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by ccallenreese

Master Eams gave clear orders to his slave that he was allowed to touch his cock but not cum. He expected to see his slave near lose his mind with arousal over the next few days as the temptation built and his balls became heavy. What he didn’t expect was to find him rolling in his Master’s laundry, dirty jock-strap pressed to his nose, one hand furiously masturbating and dripping cum all over his crumpled work shirts.

So, instead of rewarding his slave for doing the laundry and staying chaste, the slave was bound in an intricate rope harness and forced to stand in a corner of the living room.

Master invited friends over to grill some steaks and watch a movie. The punishment in itself was not the bondage. It was being forced to stand there forbidden to serve, which is a slave’s truest nature. It goes beyond handling flatware and fetching things – there were four men in that kitchen with cocks that did not get pleasured.
The slave was ignored through-out dinner and disregarded through-out the film, except for when one of Master’s friends came over to give him a sip of water and tweak his cock. Master Eams had bound it in a forward-jutting position, a painful reminder of who really had control of those erections.

The slave had plenty time to think and regret his actions. When his friends left, Master Eams put the food away and went upstairs. The slave was left alone in the dark.
Two hours later, he came backstairs and told his slave to kneel. He was permitted to suck his master’s cock and for as a job well done, he was mercifully untied. The slave’s taut muscles tingled as the blood rushed to where they had been constricted and he groaned in relief.
Master Eams cupped his chin in strong hands, “Do not disappoint me again. If you feel you are about to lose self-control, come to me first and remove the temptation. That said, there is a paper plate for you in the fridge. Eat it, but you don’t have permission to heat it up. Also,clean the kitchen. Brush the grill slats, take out the trash, wash the dishes, refill the Brita pitcher, and then you may come up stairs to sleep at the foot of my bed.”

The slave bowed from his kneeling position to kiss Master Eams’s bare feet, “Yes Master, thank you Master”. Despite his sore legs he rushed to complete each task, relieved to have been forgiven for such a stupid lack of judgement and is determined to prove himself again.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

chasteslvdog:

Day 21-

Sir ordered me to free up Sir’s property, because dog slave is going to have an interview next Wednesday. However, slave is still not allowed to cum. After 1 week in CB, the balls are obviously stretched and starting handing down,but they are still far from Sir’s requirement. There are still a lot of works to re-shape slave body to please Sir. 

Half of me wonders why I am so non-chalantly staring at some guy’s penis on the internet; the other half of me is thinking it’s ideally shaped and proportionate with his body in length and circumference. I can see why a Sir would take interest it. I like the darker coloring compared to his thighs and how fleshy the tip is.

That said, I think chasteslvdog lives in the same state as I do which makes this is a bit surreal. Somewhere, the guy attached to this penis is just walking around doing normal life stuff. There are about 38 million people in California; about 18-19 million are men and it’s safe to assume that most probably have cocks. Out of ALL those people – out of ALL those millions of people – I have willingly subscribed to updates on just one of those cocks. Not only that, but I look forward to new posts. I will probably never meet this man, yet I am slightly emotionally invested in his sex life and goals. He’s even using moisturizer I suggested! I’m not sure what that says about my life.

Now I’m wondering why I’m having meditative thoughts on cock at 2:53 in the morning. I can’t imagine what it’s like up in the ol’ brainpan for a Sir.

(PS: Good luck on your interview, dog.)

Gallery
by ccallenreese

The art world is buzzing about the newest avant-garde art installation at the Homme Gallery. It’s called “The Male Orgasm” and it’s interactive. The exhibit is in its own room; only one patron may enter at a time. Undressing is optional, but critics say that being nude brings a deeper appreciation and understanding of the installation.

Kristoph never used to be one for the arts, but his boyfriend Saul wanted him to be more cultured, so they went along together. It was Saul that encouraged his hesitant lover to get in line and participate in this special installation. He did, and Kristoph left with a fantastic new outlook on the world of modern art.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

I love this part of the morning when Vaughn’s cock has woken up but his mind has not. His cock is trying its best to obtain its morning wood and swells painfully in its plastic confines. He’s been locked up for a week now, and now every morning leaves him more maddeningly frustrated than the last. I listen to him moan and hump the bed for an orgasm that will never come.

Vaughn used to hump the bed often in his sleep and ruin not only the sheets, but any chance of sex before breakfast which is my favorite. Something had to be done. He of course protested surrendering use of his cock to me, but I can tell he loves being horny for me all the time because it means we have more sex. A lot more sex. When I tell him he’s gorgeous riding my cock like a champion, he just drips like a faucet. That mental image makes my erection throb. Enough of this farce. I lubricate my cock and crawl onto the bed to mount that big bubble butt. He’ll feel better once I’ve fucked him and reminded him of his role in our relationship.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

It’s just past dawn, almost 6 am. He looks over at me to see if I’m awake. I am barely, but enough to see him attempt a trace of tired smile. To say we’re both exhausted is an understatement. It’s been three months since we ran away from home together. Both of us wanted to stay in West Virginia but after the incident with the baseball bat and the car fire, we knew we had to go.

We spent the last month harvesting cranberries in Wisconsin and two months in Michigan harvesting apples and working on an organic pig and chicken operation working sun-up to sun-down until our backs ached and arms cramped. The fatigue may never leave us.

Winter is almost here. We’ve been hitch-hiking for four days now, racing ahead of blizzards. Last night, we befriended a lady truck driver that hooked us up with a free motel room here in rural Minnesota on the border of the Dakotas. Sleeping in a bed again was fantastic, even though it was freezing and there were mice in the walls. Before this, we slept in a shelter, on a heating vent in a park, and in a manager’s office trailer at a construction site.

The nice woman we met is going to pick is up in about an hour. There’s jobs waiting for us in the next state over – me, hard labor for a fracking company, and him as a parking attendant at a ski resort. We’re excited. It’s going to pay well. In the spring, if we have enough money, he’s talking about getting his EMT or white water rafting training certificate… me… I don’t know. I don’t even have a GED.
I also don’t know if we’re going to survive a winter in North Dakota. I don’t know if we’re going to make it to Oregon. I know, I know, everyone runs to Oregon. He’s been obsessed with making it there ever since he learned about the Oregon Trail in middle school. Westward, he says, is where home is. One foot at a time, or in our case, one mile at time.

I comb my hair as I watch him brush his teeth. There isn’t much to eat around here. I make some coffee. I discover apples, mini cereal boxes, and milk cartons in the lobby. We feast in our motel room while watching cartoons like little kids. We might be constantly near broke and desperate and crazy, but as long as we’re with each other we would be happy digging ditches. I look at him with a spoon in my mouth. He smiles fully this time. “We have a good fifteen minutes until she picks us up”, he says, “And one last condom.” I blush. “15 minutes? Is that enough time?” He says it is. It is.

____________
[ed note – the man in this photograph is Bartek Borowiec, a Polish fashion model famous for his stunning red hair and natural androgynous beauty. Most of his photographs are artsy and saturated as a quick search shows, but once I saw this picture, the story wrote itself.]

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Locked & Denied: Sometimes There’s Just No Relief

by ccallenreese

Locked & Denied: Sometimes There’s Just No Relief

So. Every locked boi knows how horny you can get when you’ve been locked and unable to even touch your cock and denied orgasm for long periods of time.  My cage was locked permanently 68 – 70 days ago.  I have been unable to simply touch my cock, feel it get hard, or masturbate like normal though I have had some in-cage ruined orgasms.

In times past, when I felt horny I would jerk off, sometimes multiple times a day.  It was so nice to be working at my computer then taking a “porn break” and get off.  Can’t do that now.  But what I do when I have a rush of horniness now is take a porn break and fuck a dildo.  It seems that my body is learning to translate horniness and its relief to my hole now.  Instead of having my cock swell in response to horniness, my hole twitches.

Anyhow, this top guy comes over for a hook-up.

He loves the fact that I am so horny I will do just about anything.  He loves teasing my locked cock.  He loves how when he bites my nipples I gasp in ecstasy.  He works my body hard until I am a writhing mess of sexual need.  He gets between my legs and pokes my hole with his bare cock.  I am in such need I try to pull him in.  I’m not caring about barebacking at this point, I just want that cock inside me.  But he denies me.  I beg for him to penetrate me.

He moves away and lays back on the bed, opens his legs and invites me to suck his uncut cock.  In no time at all and he is close.  I want him inside my hole.  Suddenly he explodes, shooting cum into my throat and splashing it across my hand and his groin.  I worship his cock hoping to get him to fuck me and cum a second time.

He doesn’t.  He lays there playing with my locked cock and balls, fingers stroking my hole.  I’m desperate. I ask him if he wants to see me masturbate like a bitch.  He says, “This I gotta see.”

I pull out the Hitachi vibe, plug it in, turn it on high and push it against my locked cock.  It feels soooo good.  It takes a long time to cum like this, just vibing the cage.  He starts probing my hole with his finger and biting my nipples hard and in just a minute or two I begin to feel my orgasm rise up.

I want and dread an orgasm.  Want, because, well, men always want to cum.  Dread, because the orgasm won’t bring the same level of relief as having it out of the cage and because I will be MORE desperate to cum for the week after.

Since I know better than to cum without permission when there is a REAL man in the room, I ask “Please, Sir, may I cum?”  He pulls away from me and he says “No!”

I immediately stop the vibing action on my locked member.  I was seconds away from coming.  He laughs when I nearly sob in frustration.  My hole quivers in need.  I ask if I can stick my new Kevin Dean dildo on the wall and fuck myself in front of him.  "No.“ he says, "Like you say, bitch, its about MY pleasure, not yours.”

He gets up, gets dressed and leaves.

Leaves me panting and in need, the taste of his cum still on my lips.

The next day I ask … no beg him to allow me to ride Kevin.  "Ride him all you want but don’t you dare cum.“  Every morning I text him and ask if I can cum.  He says "No.”  Every day I ask if I can have the pleasure of fucking a dildo.  I don’t know from day to day whether he will allow me to ride the dildo, or him.

Fucking hot!

Dear Abby, If you put a couple pieces of candy corn up a boy’s ass and left em there, do you think they’d dissolve? Would it make a rimming taste better? Google does not the answer. Sincerely, Perplexed on the West Coast.

Dear Abby, If you put a couple pieces of candy corn up a boy’s ass and left em there, do you think they’d dissolve? Would it make a rimming taste better? Google does not the answer. Sincerely, Perplexed on the West Coast.

by ccallenreese

bookofbaitnate-deactivated20181:

“Now, that brain you gave me. Was it Hans Delbruck’s?”

“Abby Something. Abby Normal. I’m almost certain that is the name.”

Oh boy. You’re asking the wrong Abby, lol. I Candy Corn and Rimjobs, two things I’m not fond of! D:

But since you asked: The large intestine does contain bacteria cultures that break down food. However, since you’re inserting the candy corn in through the (food-wise) exit door, they’re gonna take a long, long time to dissolve, because you’re bypassing the stomach and small intestines, where the majority of food breakdown occurs; the large intestine is like the “cleanup crew” that finishes the job and gets rid of the waste.

I’m not sure if candy corn melts at body temperature. Anyone know? Because if it does, then you might be in luck that way.

Haha you actually responded! What a concise answer too for someone on Nyquil, and I hope to hell you don’t have weird dreams because of this. Knowing Tumblr, there has to be someone somewhere with a candy corn ass fetish. *In a Hank Hill voice* I just don’t wanna know who that is.