Schoolboy Secrets (#amreading #gayerotica)

by Cameron D. James

(Since this month's theme of "What Are You Reading?" makes me think about school -- here's one of my teacher/student dom/sub stories!)

Schoolboy Secrets

Now that Evan is eighteen, the first thing he wants to do is go to the bathhouse. He’s gay and a virgin — and so the bathhouse seems like the perfect place for him to go on a Sunday afternoon. He makes his way through the place, eventually finding himself in a hallway shrouded in total darkness. He brushes up against a body, likes what he feels, and has his first gay experience then and there with a man he can’t even see.

As he heads out of the bathhouse, he runs into the last person he expects to see — his gym teacher, Coach Miller. And it doesn’t take long for Evan to connect the dots and realize that it was Coach Miller that Evan had done stuff with in the dark.

The situation is tricky — he had sex with a teacher — but there’s one thing Evan can’t deny. He enjoyed it. And he wants more.

Excerpt

I lingered at the coffee shop, watching the non-descript building across the street. Every time the door opened and a man entered or exited, my heartbeat surged. My coffee had grown cold as I sat there for far too long, with my leg bouncing in nervous anticipation.

It was my eighteenth birthday yesterday — my buddies had bought me a cake and we’d spent the evening playing board games. While it certainly wasn’t as wild as what most guys likely did on their eighteenth, it was the most we could do, what with us being at a private all-boys Catholic boarding school. But with my eighteenth now a day behind me, I was old enough to leave campus for short periods, and old enough to enter that building across the street.

My heart skipped a beat as the door opened again and a buff man came sauntering out. I watched him as he paused to light a cigarette, inhale, exhale, and walk down the street.

If I’m gonna do this, I better fucking do this, I told myself. I got up, ditched my cold coffee, and exited the coffee shop. Every step down the sidewalk and across the street seemed to make my heart race just a little faster. By the time I approached the front door, the sound of blood rushing filled my ears and my palms had started to sweat.

I reached for the door and just before I grabbed the handle, the door swung open, making me jump back and gasp. It was almost enough to send me scampering. An older guy, maybe in his thirties, with delicious scruff, came out. He paused and looked at me, gave me a wink, and then walked down the street. I watched him go, his bubble butt swaying in those tight jeans of his.

Taking another deep breath, I grabbed the door and opened it. The small foyer beyond was dimly lit and the walls were lined with posters that had sexy men in their underwear. A little trap door opened and a face peeked through, eyeing me up and down before buzzing me through to the actual entrance.

Along the wall to my left were more posters of men wearing next to nothing and to my right was a long desk where the man who had peeked through the little door stood. I stepped up to the desk.

“I-I’d like to ... uh...”

“Can I see some ID, kid?” the man said, his words carrying a whistle due to having a large gap between his front teeth.

Just past the desk, a buff guy wearing only a small, white towel wandered by, eyeing me up and down before turning down a dark hallway. I watched him for as long as I could see him, but he eventually disappeared from view.

“Kid? Your ID?” the older man said, another whistle rushing through his words.

“Right,” I said, and pulled out my wallet. I fumbled through it, digging out my license, then passing it over to him. He glanced at the birth date and then passed it back to me.

“Happy belated birthday,” he said. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward a bit. He was an attractive man. I think the light was aging him a bit — I originally pegged him at about fifty, but closer up, he really looked more like mid-thirties. “You’ve never been to a bathhouse, have you?”

I shook my head, hoping that the jerky movement didn’t telegraph my overwhelming nerves.

“You sure you want to jump into this right now?”

“Yes,” I said. “I want to do this.”

He looked at me a long moment, like he was deciding whether to actually let me in or not. Eventually, he turned around, grabbed a towel from the pile behind him and put it on the desk in front of me. Then he reached for a key off a rack and placed it on top of the towel.

“Your admission is on the house. Call it a birthday present,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He leaned forward on the counter, resting on his elbows. “I’ll run you through the basics. Lockers are right through there,” I looked where he was pointing, “and you’ll want to get totally naked, wearing only this towel. You’ll find a hot tub in the back, as well as a maze in total darkness, glory hole booths, a hallway lined with private rooms, and a sauna. You can have sex anywhere and everywhere — in a private room if the guy rented one or totally out in public. Just not in the hot tub. You shoot your wad in my hot tub and you’re out the door.”

I watched him as he spoke, trying to process all of this information, but I found it was all overwhelming me, making me wonder if I really should’ve just turned around and walked out. No, I told myself, if I walk out, I’ll just come back tomorrow when I’ve screwed up enough courage again.

“Kid?” the man said, pulling my attention back to him. “The most important rule, above everything else I’ve just told you, is that you have the right to say ‘no’. If somebody starts fondling you or sucking you and you don’t want it, just tell him you’re not interested. If he gives you trouble, you come to me and I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” I said. That managed to calm my nerves quite a bit. I could just say no. If I wanted to, I could just spend time here and not touch another man at all. Like I’m going to get out of here without getting some dick, my sarcastic self said in my head.

I picked up the towel and the key, which was on one of those elastic coils that I could wrap around my wrist or bicep. I followed where the man had pointed, finding a room of lockers at the end of the hall. I wasn’t alone. Two guys were getting naked. I stood in awe of the sight; two well-built and well-hung men were dropping their pants and their boxers. One of them caught me staring and winked at me — and before wrapping his towel around his waist, he turned slightly so that I could get a better view of his glorious cock. Moments later, they both had a towel wrapped around their waists and they walked out of the room, hand-in-hand.

When I was alone, I then realized just how fucking hard my cock was. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to shoot my wad within the first few minutes of being in here. I held my breath for a moment — a classmate had told me that if I get an awkward boner in class, holding my breath for ten seconds will get rid of it. I counted to ten, then started breathing again — my boner wasn’t gone, but it was a little less stiff.

Gotta get naked. Right.

I glanced at the number on the key and found my locker. I stripped naked and grabbed my towel, hurrying so no one would see my dick and balls, as if I were in the gym showers at school — even though in the back of my mind I was telling myself that my sole purpose in being at a bathhouse was to get some dick and to get a blowjob. To get those done, I needed someone to see my dick and balls.

Still, habits died hard. I cinched the towel around my waist, locked the locker, and strung the key around my wrist.

I awkwardly held my arms in front of my body, as if to hide my near-nakedness, and wandered back down the hallway toward the front desk. The man at the desk nodded encouragement at me, even as his eyes roved hungrily over my body. I came to a fork in the path — if I remembered right from what I’d read online, the hallway looped around, so it was more a matter of which direction did I want to do the loop in. The warm scent of a hot tub came wafting down the hall from my left, so I started in that direction.


As I wandered, I passed a small foyer with a leather futon and a TV playing porn. A guy sat on the futon, idly stroking his cock as I wandered past. My gaze locked on his meat and I couldn’t stop my eyes from going wide. I’d never seen such open display of sex outside of internet porn. He eyed me up and down, subtly inviting me to join him — I was tempted, but I didn’t want to just settle down with the first dick I found in my first five minutes in here. I wanted my first experience to be a more memorable one. I could always have fun with multiple men, but I knew there was a chance, given my nervousness, that I would run back to the dorms once I had my first dick.

Click here to find out where to get your copy!

New York Heat by Cameron D. James (#amreading #gayromance #gayerotica)

What better book to promo during the "face the music" month than New York Heat, which takes place in a gay nightclub?

New York Heat

Cameron D. James

When tragedy threatens to pull the community of Club 21 apart, new owner Dan realizes just how strong the strength of love runs in the nightclub family.

Club 21 is New York City’s hottest gay nightclub. The drinks are cheap, the music is infectious, and the go-go boys are the stuff of dreams.

For Dan, it’s where his life will forever change. With his signature on the dotted line, he goes from bartender to owner. And with that change, he realizes that both his responsibilities and his stress have skyrocketed.

Club 21 is home. The staff are family. Like a mama bear, Dan is fiercely protective of his clients and his staff, especially his go-go boys, whose carefree dancing inspires Dan to make Club 21 the best it can be.

Especially Ken, once a fling, now the love of his life. There’s so much that needs to get done at Club 21, but Dan is terrified that all the long evenings will drive his young go-go boy lover away. Dan doesn’t want to lose him, but if anything ever happened to his staff—his family—Dan would never forgive himself...

Content warning: New York Heat contains a scene of mass violence and the death of a main character.

Click here to get your copy!

A Mostly Untrue Story (#hotread #amreading #gayerotica)

Everyone always asks me if my books are based on my sexcapades. And if they don't ask, they just assume it to be true. Or they assume that I'm listening to everyone's dating and sex drama and turning it into fiction. I can tell y'all that's 100% untrue.

However, with that in mind, I thought I'd use this month's theme to promote my very first erotic book! It's the one that kicked off this massive suspicion that I'm sexually insatiable in my private life.

Autumn Fire

Cameron D. James

True gay love is a fairy tale. No matter what everyone says, that’s what Dustin firmly believes. As he starts his first year of university, Dustin is happy in the closet, where he can meet his gay needs secretly through anonymous hookups.

But when Dustin has his first hookup of the university term, with a muscular dark-eyed jock in the library men’s room, he can’t help notice the deep and immediate connection he feels, one that seems almost like love. It’s over as quickly as it begins and, as all anonymous hookups go, Dustin never expects to see him again.

The term gets difficult, especially when his math class begins. Dustin destresses with more hookups, but they don’t sate him the way they used to, and he finds he cannot stop thinking about his start-of-term encounter. Soon, his academic needs outweigh the sexual, and Dustin caves in and gets a tutor.

Attractive, well-built, dark-eyed…and a jock, his new tutor, Kyle, is none other than his anonymous hookup from the men’s room. Fate seems to have connected him to the man of his dreams.

Or maybe not, since Kyle is even more in the closet than Dustin is.

~ * ~

This book opens with an anonymous bathroom blowjob. And that leads into the story I love to tell about it.

I was at a writing convention that featured a "live action slush" session. Writers anonymously submitted the first page of their book to the event; a reader would read the page out loud; and a panel of four editor judges would put up their hand when they would stop reading the submission. The idea is that you see where you're losing an acquisition editor's interest.

The reader read the opening paragraphs with the bathroom blowjob and everyone in the room giggled awkwardly. I didn't make it through to the end, three of the four judges put up their hands when they would have stopped reading (and once the third hand goes up, the narrator stops reading out loud).

Interestingly, Canadian superstar sci-fi author Robert J Sawyer was the last of the three to put up his hand. He had a goofy grin on his face during the blowjob.

During commentary afterward, one judge explained why she put up her hand: "There's too much angst. This whole bathroom blowjob is totally unbelievable!"

The one editor who did not put up her hand, and thus the one that would have kept reading, knew that it was my submission; she came and told me that the other editors didn't know what they were talking about. And then she later cornered that "totally unbelievable" editor and demanded of her, "You've never been in a bathroom with a gay man, have you?!"

~ * ~

Excerpt

Dustin stared at the sneakered foot, just visible below the stall wall, as the other man stopped at the urinal beside him. He waited for the signal — until he heard it he didn’t know if this was CollegeJock22 or some random dude who had to piss.

Time seemed to slow as he heard a zipper open. With every passing heartbeat, he waited for the telltale sound of urination ... but it wasn’t happening. The foot shifted. The pant leg lifted, briefly flashing a white sock.

The signal! Dustin shuffled his foot close to the dividing wall, so the other man could see it, and flashed his own sock.

Dustin waited ... but nothing happened. Embarrassment swelled as he realized the awkward coincidence. This was not CollegeJock22. As soon as he leaves, I’m going back to my dorm and I’m just gonna jack off, Dustin decided. This was a mistake, to meet some random guy in a random washroom.

Then the other man’s feet moved. Dustin held his breath, not daring to make even the slightest sound of exhalation. He’d not heard the man piss — and he’d not heard the man zip up again. Maybe this was CollegeJock22. He just prayed the man wasn’t fat and ugly, that his profile hadn’t been one big lie. Dustin’s heart thudded as the man stood on the other side of the stall door. As planned, Dustin had left it unlocked. It squeaked softly as the man – CollegeJock22 — nudged it open.

All his doubts vanished. Quite simply, CollegeJock22 would be the hottest guy Dustin ever hooked up with. He was the rare man that not only lived up to his profile, but surpassed it. He easily stood five foot eleven and had tight golden curls peeking out from below his ball cap. His muscled chest pulled his shirt taut beneath his open jacket and his cock ... his cock was a gorgeous piece of meat, dangling from his open fly. The thick and semi-hard dick sprouted from a dusting of fine hair.

Click here to find out where to get your copy!

Seduced By My Best Friend's Dad -- A Dirty Excerpt (#taboogaysex #gayerotica)

Given this month's theme of "pushing limits", I thought it appropriate to dig up my most limit-pushing novella -- and, perhaps unsurprisingly, one of my most popular. Readers love seeing those limits get pushed.

Seduced By My Best Friend's Dad

Jay has a crush on Richard, his best friend's dad. Richard is older, very masculine, cares about Jay, and is extremely sexy. There are just the problems of Richard being straight, married, and the father of Jay’s life-long best friend.

When Richard takes his son and Jay on a camping trip to celebrate turning eighteen, becoming men, and taking their first steps into the adult world, Jay struggles to contain his lust. Hitting on Richard would ruin the camping trip and destroy his friendship.

But when his friend takes ill and Jay and Richard enjoy some bonding time alone, it becomes clear that Jay isn't the only one in the thrall of forbidden desires. A relaxing camping trip soon turns into a series of sweaty, erotic encounters, as Jay and Richard stoke this fire burning between them.

Excerpt

In this scene, about a third of the way into the book, Jay is hiking up a forested hill with Richard -- they're alone, as Jay's friend has taken ill and is sleeping it off in the tent. At the crest of the hill, they sit for some water and sunshine, but soon Richard's leg muscles start cramping from the hike. The erotic tension between the two men has been crackling between them like bolts of lightning -- and it only gets more intense when Richard asks Jay to massage his legs. When Jay gets on his knees in front of his best friend's dad, he discovers that the older man isn't wearing any underwear under those shorts.

Still not breaking eye contact with Richard, Jay willed his fingers back to life, massaging Richard’s upper thigh. With every squeeze of his fingers, he moved his hand half an inch closer to that patch of ball skin. With every passing moment, he felt the tension build in both of them, like he was waiting for Richard to call him a pervert or Richard was waiting for Jay to burst out laughing at the prank. But then his fingertips brushed against that warm, soft, wrinkled, hairy skin, and the tension deflated from both of them.

“Jay...” Richard said, his voice a mere whisper. It was filled with lust and need, happiness and contentment. He wanted this — needed this.

Jay brushed the skin, rubbing his fingers back and forth, then carefully worked his hand under Richard’s shorts and boxers. Soon he had one meaty ball rolling between his fingers. It was almost plum-sized, firm and round. He squeezed the ball lightly, tugged it gently, and Richard let out a low moan, falling back on his elbows on the rock, head cast back. Jay eased his other hand in the other pant leg and grabbed Richard’s other ball, giving it the same massage treatment. He rubbed both balls, smoothing out the skin, holding them firm in his grasp. The long bulge in the middle of the pile of fabric at Richard’s crotch twitched.

Shifting to grasp both balls in one hand, Jay slid his fingers reverently up the length of Richard’s cock, watching the man’s face for any reaction that this was going too far. But Richard was too far gone, too lost in the heat of the moment to ever say no — Jay knew he had Richard, that the man was putty in his hands, but that he had willingly and knowingly put himself there.

He still didn’t understand it — Richard was straight and married and the very fact that Jay was his son’s best friend should have put up some immediate boundaries, placed him off limits. But those boundaries were obviously being ignored. The almost father-son relationship they’d developed over the years also wasn’t a boundary that could stop them. If anything, that closeness only added to the intimacy of the moment. Jay was giving pleasure to the man he’d looked up to all these years.

Click here to find out where to get your copy.

Cameron D. James is a writer of gay smut. His most recent publication is New York Heat.

Flash Fiction on the Edge

For this fortnight's post, given that the topic is "edges", I thought it'd be fun to do some flash fiction.

In true flash fiction style, I'm going to spend 20 minutes writing this -- not a minute more -- and do very minor editing afterwards. (Basically just a clean up edit, but nothing in depth.)

I'm armed with my water bottle and five chocolate eggs left over from the Easter candy stash.

Ready for flash fiction in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... GO!

-----

The restraints at my ankles and wrists cut into my flesh, holding my down, limiting my movement. It hurts, but I like it.

All my attention is on my cock. It's so hard -- it's been hard for almost an hour now -- and Master continues to tease it... to tease me.  The lights are low and I'm blindfolded, sitting in a chair, attached to it with those restraints.  Before starting, Master had put headphones over my ears, pumping me full of a soft, droning noise -- the kind of noise that blocks out all other sounds and puts me in a relaxed state, almost hypnotic.

I can't see my cock because of the blindfold, but I imagine it's a dark and angry red.  Not only has it been hard for almost an hour, but Master has been teasing me with the edge of orgasm.  Every time I start to get the slightest bit flaccid, he grabs my cock and starts stroking, making me insanely hard again, bringing me right to the edge of orgasm and then releasing his hold on me, leaving me gasping and panting and just half a second from having gone over that edge and diving down into orgasmic release.

Master likes to tease me.  And I like to be teased.

Master grabs my cock again.  His hand is meaty and firm, surrounding the entirety of my erection in his grip.  Slowly, he strokes, gaining speed with every passing heartbeat.  It starts to hurt, having been masturbated so much in this past hour, but that hurt is soon subsumed by the rising and mounting pleasure.  I'm so close.  I'm gonna cum.  I'm going to blow my load and have the most earth-shattering orgasm I've ever had.  I'm going to--

Master lets go of my cock.

I double over, as best I can being partially restrained, gasping and panting for air.  The hormones and chemicals of orgasm are rushing through my bloodstream, heightening every single fucking thing I'm feeling right now.  My heart beats so loud it's like there's a drum playing in my ear.  All of it feels incredible, but I'm still denied the one thing that I've been begging for, crying for, desperately searching for.  I still haven't orgasmed.  My load is still sitting in my aching balls.

My breath slowly comes back to me and I don't pant and gasp anymore.  But I'm wired.  I'm so fucking wired.  I need release and I need it now.

It's this moment in an edging session where I question why I torture myself like this.  I could've stayed at home and jacked off and had my orgasm by now.

But it wouldn't be the same.  And it wouldn't be anywhere near as powerful as the orgasm I know I'm going to have when Master determines that I am finally allowed to cum.

Before I can think further on it, I feel Master's hand on me again.  This time, though, he's grabbing and fondling my balls.  He tugs on my sack and rolls each ball between his fingers, like he's testing me, assessing me.  I hope I meet his approval.  I wonder if he can tell how aching and full and tense my balls are to me -- I wonder if he cares.

That hand moves up to my cock and grabs hold of it again.  Like always, he starts off by stroking slow.  With every up and down stroke, he gets a little faster, his fingers grip on a little tighter, and my skin feels on fire from the friction but pleasure soon overwhelms everything.

I whimper.  I gasp.  I moan.  I beg.  "Please... please let me cum.  Please, Master."

I can feel myself rushing to that edge, to that point of no return where I known that if I pass over it, my balls are going to empty themselves so much that I'll be plastered in my spunk.  I can feel myself starting to go over that edge, just a second more, just one second--

Master releases my cock.

"Fuck!" I scream.  The muscles throughout my entire body contract and release, contract and release, over and over again, but that orgasm still doesn't happen.  My chest heaves as I struggle for breath again.

Suddenly, Master pulls the headphones off one ear and I hear him growl, "You think you deserve to cum?"

"Please," I whimper.  "Please, Master.  I'll do anything -- anything -- if you let me cum."

He lets go of the headphone and it slams against my ear again.  I don't know if I've earned my orgasm or not -- I don't know if this is going to end soon or if I have another hour of this excruciating torture.

Master grabs my cock again and strokes -- slow at first and quickly speeding up.  He hadn't given me time to fully recover from the last one, so I'm still gulping air and gasping for breath, my whole body is tense, my muscles clamped down and hard like steel, and I grimace, pulling back my lips and exposing my teeth as I try to bear this exquisite torture.

Like before, I can see and feel that edge, I know that I'm seconds away from orgasming, from being unable to contain my jizz.  I start panting harder, leaning forward and doubling over, but Master doesn't stop.

Maybe this is it.  Maybe this is the time he lets me cum.  I expect him to stop at any second, to release my cock and let it twitch and throb and be unable to release its pent up energy... but he doesn't stop.

That edge is coming.  That edge is so close.  Master is going to stop now... I know it.

Still, he doesn't. He keeps going.

Master keeps stroking me, pumping my cock, pushing me toward that point where there's no turning back.  I grimace and let out a groan, which soon turns into a roar, and then a shout.

And I get thrown over that edge.  I fall over the cliff and into the depths of sexual release.  Fire and life and sex and every iota of energy that exists in my body rushes to my groin, rises through my shaft, and shoots out, splattering all over me.

It seems to last forever.  My orgasm doesn't seem like it's going to end.  I get lightheaded from the rush of energy to my crotch, from my inability to draw in a full breath of oxygen, and I feel like I'm going to pass out.

Eventually, my orgasm comes to an end and I can breathe again.  I'm spent.  I'm limp -- limp all over, not just my dick.  I slouch in the chair, the restraints barely managing to keep me sitting upright.

Master lifts off the headphones and blindfold, undoes the restraints, picks me up, and carries me to his bed.  He lays me down and cuddles with me as I drift off to sleep, simply unable to keep my eyes open a moment longer.

Cameron D. James is a writer of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance; his latest release is The President And The Rentboy. He is publisher at and co-founder of Deep Desires Press. With his erotica writers' group, he is a member of the Indie Erotica Collective (website still under construction). 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.

Reminding Him of His Place (#gayerotica #eroticaexcerpt)

I don’t often delve into BDSM themes — which is what first comes to mind when I hear the post theme “Knowing One’s Place” — but one of my first stories touched on it. Going All The Way was the third in a three-part series about hot sex and hot yoga — with the dominant older yoga teacher instructing the nubile young twink yogi in all manner of scorching hot maneuvers. While I feel my writing has improved considerably since when I wrote this story, it remains a consistent seller.

(Fun fact: the characters in this series are loosely based on an older daddy-type yoga teacher and twink yogi that I always saw hanging out together at the hot yoga studio. They might not’ve been fucking, but I’m pretty sure they were.)

In this excerpt, Brad (the dominating teacher) has to remind Simon (the mostly-submissive twink) about his place in the relationship. To give some context, prior to this scene, Simon inserted a vibrating butt plug into his ass, which is controlled by an app on Brad’s smartphone. The excerpt picks up in a gay bar in downtown Toronto, as Brad and Simon are celebrating Simon’s recent win at a regional yoga competition.

———

When they were alone, Brad picked up his glass and clinked it against Simon’s. “To my favorite boy.”

Simon blushed profusely, trying to hide behind his glass as he sipped. After a few sips he leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Are you going to get me drunk so you can have your way with me? I’ve always wanted to drink and fuck.”

“What, you’ve never done that before? Be honest.” Brad took out his phone and placed it before him on the table.

“Honest!” Simon’s cheeks turned redder still. “I’ve only done a few things before you—with Randy—and since you...only what we did that night at the studio.”

“Hmm. Just Randy, eh?” Brad tossed back another mouthful. It went down smooth, burning a path to his guts.

Simon matched him, taking back his drink as eagerly as he took cock down his throat. His eyes watered, but he steeled himself, pretending to be more of a man than he was. “I’m telling the truth, I promise.”

Brad stared at his phone, tapping the table with a thumb, then slammed back the rest of his drink—Simon copied, fixing him with his best innocent face. Both drinks finished, Brad flagged Alex over to order another round.

“So you want to drink and fuck, eh?” He said when the server was gone. Brad nuzzled his knee against Simon’s under the table. The boy responded by rubbing his foot up along Brad’s calf. That simple touch made Brad ache with need. He longed to take the boy and ravish him, plunge his dick deep inside him, share his energy with him...tell him he loved him.

A ding sounded from Simon’s direction, barely audible above the smooth jazz from the overhead speakers. Simon fished in his pocket, then withdrew his phone. He grinned. Tap tap tap tap tap tap came the annoying click of texting fingers.

“Simon...?” Brad said.

“One sec. Just texting Randy. He’s asking how the tournament went today.”

Brad tapped on his phone too in the designated spots until he hit the desired app that made Simon’s body jolt.

The boy dropped his phone and fixed Brad with pleading eyes. Brad gestured to his phone. “Thought I’d answer a text too while you ignored me.”

Simon clamped his lips shut, slamming his hands against the edge of the table to brace himself, screwing up his face in a ridiculous expression. He squealed—barely audible. A quick glance around revealed that few people noticed or cared about the outburst of sound.

“You seem to have forgotten that you’re still my slave. A little reminder can’t hurt—that’s all this is, a reminder. Now, I will turn this off if you promise not to touch that fucking thing again while we’re out. Got it?”

Simon nodded fiercely. With a tap, Brad turned the vibrator off.

“Now,” Brad said, picking up Simon’s phone where it had fallen on the table, “I hope that taught you a lesson.”

Simon gasped a few times before speaking. “Yeah. I—won’t—anything—I’m—yours.”

“Good boy. Now put it away unless I tell you to take it out.”

“Yes, sir—master.”

Cameron D. James is a writer of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance; his latest release is Erotic Love & Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest (co-written with Sandra Claire). He is also the publisher and co-founder of Deep Desires Press, a publisher of erotica and high-heat-level erotic romance. 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.

Entitlement Can Be Sexy

As an erotica author, there's ample ground for sexy fun with a character who has a sense of entitlement. Quite often, us erotica authors take that entitled character and put them through some punishment -- usually in the form of a spanking (promptly followed by a fucking).

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.)

- - - - -

Break time.

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.