Tag: dat ass

Gallery
by ccallenreese

gayboykink:

The tender moments of submission.

Andrew gazes fondly over his prize, stroking the boy’s chestnut hair. Oliver’s not yet awake, as the drugs haven’t worn off. Andrew knows when Oliver comes to, he might be scared and flail so he keeps the ropes on for the boy’s own safety. Andrew knows once Oliver sees his face, everything will be alright. He smiles, satisfied. The deep hit to his bank account was worth it. Every penny as valuable as gold to him. He knew he was taking a huge risk hiring that shady man to kidnap his boy and steal him away, but Andrew could not bear another day knowing his boy was out of his grasp.

They had been lovers once, but when they were in college. But Oliver’s father had crippling gambling debts, and jealous of his beautiful face, sold his own son to pay off his loansharks. Andrew could not afford the cost, and could only watch helplessly as his lover was ripped from his arms and taken away. The private investigator he hired tracked Oliver to a slave work farm in upstate New York

Andrew saved for two years to acquire enough money to afford the kidnapper. It was only after Andrew received a small inheritance after the death of a grandparent was he able to hire the man. He was nearly broke now, but he would live in a barn with Oliver if he had to. The debt had been paid by the slavetraders. Andrew made a silent promise to Oliver that he would always be free, and he would always be safe. He would always be protected, and loved, because Oliver had always been – and would forever be – his beloved boy. No one would take what belonged to him ever again.

_____________________________
Text is fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

blissfuldominance:

Waiting for Sir is the worst. 

Even more so when he’s late. He promised me he’d get off work early, and we’d go to the Valentines Day party your local kink scene is hosting. Who’d ever heard of a Master working on Saturday morning? Only mine, it seems; there’s always some crisis demanding his attention in the office. Does he love the office more than me? I start to wonder. It’s Valentine’s Day for god’s sake. My mind drifts back to this morning when he rolled over and gave me a plain, stiff fucking – just like any other morning. I was really hoping for something romantic other than an utterance “Happy Valentine’s Day, boy.” Did he really not care at all? I had withheld my gift for him because of that.

Then, I hear it. A car pulls into the driveway. I lift my head, then tilt it. The engine’s cut. A car door shuts. Then the trunk. I’m up on all fours now, wagging my butt even though the tailplug isn’t in cause it’s drying in the bathroom. Habits. I pace back and forth in front of the door until it swings open.

And there’s my Master, holding a big bouquet of flowers and a paperbag. I was so astonished I forgot to bark. My Master smiles.
“What? No greeting?”
I lose it. Full barking mode on! Complete with paws up on his thighs,and butt wiggling. Master grins at me, and sets down the paper bag so he can scritch me and cuff me behind the ears. “That’s a good boy, thatta boy!”
I roll over and offer my belly, and he gives a rub.
“Good boy. You didn’t think I forgot would you? I lied about having to go into work today. Truthfully, I bought most of this yesterday, I was just an idiot and left it in an office drawer.”

My disappointment melts away. Of course, he didn’t forget to get me something. I butt my head against his leg. Master kneels down and offers me the bloom end of the flowers. I stick my face in there and inhale, nuzzling the velvety petals with my nose. The perfume is fresh. After I dry them, I’ll make sachets out of them. I pause, blink, and then sneeze. Master chuckles.
“I’ll go put these in water. Here, here’s one of your presents.”

He takes a small box out of the paperbag, then begins to open it. I watch eagerly. It smells like chocolate. I fucking love chocolate. He presents it; in his hand in one of those chocolate orange things, wrapped in foil. An edible, scrumptious-smelling toy ball. I bounce on my paws and bark at it. He grins and puts it on the wooden floor, then pushes it so it rolls. I go mental and chase after it, batting it with my paw as I go.

He watches me for a moment, before going into the kitchen. I wait for a few moments, distracted with my toy, before I get his gift. I hear him get himself pour a cup of water and figure it’s good timing. I trot in, carrying a red paperbag in my mouth.

My Master looks pleased. “Whatchoo got there boy? Is that for me?”
“Ruff ruff!” I reply although it’s muffled.
He strides over to me and takes it out of my mouth. After beating the staples, he peers inside to see those Japanese gummy candies he likes so much, plus some heart hard candies, heart post-it notes (for the damn office), and strawberry lube. A smile lights up his face. “I love it. Exactly what I wanted.” He kisses my forehead. “Thank you boy.”
I lick him back.

He goes to find my orange ball again, and rolls it with his shoe. I chase it all over the house in a tizzy, until it hits a wall, cracks, and then I feast on its sacchrine insides. After, I make a point of crawling into my Master’s lap and licking his face. He isn’t able to resist kissing me, knowing I smell and taste delicious.

______________________________________________
Text is fictional. Source was deactivated, so no idea.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Sometimes he comes to me, pouting, arms out, needing comfort. I don’t always ask, just sometimes he feels these pangs of self doubt that he can’t handle the big scary world out there, and then he comes running to me for a hug. He’s kind of a big puppy. Scared of his own shadow. Take a submissive bottom boy, drop it down three levels, and you’ll find him.

“There, there,” I say, pulling him against me, one hand curved around his side. “I’m here.” I will usually push down his underwear a little – he doesn’t wear much clothing around the house – and give his ass a reaffirming squeeze.

I always start with his ass. It’s where I make love to him and claim him. It’s the heart of his sexuality – not his cock. His cock is secondary. He needs to know that I’m not tired of him, that I still find him hot and sexy, and giving that soft bubbly butt a big squeeze confirms that I still think about sinking my teeth into it every time I see it. I run my palm up the sweeping curve of his spin, murmuring comments in his ear about how silky his skin is, how floral his scent. I keep him close to me, always reassuring him with both hands.

He presses his soft cock against my leg and buries his face in my neck. “Are you sure you really want me? And not some skinny, muscular twink?”
I scoff. “Are you crazy? I have you! I love you and your body, every supple piece of it. I like you a bit tender and soft, because it makes you a delight to cuddle with. Ever cuddle with a guy whose bodyfat is 1%? It’s like cuddling with a surfboard.”
This makes him giggle, and I know he’s just bluffing. He just wants the praise. I reach back down and massage one globe of his buttocks with one hand. He moans against my shirt collar.
“I love men,” I clarify, “When I see you, I see an embodiment of every male characteristic I like, and I want. Your adorable personality is the cherry on top.”
“Even though my cock is small?” he asks, unsure.
“You have a cock. That’s my requirement. And even though it might be small, it’s still a good toy.” I drop my voice to a husky purr and whisper in his ear. “There’s plenty there to touch…and stroke…and edge… you have a fat cockhead and you love it when I rub that sensitive skin with my fingertips don’t you?”
He shudders against me. “Oh Papi,” he says with a sigh. “You really know how to make a boy feel special.”
I kiss his ear. “That’s cause you are. You are my boy.”
“Mm I love being your boy. Squeeze my ass again?”
I do so.
“Mmnnn~” he coos. “I love feeling your strong hands on me. Makes me feel so safe.”
“Why don’t we go into the bedroom and I squeeze you all over, work your body inside and out?”
“A massage?”
“Yes, boy.”
He smiles at me. “Because I am your special boy?”
“Because I love you, and I like doing things for the boy I love.” I kiss him.
He pushes back and I gift him with more kisses. I give, he takes, until his lips are puffy and tingling.
“Woah, Papi,” he breathes.
I grin. “That’s the lip massage. Come on.” I take a handful of his ass again. “Let’s go upstairs and do the rest of you.”
He follows me up the stairs, fingers squeezing mine.

______________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. This is Topher DiMaggio fucking Paddy O’Brian.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

He sighed, “But Daddy-”
“The only ‘but’ I want to see is the one facing me. Go sit in the corner for your time-out, or I will double it.”
He pouted but shuffled over on his knees and did it anyway. I watch his cock jiggle between his legs as he lowered himself to the floor. Such a big dick on that boy!
I cleared my throat. “Tell me what you’re being punished for.”
“For staying up late, falling asleep with the TV on, and not turning on the dishwasher.”
“Yes. You broke your bed time curfew, and your TV curfew, and we had no clean dishes for breakfast this morning, so you are going to sit there for an hour and think about how you can improve for next time. …Don’t pout at me, it won’t work.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more responsible Daddy.”
“Good. You will learn. 32 is too old to not have any discipline. You will be under my supervision until you are at least 35.
He sighed again. "I appreciate your investment in me, Daddy. Still sucks sitting in time out though.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer a spanking?”
“No!”
I gave him a slightly evil-sounding chuckle. I loved spanking him, because he absolutely hated being treated like a child. I got a thrill out of him flailing helplessly, feeling his cock harden and leak against my leg as his cheeks turned redder and redder. I saved that for big punishments though, as they were very effective. “That’s what I thought. I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

“…Am I still going to be allowed to play paint ball tomorrow with the guys?”
“Maybe. If you’re well-behaved today and give proper service to my cock.”
“I’ll be good I promise! I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue on your balls.”
You know exactly how to make me go weak, I thought. “Actions are louder than words, boy. You can show me later. Now you sit there, and think about why I put you there.”
“Yes Daddy.” He hung his head.
“ Good boy. I’m proud of you for understanding that I know what’s best for you.”

______________
Text is fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

[I reblogged this from a normal dance Tumblr, so for anyone who is seeing this post from there – take note the story below is NSFW and contains gay content.]

I never used to be early, ever. Since I dedicated my life to dance, I lived in a constant state of fatigue and stress and would sleep as much as possible. When I joined this company in London, I soon found a reason for being a bit more punctual – a 164 centimeter reason in white leggings, that is.

I opened the rehearsal hall door and smiled at the sight of Lambert spread out over this tacky red drop cloth on a prop sofa. He was a male, but he was a stereotypical prima-donna ballerina. Who else lounges around in leg-warmers and practice slippers? I smiled at the sigh of his curves neatly outlined by the sheer fabric. Lambert was one of our shortest male dancers, and by far the most feminine. He was the only male dancer that could squeeze in Bernadette’s little pointe shoes and wear them like a princess. Despite his size, that buff little man was the principal dancer in the company – and it wasn’t because his family name was emblazoned above the door.

I was impressed by Lambert, and inspired. Also, I was charmed by his dramatic streak and flair for fuss. When I first met him, Lambert put his hands on his hips and huffed at me for mispronouncing his name, “It’s LAMber, not lamBERT!” he insisted with a perfect French accent. He pouted at me with those cupid bow lips that begged for kissing. When Lambert was dressed up in powder and lipstick for performance nights, I was beyond relieved to have a cup to hide my erection behind.

Lambert looked up as I set my duffel back down. “Bonjour,” he replied.
“Hello,” I replied with my American accent. I strolled over to him. “What are you reading?”
Lambert turned the page. “I’m studying the program from when the Joffrey did their production of this show. The reviews were insane, people were raving about it! They packed theaters. I’m wondering howt hey did it, since the script is a bit weak, and the choreography a bit aged. Somehow the Joffrey was able to make some tweaks to improve it without angering the conservatives. The use of color in the costumes alone is incredible…”
A throb of jealousy pulses through me. No matter waht I do, no matter how much time I put into practice or exercising at the gym, no matter how hard I study, I will never be at Lambert’s level. I cannot match his dedication. To him, dancing is a religion.

I console my inferiority by cupping my hand and running my palm over the swell of his calves. “Mmmmmmm,” Lambert purrs under me. The touch slides up his thigh and slows as it crests over the sculpted muscle of his butt. As my hand moves up his leg, he arches up into my touch like a rather hedonistic housecat. I guide my hand backwards and down his elevated hips, between his legs and stroke his bulge firmly trapped in tight underwear. Lamber groans and buries his face in the pillow. “John, Johnny not – now, please, I am very sensitive and must wait to be horny after practice.”
I cluck at him with faux disappointment and my hand migrates back up, squeezing his balls a little, before sliding up his ass and resting on his back. I perch on the edge of the sofa next to him and run my flattened palm over his solid back. “Oh that feels good,” Lambert admits.

I immediately begin to give him a back and shoulder massage. Lambert sets the program aside and nuzzles his face into a pillow. Soon, he’s making some delightful noises as I work the stiffness from his upper body.
“Mon dieu,” Lambert says, “I hate that I’ll never be as strong as you.”

I flush under rare praise. I am bigger, so statistically, it’s probably true, but still, it’s hard to believe I can best Lambert in any category.
“Well, you are more flexible, beautiful, and graceful, you don’t need my strength.”
“I still want it. Mmnf. My hands get tired so quickly when I try to do this my feet or something.”
I work Lambert’s shoulders in my hands. “You need to relax more. You’re so tight.”
“Fuck,” he sighs. He never curses in practice or on stage. I am delighted to hear him slip in the rehearsal room. A moment later, I know why he’s slipped because he says: “It’s too late.”
“What’s too late?”
“I’m too aroused right now. I can’t dance when I’m horny.”
“Suck me,” I beg, now unable to think of anything else.

Lambert looks up at me with beautiful clear blue eyes. “Here? Now? People will be here any minute…”

But I am already standing and extracting my half-hard penis out of my sweatpants. His eyes light up at the offer of this treat so early int he day. Lambert’s hand rises to meet me. Lambert loves to play with me. It’s a weakness he wont admit to, I’m sure. He swings his legs over so he can sit up, and with a sigh of defeat, wraps his lips around me. I place a hand on the back of the sofa, one knee on the seat cushion, one foot on the floor, and the other hand on the back of Lambert’s head. I’m half folded around him, grunting and moaning as Lambert suckles me and explores my foreskin with his talented tongue. He cups my balls in his soft hands and pulls me forward, to the base. Stars swirl in front of my eyes as he blesses my cock with attention.
“Dios mio,” I gasp. “You have such a hot, velvety mouth, Lambert.”
He hums and makes my knees turn to gelatin.

Once, during one of our sex romps, Lambert said to me that oral is a lot like ballet, just ballet you do with your tongue. That night I learned just how fast my reload speed was.

I beg him to go slowly, but he’s eating me up. I watch him bob his head, devouring me, enjoying the sour tasting of me. Now that I’ve given him an outlet, all his sexual energy is pouring out. I stroke his silky blond hair and listen to him work. Lambert pushes the tip of his tongue into my piss hole and pre-cum dribbles out against his tongue. “Fuck Lambert!”
I can feel him smiling around my cock and for some stupid reason that sends me over the edge. I push my member down his throat and empty my seed in hot spurts. Lambert startles, and some of it dribbles down his lips, but he quickly recovers and pumps me with his hand as he tends my glans with his mouth. My vision goes entirely black, and I am cursing up a storm. Every nerve of mine is firing at once and I am surprised I haven’t fallen off the couch yet.
“Oh Lambert,” I groan. “You are a delight.”
He plays his tongue over my balls. “You know what I like about you American men?”
“Hm?” I ask, hazy.
“You never ask for permission to do anything. You thrust, you cum, you never ask or tell us, you just do it. It’s very sexy, the way you dominate like that.”
I puff out my chest, enjoying the testosterone coursing through me. “Is that why you love to bottom for me?”
“Yes,” Lambert says, licking his lips. “You nail me just how I like it.”
“Speaking of how you like it, you want your orgasm now?” I ask. My cock is softening, so I put it back into my pants. It’s still shiny from Lambert’s work, and I relish the idea of going through rehearsal with his marks on me.
“Oui oui!” Lambert points down. “Look how hard I am!”
“Good, cause I got just the thing for that…”

I wobble over to my duffel bag and extract a clean washcloth I use for sweat. I encourage Lambert to stand up. We kiss for a moment, and I pull his leggings down in the front until his cock springs free. I wrap the washcloth around it and pump him. Lambert melts against me as I milk his cock. Soft, he’s about 3 inches but when hard it’s more than twice that. A few pulls is all it takes before Lambert shudders and the towel grows wet under my fingers. He clings to my torso and pants against my neck.
“You all done, pretty one?” I purr.
“I feel like I’m floating,” he answers.

I stroke his hair and clean up the sticky mess between his legs. I also adjust his leggings and make sure he’s straight.
“Feel good?”
“Oh yes. I feel …cleansed. Empty. Clear-headed.”
“Good, cause practice starts in twenty minutes.”
Lambert puffed out his cheeks. “Fyew! That was fun! God, I love you American boys. Getting me into trouble.”
I fake throwing the soiled towel at him. “You like getting into trouble! You’re a mischievous little French minx in tights, a real danger to society.”

Lambert makes an uncharacteristically loud laugh. His hands immediately fly to cover his mouth as he turns red. Just at that moment, another dancer comes in.

“…What did I miss?”
“Oh nothing, Janine,” I smile sweetly. “Lambert and I were just fooling around.”
She rolls her eyes. “Man it is stuffy in here and it smells like sweat. How about we open a window?”
I cough. Lambert and I share a look. I stuff the washcloth into my bag. “That is a good idea.”

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Source isn’t an actual ballet dancer, but some guy on Flickr that likes to pose in leggings. Huh!

Gallery
by ccallenreese

obedienceisgolden:

I try to be Daddy’s sexy little wife as much as I can. Making him happy and horny is what I live for.

I hear his soft footfalls as he enters the kitchen. “Hello Jackson,” I say, busy prepping supper.
“God, I could listen to you say my name forever,” he admits. “I love your accent.”
“Jack-son?” I repeat.
“Yeah,” he exhales, like that “You’re cooking nude again. In that pristine white apron…” Jackson presses himself up behind me and his palm slides over my ass. “My Russian beauty.”

He’s necking me now, so I lean back against him and offer my lips. He dips his head and our mouths lock. It’s sweet, tender kisses that make my knees weak. For a moment I forget supper and just hope he wants to take it to the bedroom. I reach back and grab his thigh. I feel his package bum against me.
“Horny?” I purr.
“I don’t even have a word for it. I just am totally obsessed with you. Your thick body, those muscles in your arms. Your butt is – god, I just love your butt. I love your python thighs, your uncut cock, and your big low set of balls…” he runs his hands over me, caressing me as if exploring me for the first time. The hand drifts under my apron and cups me between the legs. I inhale sharply.
“You know what I think it is?”
“Hm?” I ask, distracted, as I stir the pot.
“I think it’s me thinking about what life be like if I hadn’t met you.”
“You?!” I exclaim. “What about me? I’d still be in that tiny little town in Russia, drinking myself to death like my papa did.”
“But you aren’t there,” Jackson says, reassuring me. “You’re here. In Canada. Safe, with me, in my home. I just …jesus, Oskar, I just never imagined I’d be this happy. I sometimes wonder if it’s all a dream.”
“Isn’t that what you imagined when you put up the ad?”
“I was scared to dream I’d be this happy. Honestly, I imagined I’d be taken advantage of for sex and money and abandoned once my new partner got here.”
“But you got me.”
“I almost didn’t,” he corrects, still touching me. It’s making me really hot and bothered. I almost wish I wasn’t so deep into dinner or I would just throw himself at him.
“The agency matched you with that guy, Carlos. He was such a creep. He just wanted a sex toy.”
“Honey, I know, I was there,” I chuckle, not really wanting to think about that right now. Jackson was lost in his thoughts though.
“I was wait listed for you, on this off-chance…I just knew, you were the one. When I got the news he hurt you, oh my god, I almost went to his house and beat the shit out of him!” Jackson growls in my ear, his fingers digging a little deeper into me.
“Honey,” I plead again. “Please…that wasn’t a good time for me. Let’s not talk about Carlos. Put your hand on my cock again.”
“Mmm,” Jackson said, perking up. He wormed his way around to my front again and stroked me under the apron. I sigh. “Did I mention I love that you’re uncut?”
I blush as he tugs on my foreskin. “No.”
“Well I do. Dammit Oskar…I can still remember exactly how I felt, the moment you stepped off the plane at the airport. We had only met during the mixer in Russia the agency set up, but I recognized you immediately.”
I’m quiet for a moment. I move to drain the raviolis in the sink and Jackson trails me, still petting me. It is getting immensely difficult to think. My head is clouded with hormones and lust. I want my man to wrap me in his arms, kissing away any thoughts of the violence I experienced with Carlos. Sometimes I think about damn lucky I am, and I feel nearly sick with relief. The world rarely works out so perfectly. We were two men, seeking love, one looking for escape, the other looking for a taste of the years his diplomatic father stationed them in Moscow. The first time I made Jackson blinchiki – or as they call them here, blintzes – he actually cried.

“Honey?” I moan, my cock now achingly hard. The ravioli are cooling in the strainer.
“Yeah?” he says, distracted.
I say to him, exasperated, “Can we please go have a fuck before dinner? I am so fucking horny!”
Jackson laughs.
I feel a bit wounded. “Did I say something wrong? Is it my English? Did I not say it right?”
“No, I’m sorry love, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing with bliss. Just when I think my life is more perfect, you say the best damn things and remind me that I still have many more amazing years with you.”
“Then let’s get living them,” I insist. I turn around and pull Jackson against me. I push my crotch against his hip. Jackson grabs my ass hard until I shout, then he reaches back and unties my apron. I pull it over my head and toss it on the counter. Our lips meet and collide, desperately drawn here and to. I flick my tongue at him, and it makes Jackson ravenous. Before I know it, he’s reaching for the olive oil and I got my legs around his waist. He pushes me up onto the counter, hisses at me to “hold on”. I grab onto the cabinet. My dick is throbbing and it’s starting to ache.
“Jackson hurry!” I whimper.
He fumbles with the olive oil. One hand is still slippery when he grabs my thighs and pushes into me. I bellow out a moan as he fills me in one push. I stroke myself while he devours my mouth again. Jackson notices me pleasuring myself and pulls away a little to watch. “Yeah, that’s it Oskar, good boy” He snaps his hips like a whip, thrusting his fat cock up inside of me. I push my thighs against him. “Yes! Yes!” I cry, momentarily lost in the satisfaction of getting what I need.

Jackson is slipping on the olive oil on the floor, so he leans against me and uses his hips to fuck me. I arch my back, ignoring the counter digging into my butt.
“More! Harder!” I love these English sex words he taught me. I feel naughty when I use them. Luckily, I use the right ones and Jackson ruts until his chest is heaving with effort. Suddenly, his glans hits my prostate in just the right way and we explode together. I scream and Jackson digs his teeth into my shoulder. I am jerking myself furiously. Cum splatters up on my stomach and coats where we’re joined. I groan as I feel Jackson’s load flood in me.

Our foreheads touch as he catch our breath.
“I needed that,” I say, matter of factly.
“That was a great idea,” Jackson agrees, nibbling my jaw. Our tongues duel for a moment before he slides out. I whimper at the emptiness behind. “Christ look at this mess,” he chuckles, setting me down. “Cum and oil everywhere.”
I grin, flustered and happy. “But that is a good problem to have. You need to change your pants too.”
“What?” Jackson glances down and sees our cum has soaked the front of his jeans. “Oh damn.”
“Why don’t we eat dinner naked in the bathtub?” I offer.
“Dinner, in the bathtub?”
“Well, we won’t have to worry about getting tomato sauce on our clothes.”
“Such a smart husband,” he coos. He kisses me again. I wish he would stop that, because I want more when he does. I had a feeling we weren’t going to be getting any cleaner in that bath, and turns out, I was right. We made an even bigger mess too.

______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Tommy Defendi and Alex Adams. This is from Man Royale. Couldn’t find the video on their website, but it’s called Cookin’ By The Book. Here’s stills. Here’s the video bootlegged and uploaded.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“I’m going to the gym, boy. I want dinner cooking when I get back.”
“Yes sir.”
“Use lots of butter on the potatoes, and make sure not to put in any cilantro onto the roast because Tom hates that stuff.”
“Yes sir.”
“And don’t you dare burn the meat, it was an expensive cut.”
“Yes sir.”
“Glad you don’t have a hearing problem. Oh and wear your plug, I’m gonna be horny when I get back. I expect Josh will want to fuck you too.”
“Yes sir.”
“Glad we’re on the same page. Bye, fag!”

I wait until he goes before letting out the sigh. Bruce is the most aggressive alpha of the group and he makes me nervous. He’s a spoiled rich kid. When he gets angry, he gets rough, so I try not to upset him much. I don’t want to upset anyone or ruin my situation. All through high school I wanted to join a frat in college, but it was just too much for my parents to afford. I could barely afford tuition! Luckily, I was able to talk to the fraternity organizer and he helped me find a house that was willing to work with me. I wasn’t a pledge, I was something better. Still, they had some strange rules – I was not allowed to wear clothing. I had to do the cooking, and the cleaning, on top of my homework. 
It was a lot of hard work, but the pay off was great though. I got to live here for free, earn a monthly stipend, and mingle with the sons of wealthy families. This, in theory, would help me get a job in finance after I graduated.

Tom was one of the quieter boys here. A literature major. He was the first one I offered sexual services too, and soon others began to ask about blowjobs and handjobs. It quickly escalated to sex. I was nervous for a while, but they were all pretty gentle with me. Felt pretty good actually knowing I was appealing that way. However, nothing went on in this frat that Bruce didn’t know about it, and Bruce wasted no time in claiming my ass too. He just left me sore, but I put up with him anyway. He had a small, crooked dick. No doubt couldn’t satisfy his girlfriend at all. Might be why he was always so cranky.

I pulled some ingredients out of the fridge, thinking about sex. Josh had a nice cock though. I wouldn’t mind if he came home before Bruce and fucked me. He always liked my cooking too. I turned on the oven and opened the butcher paper wrapped around the meat. It was nice to serve these men here. I think more than any of my classes, it’s training me for work in a corporate environment where there’s always something higher ranked than you. I wasn’t content being on the bottom though. I was going to the boss of one of these boys one day. I just hoped it was Bruce. I smirked. I could just see it now, the look on his face, when he found out a submissive was going to be his boss. Ha!

Wait, was I forgetting something? Oh yeah, gotta put in my plug before I start.

____________________________________________
Text is fictional. This is Brady Jensen and Lance Alexander.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

My phone rings just around noon. I push around the papers I was organizing until I find my phone. I glance at the number before answering it.

“Hello Sir, what’s going on?” I ask. Atlas doesn’t call me in the middle of the day often. Once was for because he left his lunch here, the other was because he was drunk at a holiday party and wanted to hear my voice.
“Hey boy,” Atlas said, “You know how I was feeling kinda low energy this morning?”
“Yes? Are you alright?”
“It’s gotten worse. I feel like total shit. Everything aches, I can’t stop sneezing. Jorge is sending me home before I – quote end quote – contaminate the entire office.”
“That sounds like Jorge,” I snort. “My poor baby, you need me to come get you?”
“No, I can drive…I’m just gonna pass out when I get – AACHOO!”
“Oh dear. Alright. See you soon. Wait did you eat?”
“No…don’t feel much like eating.”
“Good to know. See you soon. Drive safely.”
“Bye.”

I hang up and glance at the piles of his paperwork I was organizing and filing. New year, new folders. “Well, I guess this will have to wait.” Secretly, I am delighted though because as his houseboy, I live for moments like these.

I dust myself off and make a detour to turn on the space heater in the bedroom before I hurry into the kitchen. My man is going to be hungry, and that cold food I packed in his lunch won’t do. I take a tupperware container of broth out of the freezer and dump it into a big pot on the stove. I turn it on low, and let it defrost while I chop up carrots and the last potato. I add a few more things from cans. By the time Atlas arrives home, I’m just putting the lid on the vegetable and rice soup to simmer.

Sharky detects Atlas’s presence before I do. I rush to the door where the dog is already waiting for his Master to come home.  Atlas gives our stocky Sharky a pat on his rump, and gives me a “hey boy”. He looks like he’s going to fall over.
“Oh jesus, Atlas, look at you. You’re all flushed.” I press a hand to his head. “You’re burning up. Let’s get you into bed.”

I lead Atlas upstairs to the bedroom. I remove his tie, unbutton his shirt, and have him sit on the bed so I can remove his pants.
“I love that you undress me,” he mutters.
I smile. “I enjoy it too.” I fold his work clothes and set them on a chair to be put away later. “Now let’s get you into paja…” I hear rustling noises and turn around. He’s already curled up in the bed sheets. “No, this ish go..goo… ACHOO! ..uughh..”
I toss him the tissue box. Atlas blows his nose.

Sharky sniffs at Atlas’s hand and settles into his cushion next to the bed. He must detect his Master is sick, because normally all Sharky wants to do when Atlas comes home is play.
“My poor baby. You want something to eat?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry all of a sudden.”

I bring him a mug of soup and a glass of cool water. He eats about half of it between sneezes before his eyelids start to drop. “Is it ok if I don’t finish this? I need a nap like nobody’s business.”
“Sure, not a problem. You rest.” I tuck him into bed and kiss his temple. “I’m going to run to the pharmacy, to get you some medicine, some more tissues, and some Powerade or something.”
“K,” he says, snuggling his pillow. I sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his hair. He yawns. “You would make such a good boyfriend,” he slurs before falling asleep.

I sit there, holding the half empty mug, and stare at him. Did he really just say that? Color rises to my cheeks. I’ve heard about this from other houseboys, how easy it is for your man to fall in love with you. I never pictured Atlas as the type. He was too serious, too professional. Everything with him was divided with lines, and nothing contaminated other sections. Work was never mixed with play. His sports socks were always in a different pile than the dress ones. I had accepted I would always be “the help” and nothing more to him.

However, the way Atlas looked at me had begun to change over the last couple months. It was a softer look, as if he was really seeing me and not just acknowledging me. The touches lingered a bit more. On New Years, he kissed me – and it wasn’t a kiss of ownership, or possession, but one of passion and intimacy. It made my cock stir a little, I won’t lie.

I watch Atlas sleep and wonder if he was even aware he said that to me. I smile and stand up, pondering this. I wouldn’t mind being his boyfriend. I enjoy taking care of him, organizing his house, making his meals. He’s handsome, and had a nice sense of humor. He has a nice butt. Besides, someone had to take care of him when he was sick like this. Sharky couldn’t do it. Atlas tosses and turns. I tuck him back in, and turn the space heater down a little. “Poor baby.”

I just hope I dont get sick. The role reversal would break Atlas’s brain. I make a mental note to get facemasks and antibacterial gel on my shopping trip. I would take care of him as if he were a boyfriend. Love is good as medicine isn’t it? I make another note to add chocolate on my list.

____________________________
Text is fictional. Edited for tense issues.