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Just saw your post about Asks, had a follow-up question for you: By using feminine words to dehumanize your ‘fag self’ – such as pussy for example- do you think that this implies that being a woman or being feminine in an insult or a negative thing? I understand that you might not be misogynistic, but you can’t get your headspace without some misogynistic tenancies . How do you feel about this? How do you think your female follows feel? (lol this sounds like a textbook question, sorry.)

Just saw your post about Asks, had a follow-up question for you: By using feminine words to dehumanize your ‘fag self’ – such as pussy for example- do you think that this implies that being a woman or being feminine in an insult or a negative thing? I understand that you might not be misogynistic, but you can’t get your headspace without some misogynistic tenancies . How do you feel about this? How do you think your female follows feel? (lol this sounds like a textbook question, sorry.)

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

slavetothementality-deactivated:

yes, i think it totally does imply that there’s something wrong with being a woman. at the root of pretty much any kind of homophobic or emasculating remark is deep-seated misogyny. it’s a part of me, and i hope it doesn’t manifest in any part of me other than my fag self. usually i tell myself that the way i have sex, as problematic as it might be, is no one else’s business because controlling the way adults have consensual sex is also oppressive (keywords: adults, consensual).

i do acknowledge that what i enjoy is unfortunately the effect of living in a society born in and still ruled by very patriarchal and racist institutions (not the “natural order of things” as many doms/subs or masters/slaves might say). but sometimes simple acknowledgement doesn’t feel like enough. the obvious action to take following acknowledgement would be to stop the oppressive language. being in chastity and getting fucked aggressively can still happen without the power play, but…it just all just feels so much better with it. that’s my deeply ingrained misogyny and racism operating there, and i’m left in an ongoing state of ambivalence. i don’t know how my female followers (if i have any) feel, and i’m not going to try to speak for them. if anyone has anything to say i’m always open to dialogue.

What a thorough,cognizant response; it answers the question without being combative or defensive. Who-ever controls this sub shouldn’t waste his head on blowjobs. I wouldn’t mind a column by this boy.

Any female users want to contribute?

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Oh my, I deeply apologize for shooting your slave in the ass with an arrow young sir. I thought you were in dire peril. I didn’t realize those screams were of another natu…. What’s that? He enjoys pain? …Um. …..You’re welcome then.” The hunter then turns and walks back to the dinghy, a thoroughly confused expression on his face.

[Kept Boy Problems #7 –  eliciting such a feral response from your oral stimulation that someone assumes your master is being murdered. Again.]

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Now as you can see here, this faggot is already hard – it doesn’t take much for them – but sadly he probably hasn’t been milked properly once in his entire life. However, this boy was smart enough to put it in the hands of a real man, so I’m going to show him what that feels like…although it might be better for him if we just lock it up for a couple weeks. What do you think, class?”

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I pause from scribbling in a notebook balanced on my folded legs and lift my head to stare at Jack owlishly. He’s watching me write which instantly makes me self-conscious. I rest my pen and let my gaze slide over Jake’s young body. He’s burnt out, worn down to the bone. We’re just over halfway into our American tour, but this is succeeding a rather extensive tour of both Australia (where he was stung by a jellyfish that just wanted to be his friend) and Europe (where he was bit by a drunk girl who just wanted to be his friend).

We’re in Columbia, South Carolina, today, and the AC in our motel is broken. The entire south/south-east of America is in the middle of a heat-wave. We did last night’s show in North Carolina in our swim trunks. 

Jack’s skinny from being on the ‘tour diet’, but his shoulders are huge from helping the roadies move the amps. It’s not his job, but he wants to help. He’s always been this way, ever since we became best friends at 9. I know him better than his family does – his favorite food is garlic bread, he likes anchovies with extra sauce on his pizza, his favorite comic is a Japanese one called Banana Fish. I also know he’s deeply in the closet and avoids discussing it at all costs.

I give Jack a playful smile and set my writing utensil and notebook aside to my right so I can stand up. With a little cajoling I convince our beached seal of a vocalist to move over so I can fit my legs on either side. He asks why, but I tell him to shush. In a graceful move, I straddle his back, sitting squarely on his ass. Thank god I’m wearing thick jean shorts.

I lean forward and push my palms into his trapezius muscles. The groan I’ve ejected out of his throat is the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard him make. For the next forty minutes, I tenderize every inch of him, including making tiny circles on his temples and stretching out his fingers.

By the time I’ve kneaded Jack’s ass and worked my way down to his calves, he’s sweating and making more noises like he’s in the throes of death. I continue to massage the back of his left leg. Abruptly, Jack abates with the sound effects. I see color rise to his cheeks. “Gotta use the bathroom,” he mutters, before half -falling off the sofa and bolting to the small closet-sized room. I’m left there, sitting back on my own legs, wondering what the hell just happened.

That’s when I notice there’s a tiny wet spot on the sofa cushion…right where his crotch was. Everyone picks on the drummer for being the most disposable and talentless member of the band, but at that moment I am basking in sheer self-satisfaction that I just unwound our vocalist like a ball of string. The best part is, I didn’t get to finish. I still owe Jack a foot massage.

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Note: I want to give a little shout-out to bookofbaitnate. First of all, baitnate sent over some links to give me some inspiration which was rather helpful. Secondly, I have been having a problem with the reblog arrow not showing up most posts I click. I thought I could I only reblog something from my dash. We all know that digging old material out of our dash is impossible if it’s more than 24 hours old. Out of sheer frustration and determination to reblog baitnate’s material, I finally Googled the shit out of it and figured it out. My Firefox plug in, Ghostery, had shut off the function. Whoops! I can reblog anything now! Anything :3 Thanks, nate person!

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

He may be dumb as a bag of hammers, but he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Where on earth did Sir Alastair find him? His eyes are so blue I almost expected them to be reflective. God, I can’t keep my eyes off his penis… it’s just…it’s beautiful. It’s liked he just walked out of a painting, or a sculpture come to life or, some-. “What? My tea? What about – oh fuck, that’s hot!”

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It had been five weeks since we met on Recon, four weeks since we met in the coffee shop. Master Brodrick was a master of the mental mind-fuck. He made it seem like it’d only be three or four days before he executed our agreement… but then a week passed. Then two. I became jumpy, paranoid. The suspense was murder. Just looking at other men on the subway, knowing it could be any one of them, made me leak cum in my underwear. Since Master Brodrick insisted I only masturbate hands free, long nights with my dildos, plugs, and e-stim box were my only consolation.

I soon began to suspect that he’d abandoned our agreement. The paranoia began to evaporate. One night after work, I went to have a beer at a local gay-friendly bar I’d been to half a dozen times since our meeting. With one beer in me, I let my guard down.

I heard the whistle but registered it as back-ground noise. Then, all the men in the bar began to stand up…and they were moving, right towards me. I froze on my bar stool. Suddenly, Master Brodrick grabbed me from behind and forced me up against the bar. A deceptively strong hand went over my mouth. Hands tore at my shirt, my pants. The bartender whiskered threw Brodrick a collar which was cinched around my neck.

I cried out in surprise, pleading “wait wait” and “no don’t!” as a cold hand tore off my underwear, then squeezed and pulled on my balls until I was begging for mercy. More foreign hands tweaked my nipples. Brodrick dragged me me over to a booth and bent me over it, the chain connected to my collar wrapped around his fist. One of his leather buddies pinned my arms behind my back. My ass was on display for everyone to see.

Master Brodrick unzipped and made a display of working lube and pre-cum onto his 7-inch cock that was near purple with blood. He waited for a moment, I suspect for me to say the safe word, but I didn’t. I was near dizzy with arousal and intoxicated the scent of all these real men around me, many who were already stroking themselves. They were waiting their turn, I realized, and groaned. I was stuck. No way out. Brodrick reached between my legs to fondle my cock, then laughed as I keened and tried to rub against his palm. “Well look who is already hard, boys.”

He pinched my foreskin, then withdrew his hand so he could direct his cock deep between my ass in one possessive thrust. My plugs hadn’t prepared me enough for him – I shouted and twisted under him, but he just held me down and fucked me harder than I’d ever been fucked in my entire life. I cried out every time that mushroom head hit my prostate until someone shoved a wad of my T-shirt in my mouth. It was only seconds until master Brodrick’s hips jack-hammered against my body as he emptied his huge load in my passage. It dribbled down my balls and onto the floor. A stranger knelt between my legs and began to suckle and lick my balls.

Touch me! I wanted to beg to the stranger, but the gag did its job. Oh god, one stroke and I would explode like a firehouse. He cruelly avoided my cock, leaving me harder than ever. Master Brodrick stepped away and I heard another zipper come undone… then another.

After 7 men had used my ass to deposit their cum, Master Brodrick took the gag out of my mouth to give me water. I drank half the bottle in one go. He made me drink it all, then brutally yanked my collar so I was upright. Semen coated my thighs and I slipped in as I stumbled after him. Men snickered behind me.

I was taken into the back room where I was forced to pee on the floor in front of everyone. It was humiliating, especially since my erection made it spray everywhere. They laughed at me. For the rest of the evening, I was passed around, peed on, fucked, sucked and made to suck penises that made my jaw ache. Hands would tease my cock, then stop right before I shot. I was near mad with the need for release, but was instead edged and denied for a maddeningly long period of time.

A couple hours later, the last cock pulled out of my sore and used ass that was covered in red marks and bruises. Brodrick set me in his lap, ignoring my gasp of protest, then jacked off my neglected cock. It was the most intense orgasm I’d ever had in my life; little black spots danced in front of my eyes. I opened my jaw to scream but my voice was too raw. Docile and exhausted, I collapsed against him. When he told me to licked my seed off his palm, I did it without question.

He held me close and rocked me for ten minutes to make sure I was alright before telling me what would happen next. He was going to go bring the car around, but first I’d have to walk outside and out to the curb covered in spunk and piss. Subspace is such a powerful thing; I didn’t even blink. I would do it for Master Brodrick. For him, anything.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Does that feel good, my cock in your pussy? Ah yes, groan for me, let me hear you whine as you adjust me to me. [thrust] You’ve been my intern for six months…six months of lunch runs [thrust], coffee breaks [thrust], and blow jobs under my desk [thrust] . Phone conferences have been so much more tolerable since I got to fondle you through them. You are going to far in life, boy, but you aren’t getting a job at our firm until your body is full of my cum. Squeeze my cock boy, I’m going to pound your ass.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

When I bought my farmhouse, my mother taught me to look past the surface layer and look instead at the potential. Anything can be repainted, faucet fixtures can be replaced, carpet can be ripped out, rooms can be added, joined. It’s more important to focus on the foundation, check for mold, etc,

All of that upper-handed knowledge went out the window the second I saw him. I knew, instantly, that he would be going home with me, without even having read his dossier. I didn’t even make him uncurl, I just watched him sleep. I had to spend an hour doing my best acting with Master Rutherford, feigning disinterest and alluding boredom. There had to be a reason why the price was so low. What was he hiding?

Master Rutherford insisted that there was no secrets, it was just he couldn’t handle three and run his rifle business at the same time. I considered his other two boys. They were steel eyed and muscular, one chained up in a choke collar by his feet, the other militant in leather by the front door.

“Handle?” I scoffed, gesturing to the lad asleep on the rug, “He looks docile as a ragdoll cat.”

Master Rutherford set down his whiskey glass, “That’s kind of the problem, actually. He’s very …sensitive. His skin, I mean, and his stomach too. He cries at the drop of a hat. I’ve told him he made a mistake selling himself, but he seems determined to stick it out. I don’t know. I just can’t own a boy I can’t whip without feeling like I’m kicking a puppy.”

I didn’t say anything. I knelt by him, my calfskin boots creaking softly, and pushed a lock of chestnut hair out of his eyes. I traced the back of my fingernails over the knot of shoulder muscle. Gently, I lifted one of his legs too and had a look. Uncut. 900 pieces was a fine price for such raw material.

It was growing late, and this bartering was growing stale. “I’ll take him.” I announced. Master Rutherford clapped his hands together, “Excellent! Most excellent. I’ll get the transfer paperwork ready and send it over to the Processing Center in the morning.” He got up from the sofa and left the room for his office. I stopped him in the doorframe. “A moment, Rutherford?”

“Yes…?” he asked hesitantly.

“What do you call him?”

He glanced at the boy, then back at me, “Names don’t seem to stick to him. He always sleeps in a tight little ball like that…so I’ve taken to calling him Egg.”

“Egg…” I murmured, “A fragile name for a fragile slave.” The boy – my boy – stirred but didn’t wake up. He would be in for a surprise tomorrow when he got the news. “Don’t you worry lad, even if a chicken laid you in a peasant’s hen-house, I am going to turn you into a Fabergé.”

Credit: Photograph by the talented DearIndifference on DeviantArt. You will need to sign in, as most of his photographs are under the mature filter.