A gay sex stories: The Delivery I climb off my motorcycle outside a large house and pick a parcel up out of the top-box. I carry it to the imposing front door. There is no bell, but the door is open a crack. I look inside and shout “A delivery for you, Sir.”
A voice calls “I’m in the sitting room.”
I follow the sound of the voice and enter a luxurious room with a rich deep carpet. You are sitting wearing only a jock strap. Supremely confident. Arms draped casually along the back of the couch. Your chest, arms, calves and neck inked with beautiful unique custom tattoos. My cock starts to harden at the sight.
You see me in my motorbike leathers and dusty boots and you shout “Get those boots off in the house.”
I comply without a murmur of complaint, hopping about on one leg as I struggle to remove them with as much dignity as I can muster.
“Put the parcel on the table” you say and wave in the direction of a ornate table.
“Yes, Sir” I say and I take it there.
“Show me the boots” you order.
I bring them to you. My pants are noticeably bulging now.
“Nice boots” you say.
You smell them. You stand up and rub a boot against your crotch between your legs.
“Smooth leather.”
You notice my huge bulge. You smile. It’s playtime.
“Get those leathers off, you faggot.” It’s almost a whisper.
Jacket off.
Pants off.
I am here in a stranger’s house in my shorts and t-shirt.
You walk slowly around me and inspect me. A sharp haircut, my ginger hair shaved at the sides and curly on top, green eyes, a clean-shaven jaw, good biceps, sculpted abs, their outlines visible beneath my tight white t-shirt. You can see I am a guy that most people would not mess with.
“Shirt off”, you say, and it’s off.
You smile and feel my sensitive nipples and a moan escapes my rebellious lips.
“Faggot” you whisper in my ear.
I blush deep red despite my 45 years.
“Lose the shorts” you say.
And they are off.
I try to cover my cock and balls with my hands and I look down at the carpet.
“Hands behind your neck” you order.
And my cock springs up hard, thick and tall as I obey.
“Don’t you drip pre-cum on my lovely carpet”, you chuckle.
And I blush again.
You sit on the couch and say “Here! Come kneel and sniff my jocks!”
I obey quickly, eagerly, shamelessly.
You change position and kneel on the couch and say “And now my asshole, bitch.”
Your ass is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“Tongue out and lick it” you order.
You spread your ass cheeks,
“Go deeper” you tell me.
My lips are pressed firmly against your ass and my tongue goes in deep, probing, exploring. My head turning this way and that and my lips moving so I can get as deep as I can. One of my hands jerks my rock hard cock furiously and the other plays gently with your balls. When I’m just about to explode all over your expensive couch and carpet, no matter what the consequences, you order me to stop.
“Stand up. Hands behind your neck.”
You smile. You take off your jocks, watching my cock react. And then allow me to kiss the tip of your cock in an act of veneration. Now you put me to work to suck on your balls while you slowly run your fingertips, lubed with your spit, up and down your perfect shaft.
Then, at last, you are ready. You pull on my boots and order me to play with myself kneeling straddled over your booted right foot.
And you say “Get it hard for Me, but if I think you are going to cum without permission, I will kick you so hard in those little hairy balls that you’ll not be able to cum for a month.”
I get so so very hard, veins bulging like never in my life and then the pre-cum starts to drip on to the boot you have taken from me.
“Don’t you dare cum, you faggot” you command.
Then you start to jerk.
“Open your mouth to catch my cum when I squirt” you say. “If you catch it all, I’ll let you cum too, bitch.”
I’m dripping in streams now and struggling to hold back my cum while jerking so hard for you at your feet. I’m not a man who likes to eat cum, but when, at last, you cum, I work so hard to make sure I catch and swallow all your hot white sweet juice.
I look up hopeful for your permission, now, to cover the boot in my cum. Even if I suspect you’ll force me to lick all my disgusting cum up off the dusty, dirty boot afterwards.
“Hands off” you order
You bend towards me and lick some cum from my cheek.
“You missed a bit right here, slut. Go get that package you delivered to me and sit back down at my feet and open it.”
You bring out a large bowl of ice cubes from your drinks fridge and place it on the floor on a tray in front of you and say “Get your balls deep in there while you open the package.”
The intense cold makes my cock and balls shrink and my body trembles and you laugh. My fumbling fingers finally get the package open. Inside is a male chastity device.
“Lock your cock and balls up so I’ll know you won’t be able to cum until I’m ready to release you.”
You take the boots off and give me the one, slimy with my pre-cum, to clean with my tongue. I do a thorough job of it, keen to please you.
“Get dressed”, you say, “and I’ll request you as the courier for my next delivery so I can unlock the cage.”
I pray that, that will be very very soon!
“Thank you, Sir.”
Knowing I am now dismissed, I head back out to my motorbike, boots in hand, still trembling, feeling the new sensation of my bulging cock pressing against the tight steel cage. A sensation I would get to know all too well in the coming days!!