It took me a while to realize these were from Queer as Folk (US version). Such a great series. Shame you can only watch it for the first time once.
Tag: black and white
Getting dressed for Thanksgiving Dinner is taking forever. Your family is probably wondering what is taking so long. You were just gonna throw on any comfy shirt and some nice jeans, but then your sister brought over a friend from college… a male friend. A hot Australian male friend, and not only that, but a hot bisexual Australian male friend. So of course, he out-dressed you just by showing up looking handsome and striking. All six feet of him in pressed slacks and cashmere. You never felt so juvenile in your life; first impression ruined in an instant.
So hence, why you were in your bedroom making these important decisions. You finally picked a pair of pants, and had moved onto the underwear. This was your best jockstrap, and the most expensive. It lifts your ass and turns your sloping cheeks into round globes. It makes you feel instantly sexy, much like you imagine a pair of heels does for a woman. You examine yourself in the mirror and cannot find a bad angle. God, it makes your cock look twice as big! You tuck in a ball that’s escaping and nod. Good, this will work under your best slacks.
However, you cannot help but puff your cheeks and sigh. This will only work if he actually gets your pants off. If he doesn’t, he’ll never see it your package on display like this. That’s going to be the challenge. You have a loose plan – get him a little tipsy, be friendly, and try your best not to make metaphors about “stuffing his turkey”. You cringe. That won’t work. You want him to fuck you anyway. You want that hot Australian guy to pin you to the bed and boss you around with that incredible accent.
Shit! Look you down. You can’t get an erection this early. You dig out your plastic chastity device and slip it on, securing it with a plastic tie. You can always slip into the bathroom to take it off before anything sexy happens.
You pull on the pants and pick out a shirt. Much better. You look good. Your ass looks great. You come downstairs to greet a flurry of relatives. In the mess of everything, you don’t get to talk to the Australian guy until later. You’ve missed the dark looks he’s been giving you all night. He knows there’s something about you he likes, he just can’t figure out what it is. Your confidence, your assertiveness. Your ass in those slacks. He’s never been so bothered by an American boy before, and he doesn’t know why it’s happening.
You are relieved that you chose to put on that chastity cage because you’re now suddenly horny for no reason. Every time you look at his chiseled face and frame in that sweater you just want to pounce on him. Not being able to get a hard-on is making you even hornier, and as the dinner marches on, you feel sluttier and sluttier. You know after everyone leaves that you’re going to be spending the evening with your dildo.
Except that never happens…cause when everyone is busy with coffee and pie, you excuse yourself to use the bathroom. The Australian says to the table he’s going to go too, just to know where it is, and no one is any wiser to his plan. He catches you in the bathroom and the tensions explode. There isn’t any time to unlock the chastity device, but it doesn’t matter. Once he finds it in your jockstrap, his hormones pulse at full blast. He pins you down with your hands behind your back, and teases your straining dripping cock with his fingers. He is fascinated and uncontrollably aroused by the sight of you. You were never allowed to remove your device, neither the first or the second time he fucked you against that counter. …
Nor the third, fourth, or fifth time he had you overnight. You two barely got any sleep, and he left you barely able to walk by the time he left with your sister, back to their college. What was most frustrating at all was that you were only allowed to cum hands free, and it was somehow the most infuriating and satisfying sex you’d ever had in your life. When your hole recovers, you plan to use it as a masturbation fantasy for weeks.
You remember the instructions he gave you – to keep your cock locked, and to send him pictures. Updates. You were going to obey. It was too hot not to. They were coming back for Christmas, and you wanted to show that hot Australian guy what a good American boy you could be. You knew you were probably supposed to feel a little shame about being such a whore for a guy you barely met, but when such a tempting cock is attached to such a fine specimen, your legs just fall open. As long as he kept bossing you around, they would stay open long past New Years.
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Text is fictional.
Excellent music video depicting two men dancing together without resorting to stereotypical male/female roles. It emphasizes strength and grace and passion. The music fits well too. Watch watch!
(Source: https://www.youtube.com/)
Everyone wants to have someones arms wrapped around them when they fall asleep at night.
You hear the cries first. It pierces your rest like a sharp piece of glass. With great difficulty, you pull yourself away from the warm embrace of sleep. The baby is still crying. Your lover stirs under you, but you speak up first. “No, I’ll go.”
“But itsh my turn,” he slurs, mostly sleep still.
“Go back to sleep,” I say firmly. He worked a long shift today.
He doesn’t need another second to reconsider this and immediately dozes back off. You sigh and extract yourself from your comfort spot – latched onto his back like a koala. You sigh again as you get out of bed and your skin prickles in the cool air. You find your way into a bathrobe and stumble down the hallway like a zombie.
The baby is red faced and flailing. You smile when he stops crying to look at you with big blue eyes. He’s really cute, even when he’s waking you up in the middle of the night. Those cheeks! Those dimples! The tiny fingers! You transport the infant to the changing table and with practiced motions, whisk away the soiled diaper, clean the infant, and fix a new diaper in place. During the day you use cloth, but at night, you use disposable ones. Thank god, you think, yet again congratulating yourself on that idea.
The baby is still fussy, so you amble to the kitchen with the kid latched on your shoulder. With your eyes mostly closed, you wash your hands. Then, you prepare a bottle, test it on your wrist, and let the child nurse pressed up against your bare chest. You nod off but snap to attention when you remember what you’re doing. A long yawn follows. The baby burps in a timely fashion and is put back to bed; despite your fatigue you tuck him in carefully and make sure he is comfortable. You linger over his crib until he falls asleep.
It’s only then are you free to return to the paradise that is your own warm bed, complete with the thermal body of your beloved Sam. You slip out of the bathrobe and dive in, hurrying to be attached to him again.
Sam stirs. “Hey, e’rythin ok?”
“Yeah, the Goober’s fine.”
He smiles and chuffs through his nose. “I love that you’re such a good father to our baby. Its sexy,” he says. Or you think he says, as it all comes out as one long, slurred word.
You pause a moment, wondering if you heard that correctly. He said “our”. He hasn’t said that before now. It was always “his” baby, or when Sam was speaking, “my” baby. Technically, it wasn’t even his.
For a while, you two and Sam had an open relationship after years of waffling between on and off monogamy. Sam made the mistake of having one drunken night with a ex, only to wake up sober and discover she’d gotten six times more crazier since he’d left.
Not long after, Sam found out she was pregnant. They were gonna make it work. She had gotten her fix of attention during the nine months of pregnancy, but was over the whole motherhood thing an hour after a rather uncomfortable delivery. When she found out Sam was bisexual, and his lover had been a man, she said the baby boy was “tainted” and planned to leave town. Since Sam had used a condom, he had gotten a paternity test. The baby wasn’t his. Sam went over to her house to confront her the night she was leaving and they had gotten in a huge fight. She was going to be leaving town with some deadbeat that had blond hair suspiciously like the baby boy. Sam took a hair he found on the sofa, the baby, and left. The DNA in the hair matched the infant’s profile.
Sam knew he was not legally obligated to care for the infant, but to do so was a great miscarriage of justice. Turning that sweet, perfect baby over to a drug-dipping deadbeat with Aryan facial tattoos and no GED was a textbook recipe for trauma. Sam kept the baby as his own, and it brought his relationship with you to a new place. A closer, more intimate place where you were now a family instead of just a couple.
Then Sam had proposed. You said yes. The wedding was in a few weeks, and you could barely wait.
You snuggle up to your beau, infatuated with him and lovesick. The magnitude of passion you feel toward him and that small helpless baby in the other room overwhelms you sometimes. You’re tired, and part of you just wants to cry with bliss. Sam presses back against you.
He keeps pressing. You’re surprised he’s still awake. Your groin begins to stir as his round little butt keeps brushing against your silk boxers, right over where your cock has nested for the night. You grunt.
“Sam…” you say.
“Mnnng…” he replies, still rubbing. You reach over and down and feel for his cock. It’s hard and jutting straight forward. Not hard to miss. Sam makes a content noise when you play with it.
You’re not quite sure if you are dreaming all of this, but you have to be, because there’s no way you can stay awake. Yet, you find yourself reaching backwards for the nightstand drawer. In the dark, you fumble, and find a condom and lube. You tear it open with your teeth and roll it on; you open the lube one handed and drip it everywhere. You slick up your own cock, then toss the closed lube bottle on the floor.
“Hold still,” you whisper. Sam stills. You put a leg over his hips and position the blunt tip of our cock against him. In one motion, you’re in him, and Sam moans. He hasn’t gotten laid properly in two weeks. You’re in him, and he’s magnificent. Sam undulates against you and you make love to him gently. You kiss his shoulder and reach again for his impressive cock. The pace accelerates from zero to sixty in three seconds. You work your hips quickly; you both tense, and then it’s over. Sam cums into your hand; you fill the condom. It takes a tremendous effort to move again. You wipe your hand on a tissue and rip off the condom. You just leave it open in the trashcan, there’s no energy left in you to tie it.
Sam is asleep again, smiling now. You can tell, his breathing has changed. A feeling of comfort settles over you, of paternal belonging and satisfaction in your roll as a man of the house. You’ve taken care of your offspring. You’ve pleased your man. All is good in your house and domain.
The night is now yours. You cling to Sam, and fall back asleep.
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Text is fictional.
Bert wrapped his hand around the thick, swollen meat of Roger’s cock. It was throbbing in his hand and it made him excited. It was a really gorgeous cock, not too long, but thick, taut and cut. It begged to be sucked. For Bert, it was a relief to just let his thoughts about the war and occupation fall away and let his basic instincts take over. He stopped suddenly, his lips hovering over the slick flesh of Roger’s glans. Roger was looking down at him, his brow lightly furrowed in concentration.
Bert froze. “Did – did I misinterpret something when you took off your pants?” he asked hesitantly. He still didn’t release his grip on his prize.
“No….that’s what I wanted. I knew you wanted it too, the way you were rubbing me like that. You’re all pent up and horny, just like me.”
Bert nodded shyly and began to lap at the pre-cum beading on the tip. Roger continued talking as he sucked on it like a lollipop.
“I know your type too. I bet back home you’re the all American boy. Wholesome. The pride of your mother. There’s probably a girl from your childhood who thinks she’s gonna marry you one day. You probably first joined the Navy to see the world and make your dad proud, but you were really in it for the men. I bet you had a taste for men for a while. I bet some nights the craving to be with one just makes you lose your marbles. I bet you lie awake in your bunk too and wonder what it’d be like to have sex, to be taken like a girl from behind.”
Roger was delighted to see that boy between his legs blush hard.
“You’re not going to return home a virgin, Bert. You’re too eager, you love cock too much to let that stone be unt– nnnng! Ahh yeah, do that again. Mnn hell, that feels good.” Roger lost his train of thought a moment, watching through heavy lids as his cock slid in and out of Bert’s pretty lips.
“Yeah that’s it…god you have such an eager tongue. I bet after this war is over, you’re gonna go home and find yourself miserable. Too hard to be a queer in a small town these days. You’re gonna move to the city and just drive the boys wild. Especially in that uniform…”
Bert blushes again.
Roger smirks. “Yeah…that’s it. Nice and slow. We got a whole day off and the bowels of the ship to ourselves. Don’t rush that now. It’s all yours. God, what an eager little cocksucker you are.”
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Text is fictional
Abraham lingered on the curb, letting the noise of the carriages and horses and pedestrians fade away to a background buzz. He clutched his gloves in his left hand, not putting them on again despite the cold chill of approaching winter numbing the tips. Instead, he glanced down at the apple creating a noticeable bulge in his front coat pocket. Abraham had been residing in Italy and had a special fondness for winter and the produce it brought. He’d made it a priority to grab an apple from any cart he saw when out conducting his affairs. He’d just bought one from this young man…
Abraham made his decision and turned back around. He strode down the block with a straight back and steady gate, despite the limp from a childhood accident. The young man didn’t see him coming. He was restocking fruit from a crate.
“Excuse me.”
Ethan looked up and he blinked at the stranger. “May I help – oh you were just here.” He set down the create. “Is there something wrong with your apple Sir?” He puffed warm air out of his cheeks into cupped hands, rubbing them together.
Abraham couldn’t tell how old he was. A young man, clearly, still dressed like a boy. They were almost the same height, but it was impossible to see his shape under that stretched sweater he was wearing dotted with holes and trousers patched far too many times. Abraham felt embarrassed standing next to him, because he felt foolish, like a ponce. He envied the natural beauty of this fresh-faced pauper.
“Here,” Abraham said, a bit too loudly, straightening his arm. “Please, take these.”
Ethan’s jaw slackened. “I – I can’t Sir I -“
“I"m not asking. I’m tell you. Take them.”
Ethan hesitantly took the gloves out of Abraham’s hand, as if this were a mean trick. When Abraham didn’t mock him or pull them away, the young man dared to inspect them. They were fine leather – calfskin, maybe. They were hand-stitched and lined with wool. Ethan slipped his hand into one and was surprised at how warm it was, and how well it fit. It was if it had been custom-made for his own size. His hand began to tingle from the sensation returning.
Arbaham saw the happiness on his face, and it occurred that it was the first true, earnest emotion he’d seen in a while. It made him feel contentment he didn’t know to be possible. He nodded, tipped his hat, and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Ethan interjected.
Abraham turned.
“…I can really keep these?”
“Yes. I’ve bought apples from you before, and you’ve always been pleasant. It’s getting cold, and it’s nonsense that a boy your age shouldn’t have a pair of gloves in this city. I have an extra pair. It’s no bother.”
“My god, thank you Sir, these are – these are – I can’t even form words to describe my gratitude.”
Abraham smiled. “I hope better fortune finds your way soon.”
Ethan nodded eagerly and watched in awe as Abraham went. He watched Abraham go. He was a handsome fellow, and even with his uneven gate, had a commanding presence. Ethan felt a knot of arousal flair up low in his hips but quickly pushed it away. It wasn’t nice to lust after a man who just gave you a present, even if he was handsome. He was a dandy, and his mother said to be wary of men like that. Still, Ethan doubted a man of such fine standing would court a boy of such low standing such as himself.
When Ethan slid his hand into the other glove, his fingers bumped against something. He’d missed it before because the glove had been on the bottom and folded in half. With confusion on his face, he pulled the heavy thing out – it was a half sovereign coin. Ethan softly gasped. It was his weekly wage in the palm of his hand.
He looked up for the stranger but found him gone.
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Text is fictional.
I had gone to the dungeon as a last resort. Years of psychological damage from childhood and poor self esteem had left me fragmented and hollow, and therapy could not touch it. I wanted release. I wanted to break through. I wanted to crumple and die and be reborn on the other side.
I was terrified when they tied me to the A frame with ropes and cuffs and chains, spread eagle and naked for a handful of naked and leather-clad spectators. I wanted to use the safe word. It was on the tip of my tongue. Instead I used “yellow”, over and over and over again, until I was sure the man in the mask would frustrated with me and tell me to get out. He did not.
Instead, he listened. He went slow. He spanked me and whipped me until I screamed and my muscles shuddered after each strike. I saw nothing but stars. Over and over until I lost track of them all. I could hear the others murmuring but could not make out what they were saying. I could hear him heaving from the effort. Then, he said, “Good boy," and gave one final strike. At that moment, I felt myself come apart. I ejaculated all over the floor. That gross, ugly, dirty shadow of shame that had clung to me ripped away and left me fresh and new and exposed on the frame.
"Stop” crossed my lips as I burst into tears. It hurt to cry – my face ached, my throat hurt. It felt as if my body had sweated out all its liquid and was pulling water from deep inside of me. The masked man and his assistant immediately untied me. The masked man set aside the whip and brought me to the floor and wrapped me into his strong arms. I did not care about his scent, or that his biceps were damp from sweat. I clung to him like a buoy as if I were deep out in dark waters. He rocked me and shh’ed me. His assistant brought me water; I drank it so fast I got hiccups.
The masked man chuckled and soothed me through my hysteria, cleaning my nose and my eyes with a handkerchief.
“There there…it’s alright. Come down now. That was very intense for your first session. I was impressed by your stamina. Alright, breathe for me. Yes, that’s a good boy now.”
“Am – Am I really – good?” I stammered.
He blinked down at me. ‘Yes. You’re a good boy,“ he said, petting my hair.
At that moment, I fell in love with him. I didn’t know his name. I hadn’t seen his face. But I loved him. I curled up against his broad chest and just breathed. No one had ever called me a ‘good boy’ before. No one had ever told me they’d loved me and meant it. No one had held me like this in my life.
I heard a new voice at that moment and realized it was the voice of his assistant. "Master Beaumont, I must say, I think he’s yours.” I looked up at him through swollen eyes, but I did not understand the expression on his face or the sentence he just said. I didn’t care. I fell asleep.
I woke up in the nurse’s office in the dungeon, under a blanket. My back felt hot, but numb. They must have put something on it. I was on my side. I tried to sit up. The noise of the blanket gave me away and a man came into the room.
“You’re up,” he said, relieved.
When I heard his voice, I realized it was Master Beaumont. His face was like a charcoal sketch, angles and lines with a sweeping jaw and bright curious eyes. My love for him did not weaken.
“No – no don’t sit,” Master Beaumont instructed. “Your bottom is still quite tender.”
I reclined back down to the pillow. “Yes sir.”
“Good boy,” he said, almost on reflex.
I tried not to weep more. I was completely dry. He gave me more water with a straw in it and had me drink. I felt better.
Master Beaumont said down on a chair next to me. “Peter said to me – that he’s never seen a session like that before. When I was rocking you at the end, he also said you the same expression his dog had when he adopted her from the pound.”
I gazde up at him, smitten, although I didn’t know what to say exactly. “Keep me,” I said.
He let out a slow breath. I knew he wanted to say something, but instead he said nothing and just thought.
I live in his house now. I serve his needs. I serve his body. I care not for my clothing or the importance of a career or some resemblance of identity. All I seek is for him to seek me. Even an offer of his warm hand stretching forward to cup my cheek makes me melt away. I love these simple moments, these delicate caresses when he shows me the same love I feel for him. And if he wants to make me the happiest person in the world, he will add “Good boy” for a job well done. It’s all I’ll need for the rest of my life.
I have broken through, and here, on this side, there is peace.
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Text is fictional. Still looking for source.
Harry makes a new friend. Harry’s brother taught him how to demonstrate that he understands his place and show respect to more dominate men. The technique works well. Harry barely has to pay for any of his bills anymore.
Learn from Harry.
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Text is fictional.
“So…let me get this straight.”
“There’s nothing straight about this, boy.”
“Ok, well then, let me see if I can make this clear.”
“Go on.”
“So this job of cleaning your house naked was actually an interview?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to move out of my shitty apartment in to your awesome house and be your houseboy and poolboy?”
“Yes.”
“Naked.”
“Yes.”
“And when I finish my degree in massage therapy, you’re going to probably expect me to massage your impossibly-hot-for-48-year-old-body out by the pool?”
“Yes.”
“And you want access to my cock and want me to fuck you when you demand it? and will sometimes fuck me in return?”
“Of course. It is a long, beautiful uncut cock, I intend to enjoy it.”
“Uh ok, just…clarifying a few things.”
“Any other questions, boy?”
“….Uh, yeah, when can I start, Sir?”
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Text is fictional.