Dynamite Boudoir Tales Collection Three
Millie Dynamite
Dynamite Boudoir Tales Collection Three
Sexy, wild, gay & lesbian adventures for your late night pursuals
Brief Moments with a Hot Twink
Going Down in an Elevator
Nasty Boys
Tomboy Terri Hits a Homer
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2023/22/18 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Brief Moments with a Hot Twink
Going Down in an Elevator
Nasty Boys
Tomboy Terri Hits a Homer
Brief Moments with a Hot Twink
Erotic encounter between a middle-aged man and a hot twink
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2018/2021/23 by Millie Dynamite
NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This tale is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. This story does not condone random or unprotected sex, no matter how much they pay you.
Brief Moments with a Hot Twink
With my wife on a trip, I took advantage of the situation. Finding my way to a preferred hangout for the young gay community. As hard as it is to admit, I’m a closeted middle-aged man, far too old for the place, uncomfortable surrounded by the beautiful open young people. Still, I had a hankering for something different. In the wild habitat, the flashing lights, the pounding music, I stood out like a granite pebble bordered by diamonds.
Amid all the confusion, I caught sight of him, gliding about on the floor by himself. He danced alone near me, moving in front of the mirrored wall. Wiggling, shaking his rump to the grinding rhythm. Soft, cute, and inviting, young guy, maybe 23, possibly as young as 19, who can say. He had long, platinum, shaggy, blonde hair framing a lovely feminine face.
The boy was young enough to be my son. Or, I was old enough to be his daddy. With a quick calculation, I guesstimated he was at least 20 years my junior, at best, at worst, 29 years younger than me. You see, I’m a 48-year-old married man. But I’ve always had a thing for young femboys.
This kid was a grade-A twink, exuding innocence, but the glint in his gorgeous, pale, blue eyes spoke of some sort of knowledge. His body was thin, with a narrow waist and lovely shapely hips. I envisioned his chest as having a hard, budding breast. Of course, they’re pecks, but I can imagine them any way I desire.
The face, without doubt, stunned me.
The lad wore pink and purple print pajama pants and top, nicely showing his tight, petite body, and topped off his outfit with salmon-colored running shoes. In our moment of nonverbal communication, he understood my wants. Dancing toward me, he pushed a blonde strand of hair from one eye, placing the tress back over his ear. In his eyes, a devilish twinkle told me he wasn’t cheap, but he was for sale.
Rubbing against me, standing on his tippy-toes, he stretched up, kissing my neck. Pressing his tiny body into me, he hugged me, and my rooster responded. In a flash, he glanced up at me, and his smirk turned more wicked. Putting one small hand on my arm, he pulled me out to the action on the floor.
The din of the music made conversation out of the question. I danced with the lad, guiding him to the dark recess of the back of the dancefloor. Through an archway, we move into a darkened room. A small, tight place, with mops, buckets, brooms and dustpans, and a giant sink. Once the door is closed, I flip the light on. A dim bulb illuminates the space in a dull yellow glow. Shoving my hand in my pocket, I pull a bill out and hold it up for the boy to see.
He stood there, not acknowledging the money. Eyeballing me, and nothing more. I add another twenty, nothing, a third twenty, and a fourth. Once $100 stared at him, he snatches the bundle, hiking his leg up, he tucks the wad into his shoe. Kneeling, he unzipped my jeans, unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my fly, and the young twink worked my slacks and shorts around my ankles.
Staring up at me, with oh, so fucking sexy eyes, he ran his tongue over his full, firm lips as he stroked my plumping johnson. Kissing the tip, his mouth went around my prickhead. Moving to the flare of the helmet, he sucked me, and all the air rushed from my lungs. The heat of his tongue and warm space covering my member spread down my shaft, and I came, so, very, near to losing my load.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he engulfed my manhood with his soft gullet. His lips inched down the pole. Sloppy, wet slobber covered my prick, and when his mouth covered the fat base, the cockhead was in his throat. Seven and a half inches, all inside his velvet, sodden maw.
With a dawdling graduality, he moved over my dick, his tongue corkscrewing around my tool, took me near the edge. Holding me on the verge of orgasm, his hands on my butt, this cherub-faced boy worked my peter like a pro.
In an all but imperceptible fashion, the kid picked up the pace. In a matter of five minutes, his cute head bobbed up and down at a dizzying rate. He stuck a thumb up my asshole.
My seed spilled in thick rivulets into his eager mouth and throat. One hard surge after another. Balls ascended, the cum rushed forth, filling him as he sucked it down, grinding his thumb one way and the other, milking my prostate for all its worth.
Putting a hand on his head, he slapped my hand away and kept jack hammering my hammer, balls deep. To my surprise, I didn’t go limp. He rose, turned his back, and dropped his pants. Glancing over his shoulder, giving me a look, he raises one pale, blonde eyebrow and flutters his long, delicate eyelashes.
Putting his hands on the sink, he raised his posterior and lowered his head. All the while, he gazes at me. Those eyes, such a light blue they’re almost whitish, tell me more than mere words ever have.
Reaching past him, I pump the soap into my palm, coating it thick with fluid. Reaching down to my trouser python, I lathered up my stiff wood.
Gazing back, swishing his bottom, he was so fucking sexy. I moved to him, put one hand on his neck, with the other. I guided my prick to his sphincter. Rubbing it around, after a few moments, I shoved inside, deep, several inches.
He exhaled, threw his perfect head back, and thrust his hot derriere into me. In no time, we were in a rhythm, our flesh slapping at the driving beat of the music. Reaching around, I took his stiff sword in my hand. A shocking, thick, veiny, and at least seven inch prick. He put his silky hand on mine as I jacked him.
Soon, far, too, soon. I lost another load deep in him. Once my stream ended, he turned me, holding his penis. The boy glared into my eyes, demanding.
As I tugged my pants up and fastened them, I kneeled, opened wide. Without hesitation, the young twink took my head, the way I tried to take his, forcing me to take his gun deep in my throat. Hammering his staff into me, the young femboy fucked my face for an exquisite eternity.
Pulling out, he thumbed my lips with the stick. I licked him like a lolly-pop and sucked him like a popsicle. For the first time in my life, I sucked dong and loved the experience. When he shot his load, the salty savoriness filled my mouth and choked it down, hoping to please him.
Leaning across the sink, he tore a paper towel off a roll and cleaned his ass, dropping the thing to the closet floor. He jerked his bottoms up and smoothed them to his desirable body. Bending down, he kissed my forehead, passed me, going out the door.
I kneeled in the squalid janitorial closet for some time. Collected my thoughts, returning to the main room, looking for my sweet femboy. My dreamboat left, and I’ve never seen him again.
Going Down in an Elevator
Can true love happen in an elevator? No, but fucking can!
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2023 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
Going Down in an Elevator
1987 a Large American City
Being a work-acholic with little social life other than job-related functions, it wasn’t unusual for me to go to the office on a Saturday night. When I entered the building and checked in at the security station, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck screamed danger.
The night shift weekend Security Guard wasn’t to be found. Floored by the person’s absence, as the guard was always at their station when I worked on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night, I walked about the halls on the first floor searching for her.
After fifteen minutes, I gave up my search, proceeded to the elevators, and inserted my keycard in the slot for the executive elevator.
The wait took forever. The level light indicator showed the unit on the 23rd floor, two floors below my firm’s offices. Tapping my toe, impatient and a tad angry, I wondered if, for some reason, the guard was on that floor. What burned me about this? Someone used the one elevator my firm forbade others to use. If I found the upstairs intruder to be a security guard, I’d turn their ass in and have their employment terminated. Imagine the gall!
The elevator, at last, moved first up four floors, which put the person’s location at my firm’s penthouse suite of offices. The one place, tonight, no one other than I should be. After a few minutes, with me pushing the call button and shoving my key in and out, the car started down. At this point, I’m mad as hell. Getting the shock of my life when the doors opened.
A young black woman, taller than me, glowered with angry, hate-filled eyes in my direction. The woman dressed in all black, t-shirt, leather jacket, and stretch pants, holding a bag, which she dropped. In a flash, this woman jumped at me.
I turned and ran. Quick as a fox, the woman grabbed my ponytail and yanked me back into the car. Throwing me against the back wall, she laughed as the wind escaped my lungs and slithered down the wall. The sick wheezing, the fear of never getting air again, and this angry black person.
“Where you think you going, bitch?”
Towering over me, she dared me to get up. Her fist clenched, those dagger-throwing eyes glared. Thinking she might hurt me, I stayed on the floor, trying to not stare into her eyes. As my lungs returned to normal, I glanced up.
“Don’t be eyeballing me, bitch. Yeah, you keep your eyes on that motherfucking floor, you half an albino barbie doll. Is your hair your natural color?”
Bobbing my head, I turned my back to the wall, sitting with my legs straight out. Somewhere above me, something caught my attention, like one drag of a knife down a steel rod. Glancing upward in her hand, a switchblade glinted in the overhead light.
“Don’t move,” she said.
She picked up my electronic key from the floor, came back inside, and hit the penthouse on the console. The car jumped, putting my tummy in my throat for a second as the elevator rushed upward. When 14 was changing to 15, she hit the emergency switch, and the car jolted to a rough stop. The indicator flickered 14, 15, 14, 15.
“On your feet, Barbie Doll,” the woman ordered.
“My name,” I stood as I talked. She cut me off.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what your name is, bitch.” Using the blade, the woman motioned me to come to her.
“You and me taking a ride.”
My mind raced. Did she want money? Did she want my watch? My apartment, stuff? What the hell did she want? Don’t know how I knew, but I felt safe for the moment, as she wouldn’t kill me here. She’d want to get me to another place?
“Where are we going?”
“To Nirvana. Now, Barbie, strip out of your clothes.” Using her knife, she punctuated her command. “Slip out our sexy silk blouse first, sweetheart. Let me see what hot bra you’re wearing.”
“Please,” I begged. “I won’t talk. You can take my purse. Just let me go.” I held out my clutch for her. “I have over $200 in there.”