Caught – A Gay Erotic Story

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Martin hated clubs. The music was too loud, and Martin was pushed around by other people. Martin was still glowing in reddish-orange light and his fingers were tapping on a wooden barre. Glitter sprayed the black stools and floor. Martin looked up at the strobe and blinked. He

caught gay erotic story

Martin hated to admit that he didn’t know the name of his crush. He hated the fact that he semi-stalked Martin here. A regular at Martin’s coffee shop, the man was a hipster type with big dumb glasses, a plethora of identical plaid shirts, and a smile that could steal a straight man’s breath. Not to mention his dark curls, scraggly beard, and the way he leaned a little too far over the counter so Martin could smell sharp spearmint on his breath… Yes. Martin was supposed to ask for customers’ names. Martin was supposed to ask customers their names, but he never remembered when it came to his attention. 

While in the shop, the man had told a friend about the club. He had wanted something scandalous – aka the exact opposite of Martin. Martin did a Google search on the club to find out that it was a gay bar. This confirmed the attraction. may All bets were off, and the result was mutual. He wasn’t a risk-taker, but he was impulsive.

The man glanced up at his spot on the floor. Glitter shimmered across his dark eyes and bare chest. Martin’s eyes caught his attention for a split second.

Martin glanced away. He looked at the neon green liquor shelves and felt his heart beat faster. The bartender had asked him if he wanted a drink. Now he wished he hadn’t.

He was pinned against the bar by large hands. Large hands touched his hips. He let out a sigh of relief as hot breath escaped his neck. “If you keep staring, I’m gonna have to do something about it.”

Martin would recognize his voice anywhere – it was a soft growl, with a lilt at the end of the sentence and a click of the teeth at every hard consonant. Martin knew more about Martin, such as his coffee order (tall blonde with whip) and what he likes to eat (banana bread, but only twice per week). He knew the name of the table he liked the most (the one in back away from the windows) as well as the time he entered (10:15). He hadn’t noticed how big his hands were. One gripped each hip, long fingers curling around Martin’s front as thumbs skidded down his ass.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” Martin stammered.

He laughed. “Sure.” He nipped at Martin’s ear. “Don’t let me catch you again.” As he stepped away, he slapped Martin’s ass.

Martin wanted to be captured again.


It took all night. It took three other guys trying to buy Martin drinks and Martin’s polite rebuttals and several dirty looks. It took two bachelorette party and one bar fight. It took long enough that Martin’s roommate texted asking where he was, if he was okay, if maybe he had died – it was eleven-thirty for fuck’s sake.

Martin walked out of the bathroom and blinked in the dim lighting to catch his nose. He saw someone and looked up to apologize. As he looked at him, he stopped speaking. Martin stared.

“What did I say about catching you?” The man shoved him back until he hit the wall. A sconce lit the man in sharp relief, shadowing his cheekbones and giving his blue eyes the devil’s spark. When Martin didn’t reply, he placed a hand none-too-gently on Martin’s throat and growled, “What did I say?”

“That… that you’d d-do something about it.”

He chuckled darkly. He closed in, hips pressing against Martin’s. His breath smelled of Limoncello and cheap whiskey. “Say yes,” he whispered, suddenly sweet.


Martin was coached in by his kiss. His tongue moved between his lips. As one leg slotted between Martin’s, sharp pressure pushed against Martin’s erection. The man moved his tongue slowly in lazy circles, kissing Martin like they had the entire world and grinding his hips as though there was no time.

He broke the kiss to trail his lips down Martin’s throat. One of his hands wandered across Martin’s ass and squeezed, pushing his aching crotch further into his thigh. 

Martin gasped. “We should… we should get out of here…”

“No.” The man kissed him silent and undid his zipper.

It’s not important that the alcove was only a few feet from the floor. You’ll forget that the alcove was only partially blocked by a curtain of black beads. Although the music was muffled the bass still pounded on the floorboards. The lights couldn’t illuminate a closet, let alone a club. 

However, anyone could pass through these beads. Martin could be walked right alongside anyone who exited the bathroom. And yet, with the man’s hands down his pants, Martin couldn’t form a coherent worry to articulate.

The man’s long fingers wrapped around his shaft with a squeeze. “Touch me,” he demanded.

Martin was quick to react. At some point, his fingers had tangled in the man’s hair. He instead slipped his hand into his tight pants, wrapping his legs. Martin bit back a whimper and he felt, more than heard, the man’s exhaled laugh. He was long and thick, more than Martin had ever seen and even thicker than Martin ever held. Martin groaned as Martin stroked his length.

“I could take you right here,” he whispered. “Fuck you so hard the whole club would hear you screaming.” He scraped his teeth down Martin’s throat.

Martin’s gaze fluttered to the ceiling. Slick precome washed his fingers and looked dick as the man turned his wrist. “Okay,” Martin whispered.

The man fell for the first time, with his grip becoming looser. He shifted enough that cool air flowed between them. This was a welcome relief after the intense heat of his body. Martin groaned. He met the man’s curious and shocked stare.

Martin licked his lips. “Do it.”

The man’s eyes roved everywhere. Martin thought of what a wreck he must look in his wantonly ripped black jeans and the ten-year-old concert tee he’d thrown on in a weak attempt to look cool. He could not apologize for challenging the sweat- and glitter-spattered god. Instead, he spun around and pinned one cheek to the wall.

Martin gasped as the man pushed his pants down and pressed his still-clothed hardness to Martin’s bare ass. “Do it,” he repeated.

With a chuckle, the man bit his ear. “You want it.”

Yes.” Martin shifted back into his touch.

As he massaged his tummy with one hand, the man rummaged through his pockets with his other. His hot breath left Martin’s neck as plastic tore, rupturing the rhythm of the pounding bass. His fingers swiped across Martin’s hole, slick with lube. Martin almost swallowed his tongue when he put a finger in the hole.

He encaged Martin’s body, eager to get closer still. Martin was keen to know that he had slipped his second finger in, and spread them quickly. “Quiet. Someone might hear you.”

A strained laugh escaped Martin’s lips. Martin was more worried about his vision than his hearing. He took his time, opened his mouth, massaging his stomach, and gently rubbing his prostate with every failed thrust. Martin wanted to beg for speed but he’d had a hand around his length, and he knew the man had probably broken more talented bottoms than him.

He put his third finger in and exhaled a curse. His teeth scraped over Martin’s shoulder as he sunk in deeper. The man curled his fingers around his prostate and gave it a sharp kiss. Martin tried to get into it, but was held against the wall. As his lips left him, Martin whispered, “I’m ready.”

“Of course you are.” He slipped his fingers out and shifted back. Martin sighed and tried to forget about the pain. He began to push away from the wall, uncertain if his legs would support him. But just as he was about to push against the wall, his hip was caught in those hands. “Patience.”

The man positioned his cock and slowly entered. Martin bit his tongue at Martin’s intrusion, the heat pooling and the spread. The man sank to his knees, gasped, then paused. Martin relished the sensation of being laid bare under a stranger’s tongue. He reached back to thread his fingers through the man’s hair as he kissed the top of Martin’s spine. His voice shook as he asked, “Ready?” and Martin nodded.

He set a fast pace with a snap of the hips. Martin placed his hands against the rough wallpaper. He ate blood from his tongue, but he didn’t scream. The man punched into him with frightening precision, hitting his prostate with alarming accuracy, and sending pleasure waves down his spine.

Martin was reached out by him and he took Martin’s cock in his hand. He stroked Martin with each thrust. Martin’s lip skidded out from under his teeth as whimpers and shudders overtook him. As the heat shockwaves infected his body, he blurred his vision and cried.

He lost his rhythm as he approached, and his thrusts became more erratic. Martin was thrown off the edge faster by him, and he spread precome to Martin until Martin felt overwhelmed. His spine swelled and he came just as the man had buried one more thrust within him. Martin’s come splattered across the red wall, leaving a white streak behind.

“Oh fuck,” Martin said.

As he slipped out, the man laughed. He lopped an arm across Martin’s chest, pulling him into an odd hug as he kissed his cheek. “I think it improves the décor, don’t you?”

Martin looked over his shoulder. Martin looked over his shoulder. He looked as well-put together as ever, aside from his red lips and too-red cheeks. He smiled brightly and winked as he disappeared through the beaded curtains.


Martin blinkered through the morning coffee rush the next day. Martin barely glanced up at the till to prevent the buttons from blurring. He’d had five shots of espresso already and it wasn’t even nine a.m.

He heard footsteps approaching, and repeated the party-line.

“Tall blonde with whip.”

His spine was shaken by the sound. Martin could still hear it growl in the ears. Spearmint wafted from the counter, and Martin’s blood pressure rose as he looked up.

The man wore sunglasses but from the quick, sideways quirk of his lips, Martin knew he’d been recognized.

“You’re the guy from last night.”

Martin choked on the spit. “Umm… yes. I don’t… uhh… I don’t usually do…that…”

Martin was left speechless when the man raised an eyebrow. His tongue darted between his lips and Martin wondered if – no, hoped – he remembered his taste. 

“You should put your number on the cup.” The card reader beeped.

Before he could walk away, Martin caught himself and said, “A name? For the drink?”

His smile widened, hungry. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

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