Sexy Gay Stories - Volume Four - three m/m short stories

the back seat. Callum rooted through it ’til he found my wash bag, exclaiming in triumph as he brought out what he needed from inside it. I heard a lid being unscrewed, then something cold was being smeared all over my arsehole. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Callum holding my pot of anti-ageing moisturiser.
    ‘Hey, go easy with that! Have you any idea how much that stuff cost?’
    It was a ridiculous thing to say, given what I earn, but the fact he was greasing my arse meant only one thing, and I was still worried about how I was going to take his thick dick in that tight hole, and whether it was going to hurt.
    ‘Relax, Jordan,’ Callum soothed, and almost before I realised it, he had a finger in me up to the knuckle. A second was gradually eased in beside it, and once I’d got used to the feeling of having them there, he started fucking me with them. He was hitting a hidden spot deep inside me, his touch making me shudder with pleasure. The club had been involved in some campaign to raise awareness of male cancer a few months ago, and to be honest I hadn’t really paid much attention to the information involved, just turned up and posed at the photo shoot, but I thought he must be hitting my prostate. Not that I cared what it was called; it felt so fucking good.
    Just as I was starting to think I would come from what Callum was doing, he pulled his fingers out. Now it was his cock that nudged its way inside me, pushing through the tight ring of muscle ’til he was buried in me to the root. There was some discomfort as he thrust in and out, but that gradually eased, giving way to pure pleasure. I writhed against the smooth car seat as he fucked me, stimulating my cock to the point where I couldn’t hold back any longer. With a despairing groan, I felt my spunk spilling out of me, staining the leather.
    My arse seemed to clench tight round Callum’s shaft as I came, triggering his orgasm. He held me tight and swore in my ear as he shot everything he had. We embraced for a few moments, as I thanked Callum for giving me what I could finally admit I’d so badly needed. Then we seemed to remember where we were – and, more importantly, where I should have been 15 minutes ago.

    Callum hadn’t lied to me about our nearness to the training ground. Once we were back on the road, we were there in less than ten minutes. The fine – and the bawling-out I received – for being so late was well worth it as far as I was concerned. Of course, I promised the gaffer I’d be on time in future, and I knew Callum would make certain I was. But now we knew how passionately we felt about each other, I had the feeling we would be taking a few exciting detours on the journey home.

All the Boys
By Sommer Marsden

    ‘I’d like to take your picture,’ he said out of the blue. I was eating lunch at the park. He was walking his dog. 
    ‘Oh, I bet you say that to all the boys.’ I laughed when he looked confused. I bent to pet the beast he had tethered to a leash. ‘Who is this?’
    ‘Her name is Beatrice and she has exquisite taste,’ he said. He blinked, looking a bit owlish behind round glasses that were a little too big for his face. His hair, the colour of warm homemade caramel, fell over his forehead. He looked more like a college freshman than a man my age. 
    ‘Hello, Beatrice,’ I said, addressing the slobbering dog. She seemed to be smiling and I smiled. Even with a palm full of dog drool, I smiled. ‘My name is Gilbert and who’s your daddy?’ Then I realised what I had said and my face flushed, hot and sudden.
    ‘Daddy’s name is Simon,’ he said. I noticed his face was a flaming shade of raspberry too. I took a breath and relaxed. ‘And I really would like to take your picture.’
    ‘For what?’ Now I was intrigued. I’d heard the picture line before but usually at a party or a club. Some big daddy in thick gold chains showing tons of chest hair. Or the artsy guy who thought that was the quickest way to a sweaty blow job. Offer me immortality. Capture my look and my ego on film and I will be your slave and suck your cock.
    ‘I like pictures. It’s a hobby. I like … beauty,’ Simon said and then his face went from berry to tomato. ‘You are beautiful. Even Beatrice can see it.’
    Part of me thought it should feel creepy. A young guy offering to take my picture. Worse yet, a young guy who apparently looked to his Saint Bernard for an opinion of beauty. Instead of feeling creeped out, I