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.
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.
It sets back the schedule to take time to punish a work slave, but when a lapse in judgement results in broken materials and nearly injures another boy, there is no discussion – it must be done pronto. Truth is? Every slave makes this type of mistake twice. Smart ones make it once. The trick is not to get complacent, zone out, or get distracted, which can be difficult when one is made to do repetitive hard labor all day. A good slave knows to keep his mind as well as his hands busy and his attention focused. If not, he’ll at least have a reminder to be much more careful next time. At least no one had to go to the hospital this time, no one got hurt. Well, besides the slave boy but …really, now. It will sting, but a whipping doesn’t count as true hurt.
Not compared to the cane, anyway…
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Gay captions.
Another photo from my day at the pool in Vegas
Gideon pulled himself out of the pool and leaned on the deck. “Hey, Paul, can you please bring my phone?”
“Sure,” Paul said. Here’s your phone – and a towel. I’m gonna go to the bathroom. By right back.”
“Cool, thanks.” I dried my hands then checked the screen. No new messages. Fantastic. Being on vacation on Palm Springs was amazing as always. As were the men, Jesus. On a whim, I opened Grindr and checked to see just how many ‘available men’ were near me. Well, no shortage of hot dicks around…1000 feet. 500 feet. 100 feet. I slid through pictures and randomly stopped on one. Jesus, this guy was cute, and smoking hot. There was a photo of him in a gym that indicated some sort of acrobatic background. I wondered how far away this guy was. I did a double-take when I saw the locator: “Less than 50 feet.”
Suddenly, a shadow slid over me. I craned my chin up.
“Well hello,” said Mr. Gym, holding his phone in one hand. “Technology is amazing isn’t?”
“Uh…” I had a great view right up the leg of his swim shorts. I couldn’t resist a sloppy grin. “Yeah it’s pretty fuckin’ amazing.”
“Wanna hit the showers?”
“You bet.”
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Text is 100% fictional. Alex has his own hot boyfriend, thank you very much.
“Barnaby what are you doing?”
”…Reading the paper. What does it look like I’m doing?”
No no, baby, it’s 6 in the morning. It’s time to sleep.“
“But…”
“Did you get out of bed for this?”
“Yeah but-”
“No no this won’t do.” I take the paper out of his hands and toss it down.
“Greg!” he insists.
“Barnaby, it’s sleep time. Tiiime for sleep. The sun is barely up. Come on. Come on now. Down to the pillow. Come on. Nice huh? It’s cuddle time.”
“Greg,” Barnaby protests.
“You know what comes after cuddle time?”
“Sleep time?” He asks.
“Sex time,” I explain, matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Barnaby says. “I guess it is cuddle time then.”
“Mmhm. God you’re so warm Barnaby, come ‘ere.“
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Text is fictional.
Making sure your slave waits for you like a good boy. He hasn’t earned the privilege of being unsecured your home yet, so he’s kept in the bathroom like a good pet until you return. Lucky for him the bathmat is soft and he can get in a good nap, which will help pass the time and leave him well rested for his Master’s affection when he returns.
One might pity the boy, left there, probably bored, but the slave is grateful. After years of rough living in the projects, in foster care, on the streets, with gangs…this quiet type of peace is what he craves most of all. And knowing someone is eager to come home to see him? It’s the cherry on the cake of the life he’s always wanted and needs.
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Text is fictional.
I go to our small fridge and kitchenette to start on breakfast. We’re just two college kids in a joint dorm room, but I liked to pretend I was keeping a neat apartment. I’ve been George’s official ‘companion’ since I was 13, since he had become too old for a governess. Even though he was passed 18 now, there was no way I was going to let him go off to university alone. I pull open the refrigerator door and blink.
“Oh Georgie,” I chuckle to myself. I pick the television remote out of the spot where a bottle of diet soda used to be. The plastic is cold. I walk back to the bedroom area, where George is sitting up but struggling to stay awake.
“Georgie, love?” I set the remote on the nightstand.
“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he mutters in his Hampton accent. He then yawns so hard his jaw cracks.
“No you’re not. Honey, I’m ordering you to go back to bed. You’re exhausted, pushing yourself so hard.”
“Nnnn can’t. I got class…” George fumbles for his glasses but knocks them off the table. He stares at them on the floor. “Damn.”
“I’ll call your friend Amy to take notes for you. You’re taking a huge class load this semester, you can miss English literature. Now come on.” I guide him backwards by the shoulder and he uncurls. “Come on. Into bed with you. Come on.” George grumbles, but he’s malleable under my direction. “That’s it now. Here’s your pillow.”
George latches onto his pillow and nuzzles back down to bed. “Aw yis, it’s still warm.”
I smile. “Now you rest. I’ll wake you for your chemistry class.”
“Mmmnnf. Dorian?”
“Yes Georgie?”
“Come snuggle with me.”
I smile. “You want me to snuggle with you?”
“You have to replace Bearington,” he slurs, nearly asleep.
I cluck. Poor lad, he’s losing it. Bearington was a large stuffed bear from his childhood that had not only fell apart, but was discovered that over one spring a mouse borrowed in and gave birth in it when Georgie was 14. We burnt it and buried Bearington’s ashes on his family estate.
“Well, I guess I can replace Bearington.” I don’t get under the covers because George tends to latch on, so I sit on top and stretch out next to him. George throws an arm over me and pulls me close, so my head is tucked under his chin.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he confesses, before falling back asleep.
I blush deep, even though he doesn’t see it. I don’t think George’s father would have let me go off to university with him if he knew George was gay. If only he knew how close we were…and how close we were becoming… I felt very lucky indeed to watch my young charge grow up into a man. It would be a sad day when I handed him over to another man to marry, but some tiny private part of me hoped the one walking down the Georgie would be me.
I ended up not getting up after George dozed off. I just laid there, and thought about growing up with him, and what the future held. For the first time in years, I lost track of time, and when we both woke up, George was late for chemistry.
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Text is fictional.
Waiting for my beta @pupjesse to catch up 😛
Photo by slyhands
Come on! Hurry up! Gosh, you’re slow for such a big pup. No, there’s nothing interesting over there, I already checked! Oh come on, I marked that spot like an hour ago! Come oooooo~on so there’s so much left to explore still before feeding time!
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Text is fictional.
I listen to him cough and hack. I rub his stomach and he groans. “I’ve been taking medication, why won’t the coughing stop? My muscles are so sore,” Per laments.
“Oh you’re awake. My poor baby, you can’t even nap. I’m sorry cleaning out my mom’s attic gave you bronchitis.”
“It’s not your fault. It was fun, and I love your mom.”
I chuckle. “She loves you too.”
He interrupts in another coughing fit. I wipe away the tears from his eyes. Per breathes slow and hard. “Ow,” he whimpers.
I pat his back. “There there.”
Per sighs. “What are you doing in bed with me anyway? Isn’t bronchitis contagious?”
“I’ll take my chances. Besides, you’re helpless, vulnerable, and also shirtless. You’re also stuck, and weakened, unable to fight me off. So, the cuddle monster got you.”
He chuffs. “Is that so?”
“Yess. You are stuck. You are so damn active all the time that you rarely sit still long enough for me to cuddle the hell out of you. So, I’m getting my time in now.”
Per thinks. “Yeah that’s true. Half the time we spoon at night, we either fall asleep right after or end up fucking.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Ha! No, that’s a very good thing. Matter of fact, when I get better, the first thing I’m gonna do is make up on all that sex we’re missing.”
“Are you now?” I ask, intrigued.
“Hell yeah. But maybe somewhere other than the bed. I’m gonna be sick of spending the day in bed by then.”
“Maybe outside? In a nice meadow somewhere? On a picnic?”
Per stretches, then curls again. “That’s a nice idea. I’ll ask my brother if we can borrow his horses and may–” his lungs seize and he begins hacking again. I comfort him as he spits into a tissue. “Uuughhhh…”
“My poor Per. Why don’t I draw you a hot bath? It might help loosen up all that crap in there.”
“A bath?…That sounds really wonderful actually. Will you bathe me?”
I pause. “Why is that idea so hot?”
Per suppresses a cough. “I dunno. I wouldn’t mind being treated like a King for a day though.”
I swat him on the shoulder. “Just because you have a Prince Albert, it doesn’t make you royalty.” I feel his body tremble with laughter, but that triggers another fit and I assure him through it.
“I miss having normal conversations that aren’t interrupted,” Per grumps.
“Ok, big boy. Let’s get you into the bath.”
“Can I have a cup of chocolate milk too?”
“Anything you want.” I kiss him on the same spot I swatted.
“Alright, get me up.”
I sit up and coax him upright. “Which part up?” I tease.
“Uh, both please?”
“Want me to jerk you off in the bath too?”
Per twists around to look at me. “That’s an option too?”
“Yep, as long as it doesn’t make you cough too much.”
He blinks. “I need to get sick more often.”
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Text is fictional. Per is a Swedish name.
I swear to god, he loves this cat more than me. I mean, look at this! First thing in the morning, I’m there, spooned up next to him, leeching his body warmth and cuddling the hell outta him. All the cat is doing is sitting on him, on top of the blankets – not even under like I am! and yet every morning who does he greet first? The cat. Who gets attention first? The cat. Sure she’s fluffy and adorable, especially when he’s purring, but he once told me I was adorable too right? And I get to be under the covers! Shouldn’t I get a morning kiss before the cat does? Not fair.
The cat knows it’s war. She KNOWS that we are fighting over the attention of the same boy. Sure, I don’t have little toebeans and a bottlebrush tail, but I have a tool in my bag that she can’t use though. I return all my boy’s kisses, then start touching him and humping him…aaand suddenly he becomes interested very quickly in what I can do to make him feel good and how I can tend to his morning needs. You should see the deathglare the cat gives me when my boy sets her on the floor so he can have sex. I know, it’s childish and pedantic to feel like you’ve won over the cat but, I often feel that I’m very close to losing my hierarchy in this household. At least I’m still the top in this relationship.
“What is it honey? You want to get another cat? Noooooo!”
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Text is fictional.