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Why is my neighbor staring at me again? His wife never does. How annoying. That guy is so hot too, it’s really annoying. What does he want? What is he looking at? I really should get some curtains for this window. Weird. Where was I in this catalog? Oh hey that’s a cute rug. Wonder if they have curtains…
What do you mean, this is not a chew toy? *tilts head*
“Pup I just washed that give it back.”
Michael was not amused, but his pup sure was. He clearly thought this was a game, bouncing back on his paws and pulling the jockstrap out of reach.
“Puppy that’s my favorite one. Don’t get it dirty again with your pup slobber! Don’t be bad now. Come on, give it. Giiive.“
Michael snagged it with his fingers, but his pup thought this was a game too and pulled it back. Michael was forced to get it go or else he was going to wear out the elastic.
“Puppy!” he complained. This was what he got for leaving his pup cooped up in the house these last couple days. Between the rain and work, there just hadn’t been a lot of time for walks. His pup ‘woofed’ at him and put his head down with his butt in the air, tail wagging. Michael rubbed his temples.
Just then, the doorbell rang. His pup was off like a lightning bolt. “Pup, no! Waaaaiit no.” But when he got to the front door, his pup was sitting there in front of the screen door wearing only a T-shirt, his plug, and the mask, with the jockstrap in his mouth. Michael turned bright red. Of course, he had left the front door open cause it was such a nice day out. On the other side of the screen door, the mail carrier was holding his package from Amazon and looking embarrassed. Michael felt his face turn red. He was sure the post office guy knew there was a dildo in that box.
Michael tugged his pup aside, then gave him a firm swat on the pup accompanied by strict words to sit. Mercifully, the pup obeyed him. Michael received his package and apologized to the mail clerk. Michael shut the main door behind him after he left, and groaned. He was probably going to get black listed from the USPS for this. Michael turned to face his pup.
His boy still had that jockstrap in his mouth. Michael looked at the box. Well, now he had a weapon. Eventually, Michael was able to negotiate with the pup to trade the jockstrap for the dildo. His pup began chewing on it, and Michael sighed. He put the box in the recycle bin and went to look up pup training in his area. Negotiating with a dog was not a good sign, and Michael knew he was weak against his pup’s cute face. It was time to hire a professional.
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Text is fictional. I <3 gayboykink’s pictures.
Wow. That is what real swagger looks like. So macho. So confident. I can’t believe I thought I could pull that off. I was never a real, true man. God, how on earth could I ever convince myself that I could pretend to be someone I am so obviously not? Even if I dressed the part, it would still be putting lipstick on a pig. Everyone had to know I was in denial. My place is at HIS side, complimenting his masculinity. And well, a submissive boy always looks good under the arm of some very hot meat.
“How are you doing?” Daniel asks gently. “Great! I’m almost done peeling these carrots. Everything else is measured out and ready.” I nearly take my finger off when I feel a slight touch on my ass.
“Looks great. Can’t wait to taste this cake you’re making. Going to be delicious.”
“If I don’t forget an ingredient. Or mix up the sugar and salt. Or burn it. Or burn the house down.” Daniel chuckles, then kisses my cheek. “You’ll be fine. I look forward to dessert.” He gives me another ass pat and then strolls back into the living room where the game has returned to the television.
I watch him go. His mildly possessive touches have left me feeling warm and smiley. For the first time in my life, I’m really, truly content. I had been so unhappy in previous relationships and I never knew why. Daniel understood though, more than I ever could. I just liked to please a man, make his meals, fold his socks, be there when he needed to rut… it was a bit simple, if not a bit of an outdated mentality, but it was more rewarding than any office job I ever could hold. Spending a Sunday afternoon inside, making a nice carrot cake for after Sunday’s dinner was so fulfilling. Plus, I could put the cake pieces in Daniel’s lunchboxes for the week and he would love that.
The best thing though was that Daniel really appreciated me. His supportive comments were so natural, so casual, as if this is just how it was supposed to me. Me, him – us – in our effortless roles. Most alphas I have met are rather aggressive bastards. Daniel is unbelievably chill. I’m sure if some man tried to take ownership of me in a club, a beatdown would occur, but it would take a lot to provoke him into such a state. No, Daniel was a laid back-guy. He was just happy to appreciate the simple things in life – a cute boyfriend, a football game on the screen, craft beer – a nice middle class life. Plus, home-cooked food, made with love.
I wondered how he would feel if I started baking wearing only an apron.
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Text is fictional.
I had had sex before – one night stands, club hook-ups, Grindr rendezvous in new cities – but I had never let anyone make love to me, because I did not trust of those men with my love. I often thought perhaps I should be a bit embarrassed how much I liked the cheesiness, the sappiness of romance and secretly pined for it. I never told anyone how much I really wanted that, more than anything. Until, that is, I met Todd. When I met him, I honestly thought he was going to be like all the rest. I indulged him, this man who was seventeen years older than me and still out looking for fun at night. But it was Todd who pursued me days after we fucked. Todd who flirted with me, who actually cared about me beyond my dick…
And then when Todd got bad news, he pushed me away, and lord for whatever reason I ran right after him. Now here we are, the night before his brain surgery, sharing his bed and about to make love for the first time. We knew this might be the last time; god forbid something went wrong in the operating room. Yet, Todd decorated the room for me. He brought out the nice, high thread count Egyptian sheets in gold, my favorite color. He bought some lightly scented candles and lit them for ambiance. Gentle classical music played in the background. On the nightstand were our negative STD tests. No condoms in sight. Just nice, warming lube, wash clothes, massage oil, a few little toys, high quality bottled water… everything a couple could need in one room.
Although the passion and love that followed that night remained clear to me fifty years later as it did that night, the brightest memory I have is the moment just before we began. Todd and I were sitting in bed, both naked, the sheets up to our waists. He leaned into me; our heads touched. He put a hand on my arm, but said nothing. We did not need words to communicate. When I opened my eyes, I saw his were wet and he was holding back tears. I knew if I tried to say anything the same thing would happen to me.
I don’t think I said another word that night until he was inside of me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.
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Text is fictional. Source is the movie Truth.
These were taken before I had the base ring enlarged a bit, but the cage fits great. This is flaccid and erect in the cage.
I accepted a glass of cranberry juice with a dash of vodka and settled into the sofa. My beloved, sweet-faced houseboy was already massaging his bare feet. After a long day running around the stock exchange floor, I loved every second of it. After the formatlies of ‘hi-how-was-your-day’ and ‘what-did-you-do’, I moved into the conversation that really interested him.
“So Peche, I saw your Tumblr update on my lunch break.”
Peche momentarily paused, then continued the rub. “I’m really flattered you enjoy reading it so much Sir.”
“well, I think it’s good for a boy to reflect on his life a little. Encourage others to follow the same path.”
“Yes sir.”
“And I know you didn’t mean for it to be funny, but the twin photos of your cock had me laughing for like twenty minutes.”
Peche titled his blond head. “Pardon sir?”
I was trying to supress a chuckle even now. “Here…” I pulled out his phone, opened the Tumblr app, and scrolled. “Here. This. See? Your cock is shown flaccid and hard but -” I let a laugh slip – “It looks the same!”
Peche turned a deep red. “Well it – it doesn’t really-”
“It absolutely does. I have your little cocked locked up so tight it can’t harden at all. It’s all an illusion that it can harden, my pretty boy.”
Peche shifted on the floor, turning his Master’s socks rightside out. “Well – I am happy to please you Sir.”
“Mmm it pleases me very much. When I saw you naked the first time, I thought two things. One was that you took my breath away and that had never happened with a lover before; and the second thing was that you were absolutely born to wear a chastity device. The way your small member was straining so hard to impress – I felt so bad for it! You were so distracted with it, so obsessed with trying to make it bigger, trying to stroke it with your silppery fingers…” I sipped my drink. “It was a situation that begged to be rectified.” I watched Peche’s face. I could tell I was making him horny because the blush was high on his cheek bones. He wasn’t doing anything now but staring at me. I hoped he was imagining either the first time I fucked him, or the first time I fucked him in chastity. Both were equally memorable. The second night lasted much longer though. I sipped again.
“It’s just so much better now. Can you look at me and tell me you don’t like being horny for me all the time?”
Peche kneeled behind the coffee table and thought it over. He looked a bit surprised to be asked that. “well Sir…it’s…new,” he said carefully. “Being horny nearly all the time is strange. It takes discipline to set it aside and focus on other things, but when you take time to express my needs…it all seems to come back at once. It’s incredible the volume of lust I seem to feel, and at times, it feels like it will never end and I’m going insane. Then when it’s over, there’s the relief and the bliss, and I never want it to end. when it fades away, I want it again immediately. It’s almost like a drug. I hate it, but I want it, and …” Peche tilts his head again, in thought. “I realized I could either have a short, pleasurable sex experience and orgasm, or I could delay it and have more time coupling with you.” Peche suddenly looked down, shy. “I like the latter option.”
My jaw fell to my knees. Why had I never asked Peche these questions before? I wanted more personal, sensual responses like this. There was so much that went on in my houseboy’s head that I never knew about. Such a passionate boy. My heart throbbed for him. I swallowed hard. My pants were painfully tight. I set the glass on the coffee table with care because I was afraid I might drop it. “Peche,” I said softly. “Come here.” I patted my lap.
“…Am I going to be spanked?” he asked, timidly.
I choked on my spit and coughed. “Don’t be absurd. Now come here.”
Peched looked confused, but he obeyed, standing up and coming over to me on the sofa. He climbed on and I pulled him into my lap. I lifted his chin and kissed him fully, enjoying the way he tensed and then melted under me. I pressed my lips to his again and again, then I nibbled on his bottom lip and pounced once more. Peche was quickly breathless in my lap. My other hand wrapped around his package. He made ragged, frustrated noises in my ear. My pulse thudded wildly in response.
I dug around in the sofa cushions with my free hand, desperately searching for the bottle of lube I stashed there. I exhaled with relief when I found it.
“Lift your ass, Peche,” I instructed, touching his hip. He rose over my lap, so I could reach down and free the length of my shaft from its confines. When the tip touched air, I moaned and began to rub lubricant into it. Peche was nuzzling me, kissing me, waiting for the moment when I would enter him.
He made quite a noise of surprise when I threw him down on the afghan spread over the cushions, onto his back. “God Peche you are so beautiful,” I murmured, caressing him from pec to pubic bone, enjoying the way his stomach muscles fluttered under me. Peche was red all over, blushed and a bit fuzzy, just like his namesake. His juices were dripping too. “Perfect.”
I pushed up his leg and positioned my cock. Peche’s toes curled before I even breached him, and if I hadn’t been so focused on this need to be in him, I likely would have laughed at that. His body was tight and put up good resistance, but it was not a match for me. I entered him with one thrust. Peche tensed so hard around me, it was if I was being pulled in with a tractor beam. He whimpered and fisted a pillow. “Sir!” he yelped. “Oh Sir!”
I released a big breath of air I was holding and swallowed hard. “Relax…relax,” I cooed. I didn’t move at first. I just enjoyed the view of this vulnerable houseboy, open and thrumming with sexual energy underneath me. And I had to admit, I was wrong. I could tell he was hard. His cock was dark and leaky. I cupped his balls, which made Peche arch his back and plead for me to move. Not yet. I kissed him on the lips, wishing I was flexible to bend in half and suck on his nipples. I had to settle with tweaking them with my fingers.
Peche suddenly gasped and pre-cum gushed from his chastity cage. His eyes were wet. He looked a bit overwhelmed. It was time. “It’s ok…I’m going to make you feel human again. When we are done here, I will have to tie a string to you or else you’ll float away.” I pulled out, and pushed in – slowly.
Peche’s gaze was glazed, faraway. He wrapped his thin fingers around my wrist. “Julian!” he cried.
“Shh shh…”
I bent over to kiss him again. The sun dipped low in the horizon, filling the room with an autumnal golden glow. I made love to Peche as thoroughly as I could, pushing past my two orgasms into a third, until Peche’s body gave up. Exhausted, I watched rapt, as an orgasm quaked through him from the inside out. He cried. I loved him. By that point, it was dark, and it felt like just the two of us were left in the world.
Peche woke up in the bath. I made him dinner later, and it confused him – even more so when I insisted I feed him. When he protested, I told him to shush. Part of being his Master meant more than just protecting and caring for him, as my houseboy. It meant doting on him and spoiling him once in a while to show him just how special he was to me.
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Text is fictional.
Dorian stepped in the room. “How the -…” The pups were everywhere! “How did you all get out of the cage?” Dorian glanced down at at the solidly built bulldog in front of him wearing a mask. “Oh right. Forgot the mitts.” He sighed and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Well, let’s get back to locking you -” Something fell out onto the floor when he removed his keys. It was a treat. The pups all starred up at him with intent. Dorian could see their cute little heads working it out – if there was one, then the entire pocket must be full of them!
“No. Sit. Stay. No bad pups! No – ack!” Dorian found himself quickly overwhelmed by eager, energetic pups who overwhelmed him, licked him into submission, then raided his shorts for their prize.
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Text is fictional.
As it turns out I had my most intense dom experience recently, and this has been on my mind a lot.
We talked about the scene a few times. A couple days before, I told him how much I’d enjoyed a brief flogging with him previously, and mentioned that I’d like to repeat that experience but deeper. The night of the scene we talked, over dinner, about what each of us would like to get out of it–I wanted to share the endorphin high with him, the experience of subspace, and the sense of vulnerability and trust. He wanted to be let go and be hurt, to be pushed further than he wanted to go himself–and he trusted me to guide him through that.
To have someone extend that trust to me is both exhilarating and humbling, particularly because I dom so rarely. I think that in many ways it’s more difficult to be the leading partner because the responsibility for safety–and fulfillment–falls on your shoulders. Both in an emotional and a physical sense.
Just before the scene we checked in again: I asked whether I could restrain him, whether I could gag him, and outlined the warmup and apex I had in mind. He asked whether he could pass on a safeword and I told him that for this scene it was mandatory, and we practiced verbal and nonverbal signals.
As I cuffed him, spread out for the flogging, I reminded him where he was likely to lose circulation and feeling, and showed how I’d check in on each hand to make sure he was OK. This was his first time fully restrained, and he was clearly nervous–I spent about ten minutes just reassuring him that he was going to be OK, telling him how proud I was of him, how good he looked in that position, and so on. Just caressing, squeezing, and kissing him, to get him eased into a place where he felt comfortable giving up control.
As we warmed up I introduced him to the flogger–across his face, across his back, letting him smell the leather, and continuing the same physical reassurance from before. When he was ready I started in with light strokes, then a gentle massage. We went at that for… maybe 20 minutes or so. A friend of mine is an excellent impact top, and I try to draw on his technique, his ritual, as it works so well on me.
At forty minutes we were going full throttle–aggressive strokes in varying patterns across his back, and he was moaning and whimpering and… things started to click for me. I *owned* him. I *protected* him. I’d expected him to abort much earlier, to call a stop, but he let me beat him harder and harder until I was swinging as hard as I could, and still he took more. Took more of me.
Our checkins became more and more aggressive–I’d draw my hands gently across his back still, and squeeze his hands, but as that sense of ownership grew I started to growl, to tell him what a good, obedient boy he was, how much he needed this. Fingers deep in his mouth, biting down hard at the nape of his neck, as he rolled his back moaning, just on the verge of panic. I choked him and forced a ball gag into his mouth–and that was enough to break him. His sobbing, his raw heart imploring me to stop, but asking for more… I don’t know how to describe the admixture of ferocity and compassion that rose from me in those moments.
I beat him as hard as I could, more and more amazed at his endurance and trust. I own him. I protect him. When he dropped from screaming to a limp, shuddering, silent hang, I came in again to check. His hands had just given out. In the space of a few seconds he’d gone from checking in to nonresponsive, and I knew that was his time. I’m not sure how many levels of resistance we’d broken through, but that was deeper than he needed to go.
And it’s… in the aftercare, really, that I felt most dominant. I ungagged him, reassured him, unbuckled the restraints as fast as I could, and held him up while he sagged limp in my arms, sobbing. Poor guy couldn’t even walk. I’d poured a glass of juice for him before we started, and had him drink a little to recover. Carried him to bed, and undid the restraints completely.
And then… I held him, for an hour and 45 minutes.
Kept him warm, kept him safe. Easy voice, calm strokes down his body. His eyes wild as I ordered him to breathe with me–count in, count out. And as he came out of that whimpering, inchoate subspace the most… small, plaintive questions came rushing out, and it broke my fucking heart. I was so worried I’d taken him further than he could go, that he was somehow broken forever, and promised him over and over that I would *never* strike him again, that he had been so tough, so brave, so giving of himself. I didn’t know how to make myself a big enough shield for him, but I held him, and told him everything he felt was OK, and little by little he surfaced again, and laughed, and shivered, and cried and held me more.
Like metalworking, the fire of a scene makes one’s psyche ductile, deformable, workable. Push the wrong way, and people can easily bend out of shape. But fold and hammer in the right places, and the soul becomes stronger. Your bond as partners becomes stronger. In the cooling process of aftercare I feel our annealing; him cleaving to my strength, my cladding wrapping around him. I feel past wounds come oozing to the surface, and hopefully, healing stronger.
That’s domspace for me. The utmost compassion and responsibility for another human being; to see them at their most unguarded, their most fragile, and reassure them that they have value; to accept whatever they feel, whether scary or ugly, and create a space for them to heal. To push them in the ways that they need to be pushed, but can’t see through on their own. To love them completely. To see yourself through their eyes as protector, as guide, as all-powerful and terrifying and merciful all at once; and to give all your physical and emotional reserves to bring them through that experience, and back home safe.
This!
This is one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I’ve seen on Tumblr.
Ooooor you can tame your lover with a chastity device and then you can cuddle for as long as you like. Well, until he gets horny at the sight of you in chastity and starts humping your ass…
“Of all the things we could have done today…” he says with a contented sigh.
After a moment, I reply. “We could have gone for a walk.”
“Or gone to the movies,”
“Gone hiking.”
“Day tripped to the beach.”
“Went to a museum.”
“Returned those books to the library.”
“Did laps at the pool.”
“Go for a run.”
“Volunteered at the cat shelter.”
“Got my oil changed in my car.”
“Spend too much time on Facebook.”
“Gone to the County Fair.”
“We’re still doing that next week right? With Jen and Rachel?”
“Oh yeah absolutely.”
“What else could we have done?”
“Gone to that new exhibit at the Annenberg.”
“Power washed the driveway.”
“Solved the drought crisis in California.”
“Stop global warming.”
“Cured Malaria.”
“Built an orphanage.”
“Figured out cold fusion.”
“Stopped the obesity epidemic.”
“Those are all good things,” he notes.
“Mmmhm. But we didn’t do any of them did we?”
“Nope, we stayed in and fucked this Saturday afternoon instead.”
“How was it?”
“Amazing,” he sighs again. “I love that you let me rest on pecs. You are so comfy.”
“You are a bit…heavy. Have you been bulking up at the gym?”
“Oh baby, you did notice!”
“Of course I did. I appreciate you wanting to better yourself, and if I must inconvenience myself by forcing myself to gaze upon your sculpted, naked male body, I will – even if I have to suffer for it.”
He giggles. “You know out of everything we just listed, the gym was the one thing I actually planned on doing today.”
“You going?”
“Nope. I got my work out.”
“I did most of the work,” I reminded.
“No no, you don’t understand. Today was the day I work out my ass.”
“So …good work out?”
“Great work out.”
“I’m glad we’re getting so much done today.”
“Me too. Can we cuddle more now?”
“See? Another thing we can cross off the list.”
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Text is fictional.