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alphajock:

Woof
One of my favorite parts about Christmas is putting up the tree.

One of the most enjoyable tasks for a boy in service – putting up and decorating his Sir’s Christmas tree. His Sir put lots of careful consideration into selecting the best cage, collar, and muzzle for his boy to wear around the house, so it’s best to bring the same consideration into the only other thing his Master loves to look at as much as his boy. alphajock posted how he only gets to come once a week on a Saturday, but maaaybe if the tree look particularly breath-taking, he might just get a White Christmas after all…

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Rupert shifted and panted, deep into a three hour heat. His cock was swollen in its cage, and there a trail of pre-cum around the house. James had edged him by ghosting his fingerpads over his sensitive cock and balls and worked his boy’s nipples until Rupert was a mewling, crazed mess, desperate and insane to cum… but then James got a call, something about a patient who put their hand through a meat grinder and required James’ skill. He left. Rubert had to fight every second to keep his fingers out of his body, away from the source of all his pleasure, the sweet gland responsible for his orgasms. Oh when will he be back? All of his nerves were running hot, even the carpet felt abrasive under his shins. Oh god James, isn’t this an emergency too? When will be home to fuck Rupert senseless? He hated that patient, hoping they’d just cut the hand off and be done with it. Rupert whimpered. All he could do was wait, wait and drip.

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porno-graph:

      Working in the welfare office in Louisville, I met a family in dire straights. The Father and two children were American citizens, but the rest were ineligible. I approved them for the full amount. If I roasted in hell, it wouldn’t be for this. After I transferred to another department, the Richards kept up with me. The Father told me, “We will never forget your kindness.” Since then, they had opened a successful up-scale Southern Restaurant. I was never presented a check when I went.

     The family had great hopes for Eric, who at 19 was the oldest of 6. He showed great promise as a cellist. I had heard him play; he had natural talent and the drive to perfect it.

     Mrs. Richards phoned me just before Christmas. The family was going to Canada, but Eric had obligations. “Can he stay with you? It’s OK if he drinks, but I don’t want him around hoodlums or loose women.” I promised I’d look after him. She seemed relieved.”Thanks, Mr. Dosch.”

     Eric practiced his cello, went to his Christmas concerts. He was so handsome I looked at anything else to keep from staring. On the morning of Christmas Eve, he asked if we could have some special punch. “What do you need? I have plenty of liquor but can go pick the rest up from Kroger’s—they’re open until 7.” I fixed hors’doevres: brie and sharp cheddar, smoked oysters and sausage balls, along with some sweets I’d bought at a gourmet shop. We nibbled and drank the punch he’d made.

     It was delicious but deadly. It tasted like fruit juice, but had brandy and rum in it, and you couldn’t taste the alcohol. We were flying after a couple of small cups. “You’re a good friend, Karl—the kind I can trust completely.” He was standing very close and put his hand on the top button of my shirt, then undid it. He quickly started undoing the rest of them.

    He was irresistible. I have a fetish for dark hair and eyes. I pulled his sweater up and he raised his arms; I pulled it off. As he finished unbuttoning my shirt, I was unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. I knelt and took his shoes and socks off while he undid my cuffs. I stood up and he started kissing my chest and neck. I leaned down and put my mouth on his, my tongue slipping in while my pants dropped to the floor. Eric sighed: “Beautiful and blond—you’re perfect.” The expression in his eyes was unmistakably. Being 10 years older, I had to know he wanted me.

     We lay naked on the rug and kissed. He touched hot spots on my body. He stroked and licked my armpits, pinched my nipples, and ran his hands down my stomach and up my thighs. His nice sized uncut cock was hard from touching me. I was hard from his attentions, even though he hadn’t laid a finger on my dick. I could feel calluses on his fingers from playing.  He raised my cock to his mouth, sucking heartily. He said, “Mmmm,” when I started to leak. I had him on his back, straddling his head with my knees. We both started sucking, making muffled sounds of uncontrolled sensation. I pressed my tongue to his ass and licked. I poked with my finger. I tapped on his hole, rubbed it with my thumb. He sucked harder.

     When I stopped, he stayed on his back, spreading his legs. He raised them in the air into a wide “V.” I got a condom and some lube and knelt between his legs, I rubbed his ass and my sheathed cock with the lube, sliding into his tight hole gently. I took his ankles in my hands. I entered the rest of the way slowly, until my pubic hair was brushing his hole. I stopped, moaned,”Relax.”

     I started fucking gently, picking up speed as his reactions showed it was feeling good. Eric gasped,”Fuck me however you want.” I began to use my ass and thigh muscles to penetrate him quickly, then slowly, drawing all the way out, plunging in fast. He scratched my back with his nails, stroked my ass. I was sweating, and after several minutes, I looked into my eyes. He was about to blow. It went all over his stomach and chest. I put my mouth to his torso and licked up every drop before I started fucking again. Eric begged,”Let me taste you.”

     Holding on by a frayed thread, I kept at it as long as I could.  I pulled out and ripped off the condom, straddling his chest. He gulped down my cum while he stroked and pulled on my balls. I kissed him to taste our mingled semen. We fell asleep holding each other.

     Eric ended up at Julliard. When he was in town, we made up for lost time.

     Four years later, we were lying in bed. He looked at me happily and said, his voice low, “You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

     I was elated.”I loved you even before that Christmas.”

     In a confidential tone, he said,”I think Mother set us up that Christmas. My parents have known I was gay since I was six. I could have stayed with aunt Sophie.” I was shocked. “She never forgot what you did for us. I heard her telling Father that you’d be a good man for me.” She was right. 15 years later, we flew to California and got married.

Lovely and sexy.

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perfectnonfreedom:

Kenneth MacMillan.

No, this isn’t a recent shot of a dancer in costume for a performance with a black and white filter over it. This shot was taken in the year 1951, which makes it 62 years old. By sheer coincidence, this is how old MacMillan was when he passed away in 1992 – 62 years old. He died backstage at a show, a true dancer to the end.
Something’s really captivating about this shot – if you saw Kenneth in a pair of Buster Browns walking down the street to get a soda on a nice spring day, he’d just be another neighborhood lad in his early 20s, full of ambition about the future, maybe flirting with the girls. Put him in different shoes however, and he becomes a timeless embodiment of art. His feet come to life, and his body follows. Once a dancer, always a dancer.

Also – I originally thought this picture had a Puerto Rican Billy Elliot vibe to it, but as you can tell by his last name, MacMillan was Scottish. His career was mostly in England and Europe. A true star of ballet, gone but not forgotten. I wonder what he would have thought of Tumblr.

Source, with more photographers from the archive, is here.

December? But it was 73F today!

December? But it was 73F today!

Ok, so for the last few days I’ve been building a mental checklist of what to put in my end of the month post but I kind of forgot November ended…

Anyway. Couple things to mention. One is that my numbers exploded this past month due to this boyfriend/cat picture of mine catching fire. People are still messaging me thinking I’m one of them, so in case you missed the 1000 notes I posted – that post is fictional. It was a writing exercise. The original poster and one of the men in the photo is El&El

On November 1st, I had 513 followers & 517 posts. As of now, I have broken 1,600 followers as a result of that blow-up (1,608) which is more than a 200% gain! I’m so shocked, thank you everyone. Post count is 747 at the end of November.

Top 20 OC posts of November (excluding that boyfriend one):

My Unusual Roommates
Bondage Heals Soldier with PTSD
Fallin’ for the Bad Boy on a Motorcycle
Rescute
Cute Little Cock in a Big Cage
Ash Unlocks Himself
CJ Gets Milked
Power Bottom Needs Sausage before Meatloaf
Off. Now.
Team Fag Faces Dilemma
Big Cock, Big Problems
Call It What It Is
Dirty Talk
Cock Nostalgia
Chaste Collared Boy Sends Picture Text to Sir
Kiss Me Again
In the Navy
Home For the Holidays and Already On My Knees
Ivan Reprograms Himself to Get Laid
Kip Loves Cock

Don’t forget to check the archives and tag list! Thanks everyone for reading.

PS: If you are in a guy in chastity, please feel free to send me pictures to caption. Since most chastity pictures are self-posted on Tumblr, I feel weird captioning them without permission and requesting it is such a pain in the balls. Thus, sending me pics to use is the quickest way to get chastity stories.

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femme4masc:

He had the nerve to ask YOU, his pussyboi princess, to do manual labor, because “one of the cars is really dirty and what does that say about us [he has a point there] and no one can come do it because it’s a holiday weekend and blah blah blah. Excuses.

You figure: if you’re going to have to be on all fours with him for the better part of an hour without getting cock, you might as well make him pay for it. So you wear your favorite slutty jockstrap panties. And just that.

Poor Stud is so distracted. Washing the car’s gonna take way longer than you thought, but you’re enjoying this — making him suffer — too much.

He even tries to rub and finger your pussy a few times while you’re bending over to scrub the tires. You slap his hand, look back coyly, and admonish him, “We have to focus on the work at hand, baby, because the car’s very dirty, and what does that say about us?”

By the time you’re done he’s practically salivating. Without saying a word, you sultrily walk back into the house, paying close attention to the movement of your cheeks, now glistening with sweat.

Three steps into the house and you can hear him running, panting towards you like a wild animal coming after its prey..

Three minutes after and you’re pinned under him, moaning and calling out to the heavens for the way he’s taking you.

Making him wait, and just a little angry, never ever fails to make him ravage you.

Hell hath no fury like a power bottom scorned.

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I’m going to bed early to sleep off this cold, so here’s your late night ballet photoblogs a bit ahead of schedule. Can I file this under the red underwear tag? Hell yes.

The dancer himself is Raphaël Coumes-Marque, with the SemperOper Ballett of Dresden, Germany. Here is performing a ballet called The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude directed by William Forsythe. I think. I got that from like three different languages – French, Croatian, and English.

William Forsythe)
William Forsythe)
The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude