* Queer Fiction
* Kinky Erotica
* The Softer Side
By Cherry Black
Never Leave Me Alone
By JT Langdon
By Jean Roberta
A Stiff Neck
My Indentured ...
Sword And ...
By Robert Buckley
The Magic Lesbian
By Teresa Lamai
By William Dean
Note to Self
by Geneva King
Girls' Night Out
by Giulia Cosentino
by J.T. Benjamin
by J.Z. Sharpe
by Nicholas M.
by Remittance Girl
Taste of Jessica
by TD Fallon
My Dark and Empty Sky
by Teresa Wymore
by Tulsa Brown
The Boys Upstairs
by Beth Vox
by Helen Madden
St Lucy's Day
by Helena Settimana
by J.T. Benjamin
by Kathleen Troutman
by Lara Nickles
Home Is The Place
by Robert Buckley
by Lilie Berlin
How We Convinced
by Chris Skilbeck
Put Them On
by Jay Lygon © 2008
Kirk, our sculpted star topman, fucked Gunner's mouth while Jon, a tanned, lithe surfer, pounded Gunner's ass. It was a staple scene in any porn. The diving board under them bounced with Jon's thrusts. Gunner's big hands gripped the sides of the board as if he were afraid he'd be thrown into the water. Kirk clutched Gunner's brown hair in his fist. Jon kept a hand on Gunner's hip for balance. If one fell in the swimming pool, they would all go.
I watched the scene through the sliding glass door near the produce/director/owner's kitchen as the crew filmed it, but it was the dark skies overhead that held my attention. That weekend we had two outdoor scenes to shoot and a big Pacific storm was bearing down on us from the north. The diving board scene was the first, and even with three camera angles and looping, we still didn't have enough filmed.
When I told people what I did for a living, the first thing they said was, "Porn has a plot?" followed by, "It has a script?" Maybe I didn't write award winning screenplays, but even our low budget productions had a storyline.
A dark spot appeared on the cement deck around the pool. Then another. Gunner glanced up at the sky. Kirk yanked his head back into position and brutally drilled Gunner's mouth. What a professional. That's why Kirk was our star. He'd already filmed his money shot but could still keep it up for the cameras. Now that was acting.
The handheld camera focused tight on Jon as he kept ramming into Gunner. But before our director Dave told him to, Jon pulled his fat cock out of Gunner's ass, yanked off the condom, and shot his thick load on Gunner's smooth bubble butt. From what I could see, it looked as if the steady rain washed the white splotches of cum down Gunner's thigh. I hoped they caught that with one of the cameras. It would be the porn version of the blood going down the drain in Psycho.
The drizzle turned into a downpour and the surface of the pool roiled. Kirk rubbed his muscular arms. Gunner cast forlorn glances at Dave, our director. The script called for Gunner to flip Jon over and fuck him, but it didn't look like he was in the mood anymore. Our new Austrian import had a lot to learn about being a porn actor.
Dave's shoulders slumped. He swore as he put down his camera. There was nothing hot about shivering men fucking in cold January rain. "All right. Cut! Next time, Gunner, remember that I'm the director, not you. You keep fucking until I tell you to stop. Got it?"
Gunner shot Dave a nasty look as he stomped toward the house. A former stripper, he probably had the best body of the three guys. His dancer's ass was incredible, but the rest of him was so waxed and buffed that he did nothing for me. Besides, he had ugly feet.
"Get the equipment inside," Dave yelled at his crew. "That's rented!" He pointed to the instant video playback. "Put a tarp over it or something."
The crew quickly brought everything under the eves of the house and spread a blue plastic tarp over it.
Kirk hopped off the board, his long, thin cock bouncing against his thick, hairy thigh. He saw me watching from inside. His pale blue eyes crinkled up as he grinned.
I poured a cup of coffee.
Kirk opened the glass door and padded across the Spanish tile floor. His hard-on pointed at me, bobbing with each step. He was taller than me and solid muscle. I liked the way his chest and stomach were covered with hair. Some guys didn't wear fur well, but Kirk did.
"Hey, Steve." Kirk combed his hair away from his eyes with his long fingers. Black hair and blue eyes was my favorite combination. A trickle of water slowly lurched between his pecs. "Coffee smells good." He reached past me for a mug.
His pit was inches from my nose, giving me a good whiff of his scent. "Sure does."
Kirk blushed. On other shoots, he'd performed whatever extreme sex my scenes called for without the slightest trace of shyness. Now, with his eyes lowered, almost hidden by long, black lashes, and the pink across his cheeks, he was cute, a word I never would have used to describe such a masculine guy.
He sniffed his underarm. "I guess I worked up a little sweat."
Fresh sweat I didn't mind. It was something I'd lick off the right guy's chest.
"Coffee's fresh." I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I gripped my mug until my fingers burned and stared out at the steady rain.
Jon stalked into the kitchen and smacked the back of my head. "You just had to write a scene on the fucking diving board, Steve." A native of California, everything he said sounded like a question. There was a reason why we never let him do dialog beyond a growled, "Yeah." But he was versatile, hung, looked good on camera, and had the biggest balls I'd ever seen.
I shrugged. "What do you want from me? Unless Dave moves to a new house, I'm limited to two bedrooms, a bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, and the pool. I thought you guys would appreciate something a little different."
Jon groaned. "No more shower scenes! We've done, what, eight scenes in there already. I hate the tile."
Not that again. "It looks good on film."
"It hurts my knees."
Bitch, bitch, bitch. It was always the same - new hires wanted to pay us for the privilege of fucking porn stars. Two videos later they were comparing checks and perks with the other talent. A couple more and they wanted to discuss their dialog with me. Guys who promised they would do anything suddenly discovered limits, or they showed up tweaking and thought no one would notice, even when they couldn't get it up.
I glanced outside at the rain. Even if the guys would do their scene in it, chances were that the camera lens would fog up. Mist muted the green chaparral on the hillside. I could see a few houses, but most disappeared into the swirling white.
Every time the sliding glass door opened cool air rushed inside and diluted the strong scent of sex coming from Jon and Gunner.
"I don't mind the shower," Kirk offered. "And I think the diving board's kind of hot."
Jon rubbed his hard, flat stomach. "It scratches."
"Your six-pack still looks great," I assured him. No one ever warned me that humoring the talent would be part of my job, but I swore I spent more time massaging egos than I did writing dialog.
Dave stomped into the kitchen from outside. "Let's give it another half hour and see if the rain lets up."
Jon went into the living room and collapsed on the couch in a sulk.
"Hey! I live here!" Dave scurried into the living room. His face went red and his hands balled up in fists, but he was such a short, squat guy that it was hard to take his fury seriously.
Clueless, Jon looked up at him. "What's your problem, dude?"
Dave sputtered, "Don't sit on my furniture with a bare ass. Jesus fucking Christ. Haven't you ever heard of a towel?"
"Ever heard of Prozac?" Jon put his bare feet up on the glass coffee table, balanced his laptop on his thighs, and ignored Dave.
Dave growled. He got out his mobile and starting making calls. We had talent scheduled for another video we planned to film that afternoon. The delay would cost us plenty.
"So," Kirk said, but he stopped there as he took a sip from his mug. From his grimace, he found the coffee as bitter as I did.
He leaned against the counter. Completely naked, he acted as if there was nothing unusual about standing around drinking bad coffee and chatting while sporting a huge erection. His light blue eyes met my gaze. "What do you do while we're filming, Steve? I mean, do you watch?"
"Used to. Don't much anymore." It was one of fate's cruelest jokes. I was surrounded by hung, sculpted, naked men who fucked out my fantasies, and it did nothing for me. "Listen, Kirk, Dave's going to want a rewrite so that we can shoot scenes here in the house. I have to get to work."
He touched my arm. "I understand. It was nice talking with you."
"Steve!" Dave yelled. "I need new scenes! Time is money!"
"I'm on it." I gave Kirk an apologetic smile and scurried to the back bedroom of the house that doubled as our production office.
As I worked at my cluttered desk, I could hear the rain splattering against the windows. There was thunder too, rare for LA. Occasionally, the lights dimmed, and the backup battery on my computer chirped. If we lost power, the entire day would be wasted.
Jon came into the office and grabbed his gym bag. "Dave said he's calling it a day. Had to. Gunner took off."
"Uh huh." I sent the latest page to the printer.
"Do you mind?" Jon asked.
Still typing, I said, "Mind what?"
"Dude, I want to get dressed."
Finally, I turned from my computer screen. "So? Get dressed."
"I'd like some privacy. Someone is in the bathroom, and this room has the only other door that locks."
"Every person in this house watched you take a face load of come from ten guys earlier this morning, and you want privacy to put your clothes on?" I tried really hard not to roll my eyes.
Jon drew himself up. "It's not just clothes. I'm, like, making a psychological break between my onscreen persona and my real life."
"Must keep the talent happy," I muttered as I slammed shut the office door. "Humor the god damn talent." His onscreen persona? Oh please. I was surprised he could pronounce psychological.
A couple minutes minute later, Jon came out of the office fully dressed. "Thanks dude. See you tomorrow if it clears up."
Kirk passed Jon in the hallway. "Going? Catch you later, Jon."
Jon lifted his hand but said nothing as he kept walking.
Kirk smiled at me as he sauntered into the room. "Jon told you? Dave sent me over here to make sure you heard we're going to try tomorrow."
"Yeah." I sat back down at my computer.
Kirk opened his bag. He set his neatly folded faded jeans and t-shirt out on Dave's desk.
I peered at my screen, trying not to read over the words too fast. All the scenes we planned to film with the other cast had to be moved inside. I must have been inspired by a cabana boy somewhere, because I'd set half the scenes poolside. For a brief moment, I was tempted to switch to the classic "pizza delivery guy gets a four-way tip" scenario but decided to stick with my "Marine sex pig on leave" plot. We had some talent who looked great in a uniform, and even better stripping one off.
"So, do you think we'll be able to finish our shoot tomorrow?" Kirk asked.
I spun in my chair to face him.
He was wearing a pair of dark blue boxer briefs that strained over his muscular thighs and huge package. Pinned in the tight underwear, his hard-on pointed to his flat stomach. It was a good thing I was sitting in my desk chair, because blood plummeted from my brain to my dick like a bungee jumper.
Kirk's treasure trail of thick, black curls disappeared at the waistband of his briefs. Oblivious to my hard-on, he turned and bent over to pick up his white athletic socks. Oh my fucking god. It was like my first day on a porn set, back when the sight of hot hung guys sucking cock still had the power to turn me on. Shifting in my chair didn't relieve the pressure in my groin.
The silky material clung to his ass. His incredible, muscular ass. I couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't think. Oh man. I wanted that.
"I don't know if I believe them though," Kirk said.
Had he been talking? I didn't hear a word of it. All I saw was the definition of the muscles of his thighs and calves. Damn, he had a great body. Wide shoulders and a narrow waist, long legs, and then there was all that fur. But what did it for me was the way the dark blue boxer briefs hugged his package when he turned around. I swore I could see the veins on his cock.
Kirk saw the way I looked at him. He dropped his socks and shut the office door. Beyond that, he didn't seem sure what to do. He just stood there, clad in that sexy underwear, and waited for me to make a move.
I mumbled something stupid like, "Let me take care of that for you," as I squeezed his dick.
"I thought you weren't interested." He didn't seem angry, just confused.
"I'm very interested, if you are."
My fingernails lightly teased the head of his cock through the material. It twitched away from the sensation. I worked around his head, rubbing under his slit with my thumb.
Kirk started to slide his boxer briefs off.
"No, leave them on."
His eyes opened wide, and then he chuckled. "Oh. I get it. And here I've been walking around naked for months trying to get you to look."
My hand cupped his balls. They were heavy. "I didn't notice."
"I know." Kirk tried to pout, but his lips kept pulling into a smile.
I quickly glanced around the office. Stacks of paper covered every surface. Always the writer, I had to think of the perfect scene. Too horny to worry about originality, I shoved him against the wall. My fingers twined into his black hair and I pulled his mouth down to mine for a kiss. We didn't waste time on gentle lover's nibbles. I covered his lips with brutal, demanding bites and tasted the coffee flavor of his mouth. He refused to kiss on screen, so it turned me on to discover what a great kisser he was.
His hands tugged at my zipper. I kicked my jeans down to the floor.
He liked what he saw. "Nice. Uncut too."
I could feel a wet spot spreading on the front of his boxer briefs. Kirk always leaked a lot of pre-cum. I stroked him through the soft, thin nylon, loving the way it slid over his hard flesh. His hand wrapped around my dick and worked in long, slow strokes from base to head. When he got to the tip, he twisted his palm, and then started at the base with his other hand.
My muscles started that good contraction at the pit of my belly. I didn't want him to give me a hand job though. I wanted those boxer briefs.
"Lean over the desk," I told him.
"There's nowhere to hold—."
"Do it," I growled. I shoved him toward my desk.
My big, hairy topman bent over my desk and offered his ass.
"Get your chest down. Spread your legs."
He was so tall that with his pecs pressed to the stack of papers, his ass lifted high. What a sight. Good god, I loved a man in a tight pair of underwear.
I ran my hand over the curve of his butt, feeling the solid muscle under the fabric. Tugging up on the waistband, I made the seam ride up his crack. Then I traced that line down to his balls and gave them a real squeeze. Kirk moaned. Reaching further under, I grabbed his cock and pumped it hard. His wet spot spread. My thighs pressed against his. The head of my dick pressed hard into his boxer briefs right over his hole. I rammed into him, packing the material tight against the ring of muscle. It rubbed the head of my dick, sending jolts through my body. Each thrust sent Kirk sliding forward across my desk. He gasped. I grabbed his hips and made him hold still.
"Too harsh for you?" I asked.
He nodded, but a low, rumbling groan rose from his chest. The front of the boxer briefs was soaked.
I licked down his spine, tasting his sweat. There wasn't much hair on his back, so his skin was smooth under my tongue. Salt, chlorine, and a fresh soap flavor filled my mouth, but I could taste him too. The trail of spit my tongue left on his back ended at the waistband. Then I bent down and bit into his ass.
I swatted him. The firm pack of his butt barely moved under the blow.
"Don't move. I won't bruise you. Much." I bit him again, harder, holding flesh and material against my tongue. Closer to his hole, his personal scent was stronger. He tried to hold still as I massaged his taint. Kirk bounced on his tiptoes as he tried not to squirm. I was still stroking that long, thin cock of his through his underwear.
On film, he talked dirty through the scene, ordering his boy to suck his cock or calling a guy an ass slut, but for me, Kirk was speechless.
My tight hold on his hips held him in place as I dry humped him. Each hard ram packed more material into him. I loved that sight. Knowing that his puckered hole wanted my dick inside it, I shoved the tip of my hard-on at his sphincter and felt the trembling muscle try to let me in. He clutched the edge of the desk. The only sounds he could make were gasps and grunts that followed each of my thrusts.
The lights flickered. Pale, white light glowed in through the window.
I could feel his thighs tighten. "Gonna come?"
He nodded. His balls pulled up tight to his cock as he ground against the edge of the desk. Kirk turned his head to kiss me. I bit his lips then shoved him down. His eyes closed and his mouth open. He panted.
My scent and his filled the room. I breathed it in, filling my lungs.
The feel of the boxer briefs rubbing on the head of my swollen cock was almost too much to bear. My muscles tightened through my body. I could feel cum getting ready to shoot out of me. I tried to hold myself there, between heaven and agony, for as long as possible.
Kirk's groans were so low they rumbled like the thunder outside. His fingers flexed as if he was tempted to slide his hands into his underwear.
"Don't you dare touch yourself," I snapped. I pounded against his hole.
He sucked in a deep breath. Suddenly, his body went stiff. "Fuck!"
I felt the throb running through his cock. Seconds later, warmth spread under the fabric as he gushed his load. Famous for the amount of cum he could shoot, I wasn't surprised when the front of his boxer briefs got slick in my hand. I stroked him a few more times, but his cock was too sensitive by then, and he tried to wriggle away.
My other hand slammed fast over the tip of my dick. I looked down at his broad back and that incredible ass in the dark blue boxer briefs. I could see wet spots where I'd bitten him. So fucking hot. I hoped his skin still ached from my teeth.
My hand worked faster over my dick. I yanked the waistband on those skin tight boxer briefs so high that Kirk yelped. The curve of his ass was cupped perfectly by the underwear. Knowing that his sticky cum was trapped inside against his skin was a real turn on.
I slid the sheath of my foreskin over the head of my dick, then pulled it back and shoved the head to his hole again. The friction made me grit my teeth. My balls got tight and I rode the sweet explosion. Thick, white pools of come spurted over his butt.
Kirk slowly stood up. There wasn't a whole lot of dry material left covering him. Over his package, the boxer briefs were shiny.
"You should write a scene like that, Steve."
I tried to keep my sex life separate from my professional life, but I'd already screwed that up, so I asked, "You willing to bottom?"
His gorgeous eyes lit up as he smiled. "I think I just did."
He twisted to look at my come slowly absorbing into the material over his ass. "Now that's a money shot." He pulled his jeans over his come soaked underwear without wiping off. "So, tomorrow, can I put them on for you again?" he asked quietly. Pink spread across his cheeks. His gaze briefly met mine before dropping.
"Do you have white boxer briefs?"
"Bring them with you. I prefer white underwear. Remember that. Now run on home. I have scenes to write." For good measure, I gave his ass a firm smack as he turned to go.
Kirk blushed and said, "Yes, Sir."
I leaned back in my desk chair and grinned. It was about damn time someone humored this talent.
© 2008 Jay Lygon. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Bio: Jay has published over 30 short stories, which can be found in Myths, Blue Collar, and Torqued Tales by Torquere Press. Jay's m/m BDSM novels, Chaos Magic and Love Runes, will be out in print in May, 2008. Chaos Magic is currently available as an e-book through Torquere Press. Other stories can be found in Inside Him, and on Clean Sheets and the Erotica Readers and Writer's Association websites. Contact at JayLygonWrites.Com.
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