his fantasy, I can tell. I bet he’s beat of fifty times thinking of this very moment.
Leaning in close, I lick his earlobe and whisper, “It’s your lucky day.” No more watching and fantasizing. Time for real stuff. “I’d love to get a taste of you. Do you think you can feed me?”
He shudders. I lick down his jaw line and nibble at the skin on his collarbone. This boy definitely has pleasure points; he gasps, his knees wobble.
I grab his bicep—fuck, he’s jacked—and push him into a stall. He stumbles backward, crashing through the stall door, wood rattling and echoing. He falls ass-first on the toilet and I fall to my knees in front of him, slamming the door shut behind us.
The moment I set my lips on his cock head and slide it into my mouth, Ball Cap groans now like the animal that he is. I use a hand to stroke the base as I slurp the chubby length in like an uncooked noodle. He’s delicious. I suck in my cheeks so that every bob of my head pulls the skin of his cock up and down, making him harder, making him louder. He bucks his hips, tickling my throat with his stubby cock head.
He puts his hand on my head, pushing me down more, but I swat his hand away, gripping his thigh hard in punishment; I don’t let no fucker tell me how it’s done.
I just want his cum, and I’m gonna get it. I suck deeper, harder, fiercer, swallowing, suctioning like an Electrolux. His head’s wedged now in the back of my throat and I’m kissing his bushy pubes.
Time to finish him off. I bob lightning-quick and he loses his shit. Moaning, panting, grating, wailing like a fucking seventies porn star. It’s like I’m torturing him or something.
I have three options—tell him to shut the fuck up, gag him somehow, or just get him off faster. The third option is my favorite; it’s something I’m particularly good at. I press my lips together tighter and bob faster, pulling everything out of my cocksucking bag of tricks. I massage his nuts, squeezing and tugging them.
“Oh, fuck, yeah. Keep doing that. Fuck! Fuuck! Fuuuck!!” So he does know how to talk when the pants come off. But he follows it up with more of that stupid moaning of his. I give his balls a sharp tug—the littlest passive aggressive part of me wishing I was wrenching them off, and if there was some way I could talk with my mouth full, I would have told him, “Come on buddy, feed me your seed and shut the fuck up.”
He’s close. From years of sucking hundreds of cocks, I know when a guy is about to shoot. Fuck, this is the hottest part, wailing banshee recipient or not. I put my free hand on my cock and start to beat it.
Beneath my grip, his balls rise and hug closer to his body. I clamp my lips harder, creating a cum-tight seal. Ball Cap shouts like this is the Inquisition, then a salty geyser blasts against the back of my throat.
Mmm. Cum. Fuck yeah, I swallow him, filling my stomach with his juice.
The flood, the taste, the knowledge—it pushes me over the edge for the third time today. I beat my meat harder. I grunt around a mouthful of cock and my sac empties in thick shots that spatter Ball Cap’s shoes.
“You’re good,” he says, after I’ve sucked him dry and let his stub flop against his thigh. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
I chuckle and stand up. His eyes follow my crotch until it hangs limp and spent in front of his face. Before he gets any ideas, I pull my shorts up.
He stands, bringing his face close to mine, like he’s gonna fucking kiss me or something. “Do you want to grab a drink sometime? Maybe after your shift? We could go to my place—”
“It’s just a blow job, buddy, it ain’t a date.”
I open the stall door and push him out. These boys are all the same, thinking us go-go dancers are looking for dates. We live for the heat of the moment, nothing more. I grab some toilet paper, wipe my lips, then clean the mess on the floor.
Back to work.
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If you'd like to read more, you can find Bump and Grind here, or you can find Go-Go Boys of Club 21: The Complete Series here.
Cameron D. James is a writer of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance; his latest release is Seduced by My Best Friend’s Dad (co-written with Sandra Claire). He lives in Canada, is always crushing on Starbucks baristas, and has two rescue cats. To learn more about Cameron, visit http://www.camerondjames.com.