Les Danseurs by Matthew Brookes
fuck
They look like a flock of human flamingos. Can you imagine that scene from Fantasia with the yo yo with ballet dancers?
Tag: black and white
I hear someone’s footsteps behind me. I can sense it’s Shea without him even saying anything. I ignore him though and focus on my task. My eyes remain closed. Then, after a moment I feel Shea’s breath on the back of my neck and his nose bumps my ear. I can’t ignore him nuzzling me, especially when he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Shea, I’m meditating,” I gently say.
“You’ve been meditating for an hour. I want you.”
“You want me how?”
“I dunno…I just want to be with you. This country air is making me feel romantic.”
“Really?”
“Mm hm.” Shea kisses the shell of my ear. “This is how i meditate.”
I chuff and open my eyes as I glance over my shoulder. “You’re distracting.”
He smiles, not at all feeling guilty. “Sorry.”
“I like it.”
Shea puts his second hand on my shoulder and rubs them. “Can we make out for a bit?”
“Make out?” I tease. “Like we’re in high school?”
“Yeah,” Shea replies. “I want to kiss you.”
“Is that so?” I ask, interested. “You don’t want my dick?”
“Dicks are good. I like dicks. Maybe we can get to that later. I dunno, right now…just want to kiss you.”
“Come ere, sit in my lap,” I offer.
“I’m bigger than you are,” he reminds me.
“Then you sit here, and I’ll sit on you.”
“Mm that’s a good kissing position.”
We trade spots. I sit down on his firm thighs and Shea wraps his arms around my waist. I slide my palms up his stomach as our kisses begin. Maybe he’s right about this country thing. The air is so clean and sweet here that everything else smells amplified. Shea’s own natural scent is present, warm and inviting, with a bit vanilla, a bit of sandalwood, with a bit of pheromones mixed in. I run my fingers through his hair and kiss him again and again. I don’t even notice my cock -or his – is painfully hard and leaking until half an hour later.
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Text is fictional. Source:
Travis Stevens and Tyler Hill, in a scene for Helix Studios. (Link nsfw.)
Cute
Adorable!
I peer over my magazine. Oh my god he’s so adorable I might die. “Aww Rocket,” I coo.
He whines and paws at my leg.
“Oh I know, sweetheart, I know. Your bed is in the washing machine right now. You drooled and leaked cum and got muddy pawprints on it, it was gross. I had to wash it.”
Rocket whines some more and puts his chin on my lap. I scritch his head. “You can’t wait for your nap huh?”
Rocket shakes his head.
“Alright, I think once is OK.” I pat the sofa next to me. My pup emits a muffled bark and springs up. I lift my magazine out of the way so he can shuffle around and get comfortable. After a moment of kneading the cushions, he drops his blanket over my legs and flops down with his head on my lap. I chuckle. “Are you comfortable?”
My pup yawns but is wagging his tail.
“Good, good.” I pat his flank and lean back. “Now where was I in this article?” I twist my fingers into the hairs at the base of my Rocket’s neck and read my article. Soon I’m enjoying listening to the sounds of my pup breathing slowly as he sleeps contentedly on me.
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Text is fictional
Basic domination with nothing but will and a chair.
“So you were gonna top me. Huh. Explain to me how you are gonna do that again? Just curious.”
There is praise I can never give you, for there are not words, or emotions, or smiles to convey how much I am grateful for you. You somehow, always, telepathically know when I’m at my worst. It’s usually after therapy, but sometimes just for no reason. Those are the days when the medication isn’t working, and I just can’t get out of bed. I don’t know why you want to be with a guy suffering from clinical depression. I mean, I love you, but it’s hard for me to show it. I don’t feel like I deserve to love you, or if I’m even loving you right at all, because I don’t feel many emotions. I mostly feel just negative ones. I always feel unworthy of you.
Yes, I know that release of endorphins and hormones from sex is healing and therapeutic. You know that making me have release can help wash my brain of the crap inside so that the drugs can move in and start working. I just struggle to initiate it. I mean, I struggle to lift my spoon. And yet you somehow, magically, see every time when I need it the most. You swap out my underwear for jockstraps while I’m showering and so of course, I put them on. I feel sexier that way, which enforces a positive body image. Still, I just can’t make myself go after you but you always, always come to me.
You climb into bed with me and pry me off of the pillow. You scoop me into your arms and kiss me, like I’m Sleeping Beauty. You make me feel treasured, and curiously flattered when your hand squeezes my ass. You rub against me and make me forget everything – how depressed I am, how deep in debt I am, how bleak my future is. You remind me that my future has you in it too, and just maybe, I can climb out of this hole.
Your embrace becomes this warm envelope of hope and humanity. You turn my sorrow into silk. For that, and all the ways you’ve supported me, I will always love you. And because of that, I have stopped thinking about suicide; because if the afterlife is absent of you, I do not want to go.
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Text is fictional. “You turn my sorrow into silk” is a lyric from giselle’s Silk. The Favored Nation’s remix is pretty good too. By the way, if any of you have suicidal thoughts, please call 1-800-273-8255 or your nation’s helpline.
The slave lifts its head. He hears footsteps coming up the creaky, wooden stairs. They’re heavy and boot-clad. Instinctively, the slave turns itself in the uncomfortable cage so that he’s on all fours, head down, eyes down. The boots stop at the landing.
”Now that’s what I like to see,” booms a bass voice. The man walks forward. The slave startles a little when a big hand smacks the top of the cage.
”I figgered you had enough time up here, boy. I just want to make clear what happens if you disobey me. I don’t go right for the whip. Instead, I put you up in the Cage, up here, in the dark even during the brightest days, where it’s drafty and the mice run ‘round. And you will still stay here until your attitude changes. I find that’s the best deterrent to loose behavior ‘round here. The other slaves will tell you as much. How long you think you were in there boy? Permission to speak.”
The slave works its dry mouth. “Thank you, Sir. An hour…? An hour and a half maybe?”
The man gave hoarse chuckle. “Try twenty-five minutes.”
The slave was silent.
“Now you get it. You gonna be a good boy, Sir?”
”I’m going to be a very good boy, I promise!”
”That’s what I like to hear. Now let’s get you watered and washed off. I want to inspect you. Damn slavetraders always try and cover up pro’lems with dirt.”
”Thank you for the lesson, Sir.”
”Attaboy now. N by the way, your new name is Blue. You’ll meet Red, Yellow, and Green later.”
Blue tries not to smile. First time he had a name he actually liked. “Thank you for the name, Sir.”
”You’re pretty docile, for a slave. You should teach Green some things. Boys back is always covered with stripes.”
“If you’d like me to, Sir.”
The new Master just nods. He unlocks the cage and instructs Blue to come out. Blue stands, awkwardly. His Master gives him a hand with his numb limbs and pulls him to full height. Blue keeps his eyes on the floor, but his Master cups his jaw in a frighteningly-strong hand and forces him to meet His gaze. Blue feels a knot form in his stomach when he sees his Master’s firm, grey gaze staring back at him.
“Welcome to the farm, boy. Work right, this might be your forever home.”
Blue can’t bear it any longer and drops his gaze. He tries not to give away just how hopeful he was for that to be true, though. He hated being transported and auctions gave him anxiety. He internally resolves to putting all his energy into pleasing his new Master.
“I will aspire to it, Sir.”
“Atta boy.”
The Master places his paw over the back of the boy’s neck. Alright now, let’s go get you situated and collared.”
Blue happily goes along like a tame lamb.
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Text is fictional. Source below:
“I"m going to be a very good boy. I promise!."
This is a new shot.
model: Tyy M
Aaron Valenzuela by Stephen James
Vasquez glanced over his shoulder, a bit terrified at the reaction he was gonna get from all the men in the audience. There was a painful second of silence, and then applause and whoops. Vasquez’s face lit up. He shook his butt a little more, and the crowd went wild. He grinned. He had been so stunned when he got this job. Every man in the audition room looked a hundred times hotter than he thought he was. But here was, stripping for money, and the crowd loved him!
Vasquez gyrated his hips and let his chest harness jingle. The cheers made his heart sing. Medical school was going to pay for itself! Vasquez shoved his pants down and let the audience get a nice view of everything from his spine to his turkey waddle. The music blared and Vasquez was in the groove.
He knew one day there’d be hotter, newer men, but Vasquez wanted that sweet money as long as the train was running. Also, he was 24. He wanted his ego stroked as much as his dick.
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Text is fictional. Source:
“Congrats, you passed your Chem mid-term, read ahead on your English assignments, and you re-registered your car. You have been such a good boy this week, I think you definitely deserve my cock.”
Heath licks his lower lip, involuntarily. “Really? Really really? Been thinkin’ about it so much lately…”
I begin to undo my pants. “Hell yeah. Big prize for a good boy. Hell, you are a totally different boy than the one I met three weeks ago, drunk in a gay bar a night before your mid-terms, harassing men way out of your league, barely passing his classes… and what was the other thing?”
“Living on junk food,” he admits, sheepish.
“Yes, that. So amazing, the power the little device around your cock has. Kind of scary to think your free cock has such power over you.”
Heath shifts back and forth on his feet. “May I suck you now? Please?” he begged.
“Yes yes, sorry…just waxing nostalgic.” I move my hand to my wrist.
Heath interrupts me. “No. I mean, please, leave it on.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You like when it’s on?”
“Yeah,” he admits, looking every more impatient, “Cause it makes you look rich and respectful, and I find it kind of hot to serve a man with status. Plus you know, I love a man that feels confident enough to look fully dressed wearing only his underwear and his watch.”
I chuckle under my breath. “I love when you talk about me that way, but boy, you don’t make any kind of sense when you’re horny. Get on your knees now, and don’t come up until you’re rational again.”
“Yes sir! It…might be a while Sir.”
I smile at Heath and cuff him behind the neck. “Take your time.”
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Text is fictional
One beautiful late-night ballet reblog for you all.
“Can I get on? I wanna get on,” he grouses, pouting all the while, climbing into my lap.
“Woaah – ok there big guy. Oof! Watch your leg there. Ok oook alright. Are you sure you don’t want to do this somewhere more comfortable?”
“No now,” he insists, settling into my lap. “Put it in me. I want it.”
There is something oddly adorable about the sullen, childish tone he is using with me. I reach under and position my cock up. He wiggles his ass until he gets into the right place, and slides down with a loud gasp until we are flush.
“Oh god, yes,” he breathes, wrapping an arm around me. “So good, so good.” He clenches his ass and moans as I push up into him. “More.”
“You have to do some of the work, baby,” I gently remind hm.
“I just want to be connected. I missed you so much.”
And there it is. He put on a stiff upper lip when I picked him up the airport, but when I got him home he totally fell apart. He’s always been one to hide his emotions until he’s all stuffed up. Sometimes when he’s horny, I can get himself to bare himself to me without any guards up at all. After months away, he was fragile as spun glass.
“You missed me?”
“So much,” he sniffles. “London was grey without you.”
“You didn’t have a good time studying abroad?”
“I learned a lot but I was lonely.”
“Aww, there there. I’m here now.” I run my palms up and down his back, doing my reassure him. I tense my thighs and trust up into his tight ass; he rewards me by squeezing his buttocks around me and groaning. I sigh as I slide in and out of him, my face and nose buried in his shoulder.
No condoms. No distance, not in miles, not in centimeters.
“I missed you too.”
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Text is fictional.