Tasting Menu
Everyone in this story is 18+
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The fire crackled, sending thin sparks into the velvet sky, and for a breath everything froze: five straight college boys framed in orange light, every eye fixed on the naked guy kneeling in the dirt.
Tyler’s question: “Who wants a blow job?” still hung in the air like a challenge nobody intended to refuse.
Connor answered first without words. He simply spread his knees wider in that half-cocoon chair, palms braced on the wicker arms, gaze locked on mine. With the tiniest tilt of his chin he let me know where to begin.
I shuffled forward on hands and knees. The stone patio bit at my skin; the metal cage between my thighs tugged with every crawl, cold and unforgiving. When I reached Connor, he rested a warm hand on my head. It wasn’t rough. That made it worse. The gentleness said he owned this moment, not me.
“Open.” One quiet syllable, calm as Sunday.
I did. His other hand guided, slow, deliberate, until I felt the first intimate heat of him. The taste hit, familiar but with a hint of something new too, the faint bite of whatever expensive soap he used back at the villa. I closed my lips, cheeks hollowing, and Connor’s sigh rolled over me like warm surf. He didn’t thrust; he let me work, fingers combing lazily through my hair whenever I found a rhythm he liked. His approval felt physical, sliding under my skin, coaxing me deeper into the role none of us could name out loud.
Behind us came low laughter, the clink of glass, the creak of wicker as someone shifted to get a better view. I could picture them: Grant leaning forward in his seat, eyes gleaming; Bryson swirling his drink, analyzing; Aiden half-hard already, cocky grin growing by the second; Tyler, director, star, and audience all at once, memorizing every second for later.
Connor’s fingers tightened, telling me to slow. A tremor ran through his thigh. “Good,” he said, voice lower than usual. Then he eased me off with a casual confidence that said this isn’t about me finishing; it’s about you learning. My own pulse hammered in my ears. The cage felt smaller than ever.
Connor’s thumb stroked the corner of my mouth, almost tender. “Not done,” he whispered. He guided me back, the head of his cock brushing my lips. “Take a breath.” I inhaled through my nose, smoke, salt air, man, then opened wide.
This time he set the rhythm himself. Shallow glide, fuller push, then pause so I could feel him throb against the back of my throat. His palm splayed possessively over my skull, fingers threading through sweat-damp hair. I focused on relaxing, swallowing around the intrusion until the reflex faded to a hot, stretching ache.
“Look at him work,” Bryson murmured. Ice clinked in his glass.
“Poster boy for extracurriculars,” Aiden added, laughing under his breath.
Connor didn’t react to the commentary; all his attention stayed on me. Each thrust grew longer, slick sounds mixing with my muffled breaths. My knees slid wider for balance; grit scraped skin but I barely felt it. The cage pressed cruelly every time my hips shifted, a reminder that any pleasure I felt was strictly collateral.
“Tongue up,” Connor ordered. I obeyed, flattening it to cradle him. He groaned and his hips snapped harder, once, twice. The third plunge buried him to the base. He held me there, thighs trembling beneath my palms.
Firelight flickered across his chest as he came. Hot pulses filled my mouth, thick and salty, shocking in volume. Connor kept me pinned, forcing me to swallow each wave or choke.
When the spasms faded he eased back an inch. “Show them.”
I tipped my head, opening so the last dribble pooled on my tongue. Aiden whistled; Grant leaned closer for a better look.
The humiliation hit like heatstroke; my cheeks burned as I held my mouth open for everyone to see, tongue holding back the massive deposit Connor had left there.
Connor’s voice dropped even lower. “Finish it.”
I swallowed the final trace, then extended my tongue again, clean, slick with spit. Connor’s expression softened into something like pride. He wiped a thumb across my lower lip, collecting a stray string of saliva, and smeared it over my cheek like war paint.
“Lesson one,” he told the group, still stroking my hair. “Perfect obedience.”
Tyler’s phone camera clicked. “Got that on record,” he said. “Macy’s going to love the visual aids.”
The words made my stomach flip with a sick thrill. I was humiliated, exposed, and yet absurdly proud that I’d pleased them.
Connor tapped my cheek twice: gentle, possessive. “Next.” He reclined, casual as if he’d just finished a set at the gym.
Aiden was ready before the word finished leaving Connor’s mouth. He patted his thigh and hooked a thumb under the waistband of his shorts, dragging them low to reveal a teasing sliver of blond hair and a growing swell beneath.
“Well, champ,” he drawled, eyes sparkling with mischief, “let’s see if you can handle another big load.”
I swallowed the lingering taste of Connor, wiped my lips on the back of my wrist, and crawled toward Aiden, throat raw, heart hammering in anticipation of the next dick.
Aiden leaned back in his chair like he’d been waiting all day for this moment. His cock was already half-hard, pink and smooth, framed by golden thigh hair and that smug little grin he always wore when he was the center of attention.
“Hands behind your back,” he said, flicking water from his fingers like he was dismissing a waiter. “And don’t come up until I say. You’re not running a tasting menu.”
I lowered my wrists and opened wide. He slid in himself, watching me with the slow, pleased look of someone admiring his own reflection. At first, he didn’t thrust. He just held me there, the tip resting on my tongue, letting his heat settle in.
“Mmm. There we go,” he murmured. “God, I bet you missed this.”
Then he started to move. His rhythm came shallow at first, just enough to wet the length. His hips rolled in slow circles, relaxed and practiced, like he was showing off. This wasn’t about urgency. It was about getting exactly what he wanted, the way he wanted it.
“Use your tongue,” he said, calm and instructive. “Not like that. Flick. Good. Keep it up.”
His praise was like a leash. Each small compliment pulled me deeper into the job. I stayed still while he used my mouth as he pleased. Every stroke forced my knees to press harder into the gravel. The cage between my legs throbbed every time my hips shifted, making me feel smaller with every breath.
I let out a soft moan, unthinking. He rewarded me with a tap on the cheek.
“Shhh,” he said, grinning. “No whining. You’re not the one getting off.”
Behind us, Bryson let out a dry chuckle. “He’s got the enthusiasm, I’ll give him that.”
“Yeah,” Grant replied, “but I want to see if he’s got endurance.”
Aiden shifted pace, now thrusting faster, testing how much I could take. I worked to keep the seal. My jaw began to ache. When I choked slightly, he paused, then gave a soft laugh.
“Don’t flinch. You’re doing great.”
He took both sides of my head in his hands and held me still. His strokes shortened, sharper now. His breathing changed. I could feel the tension building in his thighs.
“Don’t you dare spill a drop,” he said. “Take it all.”
I obeyed. The first burst landed hot on my tongue, then another, then a third. Aiden let out a quiet moan and ran the last trace along my lip before slipping free.
“Swallow.”
I obeyed.
“Again.”
I showed him my tongue, now clean. He nodded like I’d done a trick properly.
He reached into his pocket and snapped a photo without warning. “Needed a new lock screen,” he said, sliding the phone away.
He didn’t help me up. He just pointed with his chin toward Grant.
“Alright, stud. Let’s see how he handles a proper workload.”
Grant was already unzipping, eyes shining. “Come here, slut. Time to put that throat to work.”
Grant didn’t wait for a signal. As I crawled toward him, he bounced slightly in his seat like he was waiting to unwrap a Christmas present. His shorts were already down, cock thick and flushed, bobbing as he leaned forward with both hands on his knees.
“God, finally,” he said. “Been thinking about this for hours.”
I settled between his legs, chest still sticky from Aiden, lips wet with spit. Grant reached down, not for his cock, but for the cage. His fingers brushed over the bars with the kind of reverence most guys reserved for high-end audio equipment.
“Jesus, look at it,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the others. “You see how full he is? It’s like the whole thing’s about to crack open.”
Tyler gave a low whistle. “He’s been grinding into the patio since Connor.”
“Yeah,” Aiden added, “but he’s harder now.”
Grant smirked. “That’s because he knows I’ve got the nicest cock.”
The other guys all let out groans of disapproval. Tyler couldn’t resist throwing a barb Grant’s way.
“It’s because he knows your cock is the smallest and you won’t choke him as much!”
Grant didn’t respond, he just aimed his already fully hard shaft at my mouth and pulled me in.
He didn’t tell me to open. He just fed me the tip, slow and steady, until I felt him hit the back of my throat. Then he pulled out, looked down at my face like he was checking the depth of a pool, and pushed in again.
“Yeah,” he said. “This is what I wanted.”
His rhythm was enthusiastic more than rough. He didn’t want to break me, he wanted to watch me. His eyes flicked between my face, the way my lips sealed around him, and the cage wedged against the stone patio. I could feel it pressing tighter every time I shifted for balance.
“You leaking in there?” he asked, barely able to contain the delight in his voice. “God, I hope you are. That would make this so perfect.”
I moaned around him. It wasn’t fake. I was aching. I could feel the pulse of my cock in every nerve of my body, every touch of cool air or scrape of grit. I was desperate, and Grant knew it.
He reached down, cupped my jaw, and slowed the pace. His thumb brushed over my cheek, then hooked into the side of my mouth to stretch it wider.
“Look at this. You’re built for this, aren’t you?”
I tried to nod. He rewarded me with one last deep thrust, then held me still. A breath caught in his throat. Then he twitched once, twice, and warmth flooded my mouth. He groaned openly, one hand still resting over the cage like he needed to feel it while he came.
When he pulled out, he wiped the head against my tongue and smiled.
“God, that was satisfying.” He looked over at Bryson. “Your turn, Professor. Make him write a thesis.”
Bryson stood slowly and raised his phone. “Already taking notes.”
Bryson didn’t sit forward. He stayed reclined, legs stretched out, phone in one hand and his drink in the other. The glow from the fire flickered off his glasses. He tapped the record button without a word and shifted just enough for his cock to rest fully against one thigh, already hard and gleaming at the tip.
“Face the flame,” he said, nodding toward the fire. “I want to see your profile. And the cage.”
I turned, angling myself so the firelight lit me up from the side. I could feel the slickness drying across my chest and jaw, the pressure in my groin becoming unbearable. My arms trembled as I got into position, knees spread, tongue wetting my lips.
“Good. Now stay still.”
Bryson didn’t grip my head. He just lifted his hips slightly and fed himself into my mouth with practiced ease. No theatrics. No banter. Just the quiet glide of skin over tongue.
He began narrating almost immediately, like a lecturer addressing a quiet room.
“Initial pressure feels consistent. Slight tremble through the jaw. Suction’s above average. He’s not using his hands, which is noteworthy. Controlled, gag reflex. Head tilted to maximize light exposure.”
The others chuckled behind him. Tyler muttered something about oral sex metrics.
I flushed deeper. I didn’t know whether it was from the words or from the knowledge that the camera was catching every twitch. I focused on pace. He liked a subtle seal, just enough to create tension without sloppiness. Every motion had to be intentional.
Bryson took slow, steady strokes, occasionally stopping to give verbal feedback. “Teeth grazed. Adjust. There. Much better. Swirl on the upstroke.”
His hand grazed the cage once, lightly, like he was checking the frame of a sculpture.
“He’s still completely hard,” he said to no one in particular. “Unbroken focus. Hips twitching slightly but not lifting. Very good restraint.”
I moaned softly around him. My body was shaking now, but I didn’t break position. Bryson’s breathing remained calm, but his thighs flexed and his words began to falter.
“I—ah. Recording paused. One second.”
The phone clattered to the side, forgotten. His hand slid behind my neck and he held me still. He thrust twice, then hissed through clenched teeth as his cock pulsed against my tongue.
“Hold it,” he said through a shallow breath. “Don’t move.”
I didn’t. The taste flooded my mouth slowly. He groaned quietly, then eased out without another word.
When I opened, he gave a faint nod at the clean tongue, then gestured for me to wipe my chin. I didn’t reach for the towel.
Tyler stepped forward and crouched beside me. He was still completely soft in his shorts. Still fully in control.
“You’re done for tonight,” he said. “But you’re not cleaning up.”
He reached out and brushed his thumb through the slick mess that had dripped onto my chest. Then he smeared it across my collarbone.
“Leave it. I want to see it in the fire light.”
I nodded, throat hoarse.
Tyler didn’t move right away. He just looked at me. Not smiling. Not teasing. Studying. His thumb stayed at my collarbone like he was still deciding what to do with it. Then he spoke, voice low enough that I felt it more than heard it.
“On your back.”
I froze, startled. Every blowjob so far had happened on my knees. But I didn’t hesitate. I shifted awkwardly, gravel biting into my shoulders as I lay back, arms at my sides, knees bent just enough to keep the cage from digging too deep into my pelvis.
Tyler stepped forward and stood over me, tugging his shorts down in one smooth motion. His cock was hard now, curving slightly toward his stomach, flushed and leaking. The glow from the fire caught the veins along the shaft like map lines. He knelt with one leg on either side of my ribs, cock hanging just above my chin.
“You’re going to hold still,” he said. “I’m going to use your mouth exactly the way I want. You don’t get to help.”
Then he leaned forward and pressed himself between my lips.
Tyler was the first to take without easing in. No warning, no testing. His hips rocked slow but deep, filling me with thick, deliberate strokes. He didn’t talk. He didn’t moan. He just watched, his eyes on mine the whole time, like he was checking whether I understood what was happening.
I did. This wasn’t about the blowjob. It was about position. About being underneath him. About the mess already smeared on my chest and the metal cage twitching at the base of my spine while he fucked my mouth like it belonged to him.
His fingers slid behind my head, lifting it slightly so he could angle deeper. I gagged once and he paused, not with concern, but calculation. Then he pulled back, spat lightly onto my tongue, and slid back in.
“You’ll remember this every time you smell smoke from a campfire,” he said.
I would.
He came fast. When his rhythm faltered I felt the twitch, the sudden flood, the salty heat. He finished in my throat, hips stilling for the last few shallow thrusts. Then he withdrew and tapped my cheek twice, the same way Connor had done.
“Close your mouth.”
I obeyed.
And with that, he stood, stepped back into his shorts.
When he was done, Connor spoke:
“Be at the pool by sunrise,” he said. “And kneeling.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The boys started to file away slowly, collecting the remnants of their drinks, leaving me lying there on my back, part in ecstasy, part in awe of what I’d done, part in shock.
The fire had burned down to low embers by the time their footsteps faded toward the villas. Smoke drifted in slow ribbons above the pit, carrying the smell of charred wood, sunscreen, and boys’ sweat. I was alone, lying in the dirt, chest smeared with drying streaks that caught the orange glow like varnish on old leather. My throat ached. My jaw felt unhinged. The metal cage still hugged me so tight I could feel my pulse beating through the steel.
I closed my eyes and let the night air slide over raw skin. Scenes from years ago in school flickered behind my lids: those harmless pool parties where I would sneak off with Aiden or get trapped in a closet with Tyler for a quick BJ. Even the wildest moments back then had felt like practice runs compared to tonight. Back then the boys let me mess around because it was funny, because it was convenient, because a willing mouth beat a sad hand-job after too many beers. They never framed it. Never choreographed it. They never, ever made me kneel in front of the whole group and swallow one by one and show them the cum in my mouth after.
Tonight they had owned me. Completely. Every glance, every word, every idle fingertip on the cage had reminded me that my pleasure was not part of the agenda. And that was what made the heat bloom so intensely. My cock throbbed in that tiny prison, harder than it had ever been before. I could still taste each of them, flavor layered on flavor like coastal salt on citrus and chlorine. Every swallow felt branded into me.
A breeze shifted and cooled the mess on my skin, turning it tacky. Humiliation should have stung. Instead it felt thrilling, as though the shame rewired itself into something warm and bright in my stomach. I pictured kneeling by the pool as Connor had commanded. My knees would hurt no doubt — they already did — and the cage would grow even tighter in the cold. They would stand over me, amused, and I would already be wet before I got in the pool, but not from any water. The thought sent another squeeze of pressure through the metal bars.
I pressed my forehead to the warm stone beside the pit. My body trembled, half from exhaustion, half from the ache of needing what they would not give me. Yet under the ache there was joy, pure and simple: joy at having served perfectly, joy at being seen exactly as I was, joy at knowing sunrise would bring another chance to prove how deep my devotion ran.
When the embers finally lost their glow, I stood, legs unsteady, and padded toward the villas. Every step made the cage tap lightly against my thigh, a quiet reminder that the boys who’d been my friends not so long ago owned me for the rest of the week. I welcomed the sound. It meant tomorrow was coming, and with it the next session.
I could hardly wait
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Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Long form M/M erotic stories for a discerning audience
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