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torontopup:

domgayhusbands:

You came by your Husband’s office to “drop off a few things” during his lunch break. You knew what that meant- bring Him a sack lunch and blow Him underneath His desk.

When He’s done He’ll give you a pat on the head, a kiss on the cheek, and a reminder to make sure the pot roast you made for him is ready when He gets home.

That bastard! I’d want him to spank me, too!

“Well, If you are a good boy and make a good pot roast dinner, I’ll warm your ass while I eat dessert. Then you’ll plant that hot piece of meat against my lap while we watch a movie, and if you wiggle just right i I juuust might fuck you before bed. If not, you’ll be horny until the morning, babe. You know you’re not allowed to masturbate, remember that.”

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Captions are fictional.

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sportynumbers:

God, do you hate that Dieter. He’s so smug. And so much better at tennis. You were the best in the Naval Academy, but his father hires a personal trainer for him. And he has beat you. And you have to stand there watching as his father congratulates him. Your father is always busy with work, even on holiday in the Hamptons.

You joined the navy. He went to Yale. You thought that coming home with war stories and tattoos would make you cool, and popular. But whenever Dieter is around, all the girls give him doe eyes. And all the boys watch his every move to mimic him. He is so articulate, and funny, and so fit. The skin is glistening from sweat in the sun.

You scoff and turn to put away your racket. Goodness do you hate that boy. And yet, all you can fantasize about is pinning him down anywhere and fucking his perfect ass until you have broken his previous conceptions of what sex should be for him. He may be perfect, and handsome, and athletic and smart, but he cannot fuck himself. Maybe he does not know yet that that is what he wants. But you think he does. You heard the rumors. It gives you a smug feeling to know it will be you. One day you will put Dieter in his place, and make him come all over his Yale sweater.

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Captions are fictional.

carnaltraits:

Vihaan didn’t quite realize just how much he was staring at the blond guy who was drying off from the pool. He was just hypnotized by the way the water sluiced off his body. He was an enticing mix of cute and sexy. Kind of twinky. What made a twink a twink instead of just a regular guy? It may be the pink bathing suit. Vihaan didn’t realize just how much he was staring until the twink turned, and began to rustle with this belongs and pack up to leave.
Vihaan felt a pang of regret. He could stalk him into the shower room, but it felt so creepy to do so. He sighed and wondered what to do. The boy was perfect. He had such a perky butt…

It was dawning upon Vihaan that the blond was walking toward him. He was LOOKIng at him. Vihaan stumbled backwards and slipped on the pool step and nearly fell back in the water. He grabbed the handle and tried to totally pass it off as something he meant to do.

The blond looked amused. He knelt down and placed a folded piece of paper – a receipt actually – on a dry spot on the pool edge. “If you are going to stare, you could at least take me out for coffee and get to know me.”
“Aah-…” Vihaan was so startled he couldn’t figure out what to say. The
blond

smirked, turned, and walked away. Vihaan gawked at his butt. When the young man disappeared into the changing room, Vihaan went for his towel to dry his hands and pick up the receipt. It was a phone number. And it was underlined. In pink pen. “Ohh wow… he really is a twink.” Vihaan tucked the paper into his shoe. He needed to get back into the cooler water so his erection would go away. How soon could he call this boy? An hour? Two hours? Definitely today….

As Vihaan climbed into the pool, an older woman gave him two thumbs up and winked. He groaned.

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Captions are fictional.

Halloween post is being moved to Tuesday… my 8 hour work shifts have turned into 14 hour shifts and I can barely get enough sleep. It’s a Lucien story, so I know you guys will enjoy it 🙂

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underthemattress2:

Goddamn.

“Well, I’m ready.”

Mason tilts his head, “Uh. Are you going to this Halloween party as the Emperor in new clothes?”

Harry smiles. “Nope. I’m going as a pickle.”

Mason’s jaw dropped. “I’m going to start calling you Gherkin.”

“You better not.”

“Come on Gherkin, we need to get going or we’ll be late.”

“Arg! My awesome costume has backfired!”

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Captions are fictional.