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SQUEEZE PANTS by Dario Dalla Lasta

SQUEEZE PANTS by Dario Dalla Lasta

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"The fulcrum for the stories in Dario Dalla Lasta's Squeeze Pants are a razor's edge of desire. Applying slow, exquisite pressure, Lasta slices through his scenarios with precision, extracting fluids that are heady, carnal and sometimes dangerous - but always uniquely satisfying. You'll want to keep a cigarette handy for the comedown." - Natty Soltesz, author of College Dive Bar, 1AM, Backwoods, and Brojobs 

The tight and titillating homo sex stories crammed into Squeeze Pants promise a wild ride from beginning to end. Dario Dalla Lasta, the new master of dirty story telling, brings you six lively, inventive, and daring tales about men desiring other men. From a sexy, dark-eyed nurse who would do anything to help his patient heal, to a skinhead who pushes his admirer to show him what he’s got, to a sweaty and kinky encounter under campus bleachers, to an office hookup destined to happen, to a haunted threesome, and, finally, to a dark, violent night with an unexpected twist that will stay with you forever, each of the linked stories in Squeeze Pants offers queer literary porn at its finest. The worlds built and characters created—think big, think dark, and think thirsty for wild, pulsing romps—are tangible, distinct, and ready to spark your erotic imagination.


"Squeeze Pants by Dario Dalla Lasta is an exuberant, cock-driven, testosterone drenched festival of filth that I guarantee won't leave your sticky little fingers until you're well and truly done! If you like your porn well-written and your heat levels cranked to the max, you're gonna love Squeeze Pants!" - Tamsin Flowers, erotica author 

"Dario Dalla Lasta ... creates stories that are eloquent, witty, and drenched with hot, dirty sex. The six stories contained in this volume are so provocative, so filthy, and so ridiculously well-written, I couldn't possibly pick a favorite." --Oleander Plume, erotica author and editor


Below, our horny protagonist Brett is in the hospital after a pretty serious car accident, but has woken to find himself in the tender care of his incredibly sexy nurse, Jésus. In the excerpt below, it’s sponge bath morning, and it turns out that Brett gets a lot more than, you know, a quick wipe down.

Sponged down good? I figured he did not mean that in a sexual way, but I couldn’t help myself from reading innuendos into every word he spoke. That damn sexy accent had a sneaky way of embedding itself under my skin. Of course, he was just doing his job. What was I even thinking—that my male nurse and I were going to start a romantic fling while I was tore up from the floor up in a hospital bed? Get real, I scolded myself. You’re just a patient, he’s a nurse, and you need to get over your delusional sexual fantasies. You are high and stupid and horny and scared. Plus, you just called him a cartoon by the wrong name, and that, my friend, is just fucking weird. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The need to compose myself before Jésus saw me naked was tantamount to my survival.

When he came back into the room after closing the door securely behind him, he said gently, “Look at me.” I opened my eyes and took him in. In that moment, he truly resembled the biblical Jesus, the one I conjured up from my childhood days of vacation Bible school. There he stood, ready to wash me all over, a true servant of man. I felt like Mary Magdalene, a whore, and wished that I could wash his feet with my hair or something equally dramatic and glamorous. Alas, my hair had been shorn after the accident and, after seeing my reflection in the hand mirror, I knew I resembled a tiny baby chick. Blond fuzz was all I had to work with.

“Are you ready, amorcito? A sponge bath is no big deal. In fact, just for you, my sweet pequeño, I will give you the best sponge bath you ever had, no lie, even while wearing my thin, white squeezy pants, as you say. Okay, Señor Brett?” My greedy, feverish eyes seemed to satisfy him. “Ah, si, the lovely Nanette will be so happy when she comes on shift later tonight to find you as clean, pink, and happy as a baby.”

So, those two were in cahoots. I knew it. I only wished I could reciprocate in some small way to show him my devoted appreciation. “But I—I feel so helpless,” I muttered.

“Like a charming babe, ready to be bathed,” he advised. “No shame in that. Besides, you’re hurt and I’m here to make you feel better.”

The next twenty minutes were foggy. I tried simultaneously to block out everything he did, while also attempting to memorize every brush of the sponge upon my battered and broken body. He began with my face, one hand holding it carefully, while the other wiped away my pain, along with some crusted gunk and other junk. Then he moved onto my neck around the brace, then to my chest and arms before skipping directly down to my unencumbered right leg and foot. My head swam and my cock yearned. The care that Jésus took was both tender and efficient. He really was a good nurse.

“I saved the best for last,” he whispered. Next thing I knew, my dick was being slathered with the deliciously soapy warm water, and I had no further control over its attention span. I saluted Jésus with all my power and might, and he responded in kind with the most thorough cleansing of my private parts ever. I imagined what he was doing behind the closed lids of my eyes, too timid to open them and watch.

Mira—look at me,” he said. I did. I had no choice at this point but to follow his lead. He began stroking me harder and faster, eyes half-lidded, a few dots of perspiration dotting his brow. He was so handsome in that moment, even with a lewd smirk replacing his normally gentle features. When the friction on my cock intensified, I noticed he had set the sponge aside and was jerking me off with his fist. Oh, it felt so good! Swirls of pleasure crashed down from my head to my mangled leg to my toes, and I began to whine. He kept at it, increasing the pressure and moving up and down on me so fast that his hand became a blur. All my pent-up hurts and mixed-up feelings and raw emotions and sexual frustrations came rushing up like a geyser. Shuddering, I cried out when I couldn’t take it anymore, squirting lines of white spunk all over my squeaky-clean torso. I could barely catch my breath and, even if I wanted to say something to Jésus, I couldn’t.

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