WARNING: If you are offended by sex between men, sex between teenaged boys, or between a man and a teenager—some of whom may be related by blood, marriage or lust—you definitely shouldn't be reading this story. If this type of sex is illegal, immoral or fattening in your particular state, province, country, or bedroom, stop reading now and go away. If, according to your local laws, you're under age, no fair peeking below. This story is a fantasy, and any resemblance to any particular man, teenager or penis is just your over-active imagination.
Copyright 1996-1997. All rights reserved. You have the right to download this story to keep on your computer, and to print a hard copy if you preserve the title, warning and copyright notice. You do not have the right to repost this, pass it on to anyone, or use it for commercial purposes, that is, you can't try to make a buck off my work. The only thing you have my permission to do with this story (besides the obvious one) is stated above ... and nothing more. Get it? Got it? Good.
Flames will be ignored. Constructive comments are always welcome.
I am not a fag. I don't want anything to do with queers, the sick fucking perverts. So why do they keep following me around?
I work in a big office building, and a few days ago when I was riding in the elevator on the way up to the 60th floor ... a long ride in a big crowd ... I felt something sort of stroke across my ass. Well, it was crowded, so I didn't think much of it. But then it happened again. Only it wasn't just a stroking like someone accidentally touched my ass, it was the back of someone's hand! I thought maybe someone was just shifting position, but the hand stayed where it was, one knuckle pressing into the top of the crack of my ass. This made me pretty nervous, but we weren't very far up, and people were getting on and off the elevator, and I didn't want to make a scene ... I don't like public scenes. A few floors later, and the hand was gone. I kind of sighed with relief.
Except a couple of floors later it was back again, only this time the palm was toward my ass, the fingers pointing down to the floor, and one finger was softly rubbing my crack, and then the hand moved down, and started groping and caressing my butt cheeks. I felt my face flush with embarrassment. The hand squeezed one cheek gently and then the other. And I could feel my dick get hard!
Of course. Some woman was turned on by me and she was just being forward! What a turn-on! I could see her in my mind's eye ... a really hot blonde and she had the hots for me, I could feel my dick growing hard in my pants. This was going to be a fun ride, fantasizing about what she wanted to do to me, how she wanted to use me for her pleasure. The fantasy vanished, though, when the hand moved away and I felt a body move closer to me when several people got on and the elevator got really crowded. I could already sense her hot hard nipples against my back ... except that what I felt was this huge bulge at my ass ... and since I had the same kind of bulge in my own front, I knew what it was. Some man's hard dick. Some fag! And I couldn't do a goddamned thing about it without humiliating myself in public.
I just stood there while this fag prick kind of squirmed against my butt. I didn't understand why my own cock wasn't getting soft and why I was having difficulty breathing, until I realized it was just the embarrassment. I quickly held my briefcase in front of me. And then it was my floor. I stepped out hurriedly, and turned to see if I could figure out who the sick pervert was who was playing with my ass, but the doors shut too quickly, and there were people shifting around, all men, so no way.
Well, at least that experience was over. Thank God.
Only it wasn't. That afternoon, my computer signaled I had email, so I logged on and the message came on the screen: "Did your dick get hard and throbbing on the way up in the elevator today?" It wasn't signed.
Fuck! The pervert knew who I was and how to get into my email account.
Somehow I managed to get through the end of the day, and there were no more messages. I stayed a little later, but finally had to ride the elevator down. The elevator was reasonably crowded with other men who had stayed late, but nothing happened on the way down.
The next morning I changed my time for coming in. I checked the elevator pretty carefully and could tell there weren't any fags in the group. I gave a sigh of relief inwardly as the elevator started to move, and then froze. Oh, shit! I swore under my breath. The hand was back again, caressing, playing with my butt cheeks, squeezing them, a finger rubbing up and down my ass crack and pressing the cloth of my pants up to my hole. My dick got immediately hard! This was fucking perverted shit and my dick was hard! Well, it was just because I hadn't been laid for a while. That was it. And jacking off wasn't really satisfying lately. So it was just general horniness. Nothing more. The elevator wasn't quite as full as yesterday, but even when a space opened up so I could have stepped forward, I stayed where I was. I didn't understand it, but the idea of that anonymous hand playing with me was a real turn-on. My breathing got harder too.
I got off the elevator on my floor, guarding my raging hardon and throbbing balls with my briefcase. I deliberately didn't look back. I also could hardly concentrate on my work. I kept checking email, but nothing was there. Fucking bastard, whoever he was. Teasing me, taunting me. Well, the hell with this shit. I was gonna show him, so I picked up the phone to call my girlfriend. I was just horny since we hadn't fucked in a few days, that was all. And then my email signal came on. I slammed the phone down just as she answered and grabbed the mouse and clicked a couple of times and the message came on: "You had a hardon this morning. I KNOW you did. You liked the feel of my hand on your ass. And you know that's true, or you would have moved away when you had the chance. Tomorrow morning, I don't want you wearing any underwear."
This sick faggot queer had to be kidding. I always wore underwear. And besides, if I got a hardon, it would really be visible. I mean, I'm not the biggest stud in the world, but seven and a half pretty thick inches isn't too bad. No fucking way. This was over as of now.
But the next morning I was on the elevator feeling really strange. I'd never gone without underwear in my life. And my pants were kind of tight. And nothing happened! All the way up the goddamned building and nothing happened. I was humiliated. I was embarrassed. I was furious. A goddamn fool, that's what I was. And then just before we got to my floor, the hand stroked across my ass, feeling me up just briefly and it was gone.
My hardon was instant and worse/better than I'd ever had before. I spent most of my morning with my prick hard. I even closed the door to my office and told my secretary to hold my calls. I called my girlfriend like we had a couple of times, for a phone jackoff session. I could tell I was getting her all hot and horny by what I was saying, but I had to pretend I was hard. I wasn't. She had a great cum, or several, and I just played along like I shot everywhere. I don't think she quite believed me.
I waited all day for another email. To tell me ... shit ... to tell me something, anything, goddamnit! I was a wreck the whole fucking day. And still nothing happened. And then, just as I was just about ready to turn off my computer, there was another email message: "When you take lunch tomorrow, and you WILL take lunch tomorrow, tell them you may be a little late getting back. Go to that adult bookstore you pass, get tokens for the video arcade and go into the third booth. Lock the door. Don't put any coins in until you see my prick come through the hole from the next booth. I will tell you what to do next, and you WILL do it."
I was breathing so hard I could hardly stand it. The idea of being in a queer bookstore, with some stranger's rock hard prick coming through a hole got me so horny, I closed my door again. I'd never done anything with a man. Oh sure, kid stuff, but nothing with another man, feeling his prick, having him feel mine, getting my cock sucked. Shit! I had to get a load off. I dropped my pants to the floor, and began to beat my hard meat furiously, while I read and re-read the message, no, the orders on the screen. I was getting really close to cumming when there was another signal I had email. It couldn't be! No, it was just someone writing late, I needed to cum, but what if it was him? I continued stroking faster and faster but that blinking icon kept drawing my eyes to it. I couldn't help myself. I brought the message on the screen. It was real short. One word. "NO."
How the fuck... ? But obediently, I put my throbbing prick back in my pants, still leaking precum and undoubtedly it was going to stain my pants, but I zipped up. Somehow I knew that my orders were not to jack off at all, not just to stop at that moment.
.... There is more of this story ...