Meanwhile, Julian is standing there with his arms folded, impatiently waiting for Alex to realize that Susannah isn’t interested or impressed…but he is.
(One late night ballet reblog, because it’s 4 am, and why not. Text is fictional.)
My phone chimes. I pick it up. It’s Grey. Such a cool name, very classic. He’s running late. I can’t remember what he does for a living, something involving archiving at a museum. He was by far one of the best candidates that responded to my ad. Still, I’m restless. I’m torn because I need someone to pay the other half of the rent, but part of me isn’t ready to share this space yet. My heart still feels raw and burnt, the sickening pain from the discovery of adultery has left me numb and taken the color out of the world.
I honestly thought I did everything right. I was a good boyfriend to Jared. I always let him know where I was, I was tidy, I cooked sometimes. I pleased him in bed, and never complained when he didn’t want to reciprocate with his mouth. It wasn’t enough though. Jared left me for the twink that made his smoothies at the gym. Can you believe that? I mean I understand the allure of a true twink and cockslut, of having some nearly hairless, lithe queer boy writhing under you, begging for you to fuck his pussy again… but Jared and I had been dating for nearly two years when he left me. That’s a boy you take home from the club, not someone you throw away a serious committed relationship for in a week. Plus, Jared always used to call me handsome. He loved my pecs. He said he liked rugged men. I just don’t understand what happened to my life. Maybe Jared really wanted a pretty houseboy or something, I don’t know.
I pace around the apartment, mournfully gazing at where Jared put his coffee mugs, and where he put his watch when he went to bed. Until yesterday, my hand-prints were still on the patio doors from when Jared last fucked me against them. It had been dark, and people could probably see us. I found it exhilarating. Now, I was ashamed and wished I’d scrubbed them away earlier.
I opened the apartment door and glanced out into the hallway. I left the door open a crack to help air out the stuffy living room. I felt lost, a bit stuck in time. I shuffled into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed. I used to get into this submissive position – back arched, arms straight, ass out – like some obedient show puppy desperate to please his Master. I thought it was fun to greet your boyfriend like that, start the evening off with some frisky sex.
Now I just feel stupid. There is no one to show of and feel sexy for. I might as well be a puppy dropped off at the pound-
There’s the sound of knuckles rapping at the door. “Um, excuse me?” says a melodic velvety voice.
I whip my head around. My potential new roommate is standing in the open door-frame to my apartment. From that vantage point, Grey can see straight through the living room and right into my bedroom. Right at my ass. I flush with embarrassment and scramble off the bed; I practically run to the living room to greet him. “You must be Grey,” I mumble, wanting to melt into the floor. I offer a hand. We shake. Grey lifts the corners of his lips and raises an eyebrow at me with lots of David-Bowie-esque charm. “Pleasure’s all mine. Sorry if I was erm, interrupting, but the door was open.” I stammer out a response. “No, it’s quite alright, I was just – er, would you like to a tour of the apartment?” “Yes please. Are you alright?” Grey presses, putting a hand on my arm. I realize he’s wearing slim, leather gloves. What style! I sigh. “I’m alright. I just…I don’t want to be a downer, but my boyfriend of two years just left me. This is hard, to be renting out the guest room.” To my astonishment, Grey hugs me. “I am so sorry honey. That is never fun, or fair.” I can’t believe how badly I need this hug right now. I crush him back, and I am mortified to feel more tears coming on. “Aww oh dear, I’ve upset you. Come now, show me to the kitchen, I’ll make you some tea. You poor cub, I think you need someone to talk to.” I nod miserably and show him the way.
After Grey makes me a cup of sencha, the dam bursts. I end up completely gushing and bitching, ranting like a lunatic, going through tissues like a madman. Grey listens, always attentive, never bored, never once glancing at his phone. He pats my arm and soothes me, never accusing, always asking the right questions.
By the time I stop blubbering the teapot is empty. I take pause and sigh. “I’m sorry. This must be insufferable for you. You probably can’t wait to leave,” I snort. “No…actually,” Grey says slowly. “I’d like to rent the apartment.” “…What? Really? You’ve barely seen in it.” Grey runs his finger over the circular rim of the cup. “I saw the kitchen, and the living room. And I had a nice view into the bedroom.” I blush at his innuendo.. “This is all exactly what I am looking for, in my price range, and in a neighborhood a like. I’m a particular man. I want particular things.” “Things?” “Things,” Grey says with a knowing smile. His eyes linger on my chest for a moment, before flickering up to me. I am a bit mesmerized by his charm. “…I’ll um, I’ll get the paperwork then.” I stand up, but when I notice just how green his eyes are, I end up tripping over my own feet on the way to my desk.
_______________________________________________________ Text is fictional. Originally posted by the real person on Tumblr. This story is not meant to assume his personality or sexuality.
I try to be Daddy’s sexy little wife as much as I can. Making him happy and horny is what I live for.
I hear his soft footfalls as he enters the kitchen. “Hello Jackson,” I say, busy prepping supper. “God, I could listen to you say my name forever,” he admits. “I love your accent.” “Jack-son?” I repeat. “Yeah,” he exhales, like that “You’re cooking nude again. In that pristine white apron…” Jackson presses himself up behind me and his palm slides over my ass. “My Russian beauty.”
He’s necking me now, so I lean back against him and offer my lips. He dips his head and our mouths lock. It’s sweet, tender kisses that make my knees weak. For a moment I forget supper and just hope he wants to take it to the bedroom. I reach back and grab his thigh. I feel his package bum against me. “Horny?” I purr. “I don’t even have a word for it. I just am totally obsessed with you. Your thick body, those muscles in your arms. Your butt is – god, I just love your butt. I love your python thighs, your uncut cock, and your big low set of balls…” he runs his hands over me, caressing me as if exploring me for the first time. The hand drifts under my apron and cups me between the legs. I inhale sharply. “You know what I think it is?” “Hm?” I ask, distracted, as I stir the pot. “I think it’s me thinking about what life be like if I hadn’t met you.” “You?!” I exclaim. “What about me? I’d still be in that tiny little town in Russia, drinking myself to death like my papa did.” “But you aren’t there,” Jackson says, reassuring me. “You’re here. In Canada. Safe, with me, in my home. I just …jesus, Oskar, I just never imagined I’d be this happy. I sometimes wonder if it’s all a dream.” “Isn’t that what you imagined when you put up the ad?” “I was scared to dream I’d be this happy. Honestly, I imagined I’d be taken advantage of for sex and money and abandoned once my new partner got here.” “But you got me.” “I almost didn’t,” he corrects, still touching me. It’s making me really hot and bothered. I almost wish I wasn’t so deep into dinner or I would just throw himself at him. “The agency matched you with that guy, Carlos. He was such a creep. He just wanted a sex toy.” “Honey, I know, I was there,” I chuckle, not really wanting to think about that right now. Jackson was lost in his thoughts though. “I was wait listed for you, on this off-chance…I just knew, you were the one. When I got the news he hurt you, oh my god, I almost went to his house and beat the shit out of him!” Jackson growls in my ear, his fingers digging a little deeper into me. “Honey,” I plead again. “Please…that wasn’t a good time for me. Let’s not talk about Carlos. Put your hand on my cock again.” “Mmm,” Jackson said, perking up. He wormed his way around to my front again and stroked me under the apron. I sigh. “Did I mention I love that you’re uncut?” I blush as he tugs on my foreskin. “No.” “Well I do. Dammit Oskar…I can still remember exactly how I felt, the moment you stepped off the plane at the airport. We had only met during the mixer in Russia the agency set up, but I recognized you immediately.” I’m quiet for a moment. I move to drain the raviolis in the sink and Jackson trails me, still petting me. It is getting immensely difficult to think. My head is clouded with hormones and lust. I want my man to wrap me in his arms, kissing away any thoughts of the violence I experienced with Carlos. Sometimes I think about damn lucky I am, and I feel nearly sick with relief. The world rarely works out so perfectly. We were two men, seeking love, one looking for escape, the other looking for a taste of the years his diplomatic father stationed them in Moscow. The first time I made Jackson blinchiki – or as they call them here, blintzes – he actually cried.
“Honey?” I moan, my cock now achingly hard. The ravioli are cooling in the strainer. “Yeah?” he says, distracted. I say to him, exasperated, “Can we please go have a fuck before dinner? I am so fucking horny!” Jackson laughs. I feel a bit wounded. “Did I say something wrong? Is it my English? Did I not say it right?” “No, I’m sorry love, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing with bliss. Just when I think my life is more perfect, you say the best damn things and remind me that I still have many more amazing years with you.” “Then let’s get living them,” I insist. I turn around and pull Jackson against me. I push my crotch against his hip. Jackson grabs my ass hard until I shout, then he reaches back and unties my apron. I pull it over my head and toss it on the counter. Our lips meet and collide, desperately drawn here and to. I flick my tongue at him, and it makes Jackson ravenous. Before I know it, he’s reaching for the olive oil and I got my legs around his waist. He pushes me up onto the counter, hisses at me to “hold on”. I grab onto the cabinet. My dick is throbbing and it’s starting to ache. “Jackson hurry!” I whimper. He fumbles with the olive oil. One hand is still slippery when he grabs my thighs and pushes into me. I bellow out a moan as he fills me in one push. I stroke myself while he devours my mouth again. Jackson notices me pleasuring myself and pulls away a little to watch. “Yeah, that’s it Oskar, good boy” He snaps his hips like a whip, thrusting his fat cock up inside of me. I push my thighs against him. “Yes! Yes!” I cry, momentarily lost in the satisfaction of getting what I need.
Jackson is slipping on the olive oil on the floor, so he leans against me and uses his hips to fuck me. I arch my back, ignoring the counter digging into my butt. “More! Harder!” I love these English sex words he taught me. I feel naughty when I use them. Luckily, I use the right ones and Jackson ruts until his chest is heaving with effort. Suddenly, his glans hits my prostate in just the right way and we explode together. I scream and Jackson digs his teeth into my shoulder. I am jerking myself furiously. Cum splatters up on my stomach and coats where we’re joined. I groan as I feel Jackson’s load flood in me.
Our foreheads touch as he catch our breath. “I needed that,” I say, matter of factly. “That was a great idea,” Jackson agrees, nibbling my jaw. Our tongues duel for a moment before he slides out. I whimper at the emptiness behind. “Christ look at this mess,” he chuckles, setting me down. “Cum and oil everywhere.” I grin, flustered and happy. “But that is a good problem to have. You need to change your pants too.” “What?” Jackson glances down and sees our cum has soaked the front of his jeans. “Oh damn.” “Why don’t we eat dinner naked in the bathtub?” I offer. “Dinner, in the bathtub?” “Well, we won’t have to worry about getting tomato sauce on our clothes.” “Such a smart husband,” he coos. He kisses me again. I wish he would stop that, because I want more when he does. I had a feeling we weren’t going to be getting any cleaner in that bath, and turns out, I was right. We made an even bigger mess too.
______________________________________________________ Text is fictional. Tommy Defendi and Alex Adams. This is from Man Royale. Couldn’t find the video on their website, but it’s called Cookin’ By The Book. Here’s stills. Here’s the video bootlegged and uploaded.
Damien watches from next to the table as yet again his houseboy charms the pants off everyone at the party – and he is the only one not wearing pants! He wonders how on earth Milo got old Dunham Senior to smile. The leading partner in their law firm, Dunham Senior was known for being a grouchy, cranky ol’ coot. Next to him was Dunham Junior and the Misses all laughing and joking as if old friends. Bits of conversation drifted over about Dunham’s shenanigans in his youth.
Damien felt a twinge of irritation. He’d somehow managed to train his houseboy so well that he was outshining him at his own party! What on Earth was protocol for that? He was watching Milo from the corner of the room, wondering how long he was going to stand there. It wasn’t his job to socialize. The cookie platter was running low. Damien glanced around at his guests and two drinks that could use a refill. He was just about to stroll over to his houseboy to put him in his place, but the conversation the group was having was dissolving. He saw Milo gesture to Dunham Senior’s glass; the man put up a hand to reject the offer of another one. Milo nodded and smiled, then touched his elbow and excused himself.
Milo made a dash to the kitchen and returned with a serving plate of champagne flutes, and made a quick lap of the room to make sure all the guests were hydrated. He then swung by the dessert tray to make sure it was full. Damien caught his eye. Milo came over and kissed him on his cheek. “This has been a delightful evening, Sir.” “Yes, it has,” Damien said flatly, truthfully a bit bored of these necessary social functions. They made Milo happy, so he suffered for him. Milo kissed him again, and then darted off. Damien sipped his drink and thought about how far Milo had come since his first party, when he was nervous, stressed out, still not used to be nude; plus, he had been leaking everywhere in an ill fitting chastity device. That had been Damien’s mistake, and he knew it. The length was not an issue for any chastity device, but the girth, that had been the problem.
Damien felt someone staring at him. He glanced around and spotted Dunham Senior looking his way. He nodded and walked over. “Mr. Dunham, I take it my houseboy wasn’t talking your ear of was he?” Mr. Dunham chuckled, a low throaty noise. “No, not at all. He was a pleasure! He’s such a youthful boy.” Damien exhaled a little sigh of relief. “That he is. Parties make him excited.” “He seems very comfortable in his own skin, that one.” “That took some time,” I say. “Society taught him to be ashamed of his body.” Dunham Senior made a pshaw noise. “If had a body like that, I wouldn’t wear clothes at all!” Damien tried not to make a face at picturing his boss naked. Luckily, he didn’t notice and went on. “I must say though, he is very well endowed, what a lucky thing. Is that why he wasn’t locked? "That he is.” “I’ve never seen a houseboy that wasn’t locked.” “Indeed. I can’t lock him, though, anything we found cut off circulation. Milo doesn’t need it though, he is obedient. I think it adds to his beauty though. A male body is an art form, so as such, he is a bit of living art in my life.” Dunham Senior clapped me on the shoulder. “Yes yes! Exactly. They must understand that. You know, I was thinking of getting a housepet for my son and my new daughter-in-law as a belated wedding present. They want to start a family, and they both work, so I think it would be ideal.” “I would be pleased to provide some direction on that matter.” “Fantastic, fantastic.” Dunham Senior was momentarily distracted by the frontal view of Milo as he returned from the kitchen with another round of cookies for the dessert tray. “If I were only 50 years younger, what I would do to him…”
Damien did make a face that time and pretended he didn’t hear that. Still, he felt a bit smug that he got to have Milo when no one else did. Milo tended to take control at these parties, so by the time it was over, Damien always felt a mighty itch to remind him where he stood in this household. He had a feeling the sex tonight was going to be particularly vigorous.
Due to popular request I decided to lay out and share all the gear, anal toys and pairs of cheeky underwear I own. I showed a lot of them already a long time ago, but there have been quite some additions, mainly because of some crazy Christmas gifting from you guys! By the way, I’m seriously having trouble to keep this all well organized and hidden in our bedroom. XD
Part 1 (Anal toys) is here Part 3 (Underwear) is here
Part 2: Toys and gear
1. Velcro handcuffs. The first ones I owned, very vanilla, haha. 2. Lockable leather handcuffs. Very comfortable and goodlooking. My favourites! 3. Leather paddle. Fairly light, but a nice alternatie for my boyfriend instead of using his hands or a belt. ^^ 4. Humbler to keep me down on all fours. 5. Two silicone ball stretchers my boyfriend bought. He wore them for a while, but somehow it didn’t do much for him. I combined them with a CB a couple of times which looked nice. 6. Enema nozzle attachment and an enema bulb. Can’t do anal play without making sure you’re properly cleaned from the insides as well. 7. Spandex hood with eye openings and zipper at the mouth. The mouth piece is small, so bf can’t use it as a blowjob mask unfortunately. 8. Kneepads for when I feel like pupping out for a couple of hours. 9. Puppy hood. *wrufff* 10. Leather and steel leash to hook on my collar or harness. 11. Collar, brown leather dog collar. Not lockable, but I wear it almost 24/7 when I’m home alone. 12. Leather harness with adjustable straps. 13 Two fresh bottles of poppers. Sometimes used during fucking or fisting. 14. Steel handcuffs with quick escape lever. I preferleather cuffs, because struggling in these really hirts your wrists. 15. Jailhouse chastity device, the first one I bought in Oct. 2013. Never worn it after buying the CB6000 (which was on my dick as I took the pic. =P) 16. Locks and keys, used for anything lockable in this picture, haha. 17. Nipple clamps. The clover ones are very hard, but once past the initial discomfort they’re bearable. The chain ones are lighter, but have tiny teeth. 18. Cockring with vibration bullet. Weak vibrations, not used much. 19. Magic wand. Does this need further explanation? Intense vibrations that can make me cum in minutes, chaste or not. 20. Duct tape and plastic wrap, ideal for some mummification. 21. Three Vetrap rolls that haven’t been used yet. Still thinking about a way to use them. The material is awesomely snug and doesn’t stick to skin at all. ^^ 22. Simple ball gag with rubber straps. 23. Penis gag, plain gag actually, not that big. 24. Lockable open mouth gag. Big enough a hole to get bf’s dick in, very humiliating and I love it. =3 25. Inflatable and lockable pecker gag, can get very intense after 7-8 pumps. 26. Shoelace and 2 pieces of soft black bondage rope. Can’t have enough! 27. Chain with padlock. Used it as collar before, but can serve all kind of purposes 28. About 15m of soft bondage rope. Used for example for body harnesses or arm binders.
Wow. A peek into gayboykink’s toychest! So many, many options.
Jake tosses the football to me. “Nah, man, I’m not into Katherine.” “She’s hot isn’t she?” I toss it back, putting a spin on it. “Yeah but…she’s not my type,” Jake said, evasively, after he caught my return pass. Yeah, of course Katherine wasn’t; no one was his type. I had been noticing that he brought up girls less and less the longer we hung out together. We only had one class together, science, and we became friends after we ended up as lab partners. I was smitten with Jake’s smile, his all-American boy-next-door charm. He was an Eagle Scout and an athlete and an A student. Of course I was smitten, but I let my crush simmer from a distance. “You never have a type!” I joked. “Not into dating huh? You want to get married one day?” He paused, inspecting the lacing on the ball. “Maybe. To the right person. Maybe I’ll meet them in college or something.” I held out my hands and he returned the football to me. I smiled at him and threw it back. I had purposely told Jake that practice was one hour earlier than it actually was, just so I’d have some time alone with him. He believed me, when I said I just misread the schedule. It was so hard to get time alone with him. When we were working on that project, or hanging out on the weekend, the hours went too fast. Each separation was a little painful, because we just felt so comfortable around each-other. We had a lot of fun, more fun than any date with any girl I’d been on…well, that’s because I never liked girls, but Jake did not know that. “You think you’re gonna get married one day, Carter?” “Oh for sure!” I replied. “Cause I look damn good in a suit.” Jake snorted. “Since when have you worn a suit?” “I wore one to my sister’s Bat Mitzvah,” I offered. “You were 13.” I shrugged. “I still got a nice suit,” I hinted. “What does that mean?”
I took a big breath. I had been debating a long while if I really wanted to do this. It meant risking our friendship. Things would never be not awkward ever again if this went wrong. It would mean that I had misinterpreted all of Jake’s signals.
I caught a strong pass – god Jake had such great arm! – but I didn’t return it. Instead, I walked over to him. Confusion alit on his face. “Carter?” I glanced around and made sure no one was in the stands. I then got down on one knee and offered the football with both hands. “Jake…if you say no, I understand, but I thought I’d give it a chance.” I took a huge breath. “Will you go to prom with me?” His arms fell to his sides like lead; his jaw nearly hit his chest. “Prom?” “Well, no one has asked you yet right?” I asked, hopeful. “No,” he admitted. And then he blushed! God, he was adorable! He hadn’t responded yet; I sensed hesitation. I quickly added. “If you’re nervous about being out, then you don’t have to be seen coming with me. I just want to see you first in a suit.” Jake blushed even harder. He covered his mouth and laughed. “Alright, you win. I’ll go with you.” I dropped the football. “What? Really?” “Yeah,” he said, scuffing his foot into the astroturf. “I was …kind of hoping you’d ask. I mean…we spend so much time together, and well, it was fun you know. Different, than with my other friends. But fun.” I launched upwards and gave him an awkward hug in our bulky gear.
Later, after the prom, he let me kiss him when I dropped him off at his house.
Six years later, I walked out onto the field of the New York Levithians in front of thousands of excited football fans and proposed to Jake. He was in full uniform, looking incredibly handsome all grown up, despite being covered in grass stains. He said yes, and the entire stadium roared.
There are a lot of rooms in this old, fine house, but I have a favorite. You’d probably assume it would be my Master’s bedroom because of all it implies. His bed is where he sleeps, and when on rare occasions, I am allowed to join him – a highly desired reward. His bed is where he uses me when he is horny, and makes love to me when he is drunk. It’s where he ties me down, and experiments on me with ropes and toys until I am a heaving, horny mess. It’s where he chooses to milk me once a month. In that room is all the pleasure I could hope for, and the most delicious denial I could imagine. It’s a room of potential, tastefully decorated even with Saint Andrew’s cross in the corner.
However, saying that’s my favorite room is kind of a cop-out. Of course it is. That’s like saying the kitchen is your favorite room because there’s food in it. Of course you like to eat, we all have to eat. Sex and release is just as necessary. So if you remove the secondary functions from the rooms in the house, and take them as they are?
The library is – hands down – my favorite room. It’s one of the oldest rooms as it’s in the original wing of the house. It has that comfortable, wooly, scent of old wood board and wallpaper paste. When it’s warm, the smell of books is overwhelming. There’s thousands of them, lining shelves up to the ceiling. The oldest books that belonged to my Master’s great, great grandparents are here, kept in a special temperature controlled case. Most of the books in here don’t have much value though, and so they can put out in the open.
I never really finish my chores, I just have breaks between doing things on the never-ending list of cleaning and assisting the cook and organizing my Master’s life. Yet, in my rare moments to myself, I am allowed to come here. The carpet is flat and worn, but it is still soft. There’s a big window that lets in all the afternoon sun, and I like to sit under the sill and read or browse. There’s lots of interesting things in here. Encyclopedias. Classics. National Geographics. Fiction from library sales, both adventure novels and crime novels. Heavy, coffee-table style photo collections. Even pornographic stories, that leave me frustrated and sighing. A book for every mood. When the day is too nice to ignore, sometimes I’ll take a book and go for a walk in the garden.
I am not allowed to masturbate, and have not been able to for some time due to the beautiful metal piece around my cock, but I am grateful I do not have the temptation. I would feel guilty feeling, as I would be squandering my time on empty self-satisfaction, all while knowing that I am ignoring this chamber of knowledge just one floor away. I think being denied access to my Master’s library would be a rather formidable punishment. I know my Master likes that I read his books; he believes that even a houseboy should be educated. Every time we have a debate over a current topic or a book plot, it ends up with him getting flustered and then I’m told to bend over and assume position two. Then I hear his pants unzip. He’s a bit of an odd duck, my Master, but I love him just the same.
I am also grateful there’s a clock in this library, or else I would lose all track of time and neglect my chores. Although, there is one chore I get to do while reading. It’s not an official chore, but it’s more of one I assign myself. My Master hasn’t read most of the books in his collection, and he receives many more as gifts over the holidays, so when I’m up here, I often look for one I think he’ll like. I’ll leave it on his nightstand later. Even during time to myself, I always think of my Master first. It is because he is dear to me, and he has given me literacy, the greatest gift a houseboy could hope for besides a collar and His last name.
“Have you seen my coffee? I set it down some-” “I put it by your keys so you wouldn’t forget it.” “Ugh, you know me so well,” he chuckles. I smile. “I do. Don’t forgot we have dinner with my parents after work.” “Uh huh,” he says, hurredly shuffling papers into his briefcase. “Didn’t forget. I won’t be late.” “Good. I’ll meet you there with Olivia. I’m taking her to her check-up at 9, and then getting groceries.” “Don’t forget barbeque sauce,” he says, latching the case. I blink. “Oh that’s not on the list, thank you. Did you have enough to eat?” “Yes. I gotta go love. Gonna be late.” “Hey hey wait!” “What?” he asks, a bit flustered. I grab his tie and pull him in for a kiss. “Just that.” I begin to release him. “Oh, and one other thing.” I pull him close to me again and whisper in his ear. “I’m going to come by at lunch-time and let you fuck me in the bathroom.” He’s speechless. I give him another kiss on the cheek and smile as I smooth his tie. “Have a nice day at work, honey.” “I – I will,” he stammers. “Thank you.”
He gives me a hungry look, then reluctantly leaves for work. Two minutes later, I’m chasing him down the driveway with the portable coffee container in my hand, Olivia squealing happily at my side.
____________________________________________________________ Text is 100% fictional. The gif is from the TV show Shameless, but the text is not intended to portray their characters.
