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Wally stood on the driveway path and tucked his thumbs under his overalls. He was hesitant to get a houseboy at first. He just did not understand their need to serve. The idea of having someone bossing him around made his hackles raise. But his brother Bob had been insisting Wally needed some help around the farm for a while now; but ever since Wally broke his leg falling out of the hayloft, Bob had made it a zero-argument matter. Wally couldn’t be very mobile around the farm on crutches. Even on horse back, he still faced limitations as you use your legs to guide a horse. Once the cast came off, Wally still had to go to physical rehabilitation. Normalcy was a long way off. The ranch hands helped, but with every one of his own tasks taking longer, Wally had to admit that he needed someone to fill in the smaller tasks so he could focus on running his business.

In theory, it made sense although Wally still did not understand houseboys at all. They were sort of like a different species, kind of like hiring a man to be your wife. Wally wasn’t into women though so it looked smart on paper at least.
But as Wally stood there taking in the sight of all the old furniture on the lawn, he was now more confused than ever. The houseboy emerged to drop off another chair.
“Boy, what in tarnation as you doing?” He yelled as he slowly ambled toward the barn.
The houseboy looked up at him. “Cleaning out your barn, Sir.”
“I didn’t give you permission to do that!”
“Well, no, but all that clutter up there is what caused your fall right? And some furniture was sort of blocking the stairs. It’s not safe. I want to make it safe for you Sir.”

Wally was dumbstruck. He couldn’t think of an answer, but remembered his manners. “Well – well uh. That’s mighty thoughtful of you.”
The houseboy smiled. “It’s my pleasure, Sir.”
Wally wished he had his pipe to chew on. “Well. I suppose it’s necessary. But where we going to put it all?”
“If I may make a suggestion Sir?”
“Go’on.”
“It looks like a lot of this has been here a while. Some of it is rusted, broken. None of it matches.”
Wally nodded. “My daddy was a bit of a collector you could say.”
”Well. You could get some money for some of this as scrap. Or sell some as it is. You have some old vintage oil cans in there that some antique collectors go nuts for.”
“Really now?”
“Really. Plus with this space cleared out, we could do a good barn clean out – sweep, remove the cobwebs, check for rot, check the supports. Get your beautiful old barn a new coat of paint.”
Wally liked that idea. He thought the peeling paint was an eyesore.
“Plus, um, I heard you talkin’ about getting another horse. You could probably use that money to buy one. But I’m not um, telling you how to use your finances. Of course.”

Wally licked his lip. “Well. You gotta good head on your shoulders. There’s a few things I want to keep. Pull everything out and we’ll go over it. Then make your calls.”
The houseboy beamed. “I will Sir!”
“And whatever we sell, you get 25% of it. Deal?”
“Oh wow, thank you Sir! Thank you very much.”

Wally was startled by the brilliant look of total adoration on the boy’s face. The sun came out and the sweat on his pectorals and biceps glowed. It gave Wally an odd feeling in his gut. A feeling he rarely got familiar with, being alone in a rural area. A feeling he had forgot since his accident, since being on all the medication. Maybe it was cause the houseboy was shirtless and just in jeans and boots, but oh lordy, the feeling sure was coming on hard now. Wally swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“It’s only fair,” he managed. “I am gonna go get you something to drink. Be careful, boy.”
“Yes sir, and thank you. Hydration would be great.” The houseboy nodded and got back to work.

Wally limped back to his house as fast as his busted, cast encased leg could take him. He collapsed into a rocking chair in the living room, sweating and heart racing. Wally reached into his overalls and found his penis. To his astonishment it was completely erect in his hand, and it was already leaking all over his underwear. The overalls created a tight, suffocating space, but there was no zipper in place. Wally debated unhooking the straps and shimmying of the one-piece, but he didn’t want to pull his hand away from his cock. It felt so good. Wally moaned as he stroked himself. The sensation made him dizzy and little dots flashed in front of his eyes. Oh, gods, it felt amazing. When was the last time he did this? Why did he stop? He closed his eyes and imagined that shirtless, sweaty houseboy and Wally’s balls just went off like shotgun blasts.
He let out a gargle as his hand and thighs cramped to the point of pain and his vision flashed black for a moment. His penis began to fout and wouldn’t stop until Wally felt just utterly soaked. When Wally pulled his hand off, it was so sticky. He was shaking all over and Wally began to fear he had a heart attack. No. It was passing now. Wally let his hand rest on his heaving belly, mess and all, and he and drifted in and out of consciousness.

As the ferocious lust ebbed away, Wally felt an odd sort of calm and peace set in. He thought back to when he was stuck in that barn with a broken leg in searing agony, all alone, trying to ignore the realization that he might not be found for a while. It was a lonely feeling. The ache was almost worse than the pain. In reality, it had probably been no more than twenty minutes before one of the ranch hands pulled up in his truck after returning from errands, and Wally’s shouts reached him – but that wait felt like hours.

Wally didn’t want to die alone in a barn. He didn’t want to die alone at the end either. But mostly…he didn’t want to be alone period. He missed companionship. He missed affection. He missed sex. It was not enough to wait until the farm auctions in Forth Worth anymore for that special kind of intimacy that cowboys never talk about.
It dawned upon Wally that maybe Bob had gotten him a houseboy for other reasons than making breakfast and arranging garage, er, barn sales. He sighed. Dammit, Bob was actually right about something for once in his life. He’d get all smug about it too.

Regardless, having that houseboy around was going to be a start of something new and fantastic. Especially if he remained shirtless.

Oh crap, Wally realized, he was supposed to bring some water out wasn’t he? Wally pulled out his hand from his overalls and gawked at the cum on it. “Jeee-zus!”

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Captions are fictional.

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Our boss dislikes me because I’m black and he dislikes Sean because he’s not “for the cause”. If he found out Sean was “queer” and not “doing his part” by making more blue-eyed American babies, he would likely combust into a million pieces and fire us on the spot. Yet, he tolerates us because we stay late and help out at the business. Little did he know that when we “stay late”, Sean and I go into the maintenance room and commit sodomy.

I was shocked to learn what a horny bottom Sean was. He loved getting attention from another man. When his clothes came off, he couldn’t keep his hands off of me. I had no idea a white man could have a booty like he did. A big full, bouncing buttwith full jiggle power. It was a shame he hid it in khakis cause it was a thing of beauty. I forced Sean into all sorts of positions and fucked him raw. I took him on all fours, pulling his hips up to mine while I buried my cock deep into his gut. I took him on his back like a female whore, and watched him struggle to focus on stroking his adorable pink cock while his brain melted from sex. That boy just loved taking it up the ass.

I took him standing up, sitting down. I made him suck me off, which he did with great fervor. He loved the taste of my cum. By the end of each session, he’d be putty in my hands. I would feel an odd calm settle over me, that I had claimed him and put things right in the world. I would stroke his red head and ejaculate on his face – an unmistakable sign that I was superior to him. Sean loved it.

Shame our boss rarely got laid, cause if he did, he would recognize the “nagging smell” in the maintenance room was in fact, Astroglide.

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Text is fictional.

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“…Jet?”
Jet smiled at the familiar voice on the other end of the phone. “Hey Chris, nice to hear from you again – is everything alright?” Despite their failed attempt at a relationship, Jet considered Chris to be a friend, albeit a distant one.
“I um… shit, I feel like such an idiot calling you. Am I bothering you?”
“No, just at home, organizing my bookshelf. It’s pouring out, so I’m just chilling here on my day off. What’s up?”
There was a pause. “I just…shit this is so dumb. You said to call me if I ever needed anything. You still mean that?”
Jet furrowed his brow, curiosity eating him up. “Yeah of course. …Are you in jail?”
Chris made a noise. “What? No no, it’s nothing like that. It’s …well, when we broke up, I was not in a good place. I hated myself and convinced myself I needed to push you away. You know how I was, when I was horny I’d put out, then freak out the next morning over what I did – over and over again, let it eat me up inside?”

Jet sighed. He didn’t want to open this wound, really. Chris had explained it far too mildly for his taste. Chris was an insatiable cockslut when the testosterone was pumping and poppers were plentiful; but sober and sane, the guilt, disgust, and Catholic self-loathing over his preference of sex and eagerness to bottom put him in a horrible, rotten mood and spoiled his personality. He’d put Jet through the wringer, leading him on, then shutting him off. “How could I not?” Jet said. “It’s all we fought about for the last weeks of our relationship.”

Chris sighed back. He sat down on the bed and the springs creaked. “I just…you know, I’ve been thinking I owe you an apology. I’ve been thinking a lot. I drank a lot you left – too much actually, and woke up after having blacked out in a church. Our priest got me some help, a great therapist who specializes in LGBT lifestyles… I’m coming to terms with things, Jet, I really am.”
Jet was so stunned, he almost forgot he had to answer the man. “I um. Wow, damn, Chris. That’s amazing to hear. Not expecting it, to be honest, but happy you’re making progress. But if this is a call to get back together I don’t think I’m really ready to try another relationship with y-”

“No, no Jet, listen. I’ve been with some other guys, having some one night stands-”
Jet hated the surge of jealously that shot through him.
“-and none of them have given me such thorough orgasms the way you did. I’ve tried so many techniques, but I just can’t get that empty feeling afterwards like when we had sex!” His voice twisted with frustration. “I’ve tried everything and even though I jack off a lot, I still feel so pent up! I-…I’m calling to ask you to fuck me, Jet, that’s it, please. Just one good thorough fucking, to get it all out.”
“Jesus, Chris, you called cause you need cock? You baited me with pretty words and apologies so I’d fuck you?” Jet was now completely ignoring the books around him. “And then what? You’re going to just dismiss me?”

Chris huffed. “Look, I’ve had other guys since you, as I’ve said, some with poppers, some with out. You…you have this insane technique. Sex with you was a totally intense and powerful experience. I was addicted to it, but I wasn’t ready to handle it at all. You’re on a totally ‘nother level than other men. You’re the kind of sex that a man comes home to for the rest of his life. You’re not a club fuck. That’s why we were so incompatible. I wasn’t ready for that kind of sex, emotionally, but I was addicted. I pushed you away because it just left me reeling. I thought I could get it from others but, shit, I’ve had the taste though and nothing compares. Please Jet – my balls, they’re aching man, milk me dry, please.”

Jet sat there with his jaw on the floor. This wasn’t the same Chris he’d left behind ten months ago. He didn’t know what to say. It was mean to tempt him like this. Chris’s ass fit around his cock like it was born for it. Jet’s cock was curved, but Chris was a perfect fit, and the way he grabbed onto him… as much as he resented him, Chris was the only partner he’d had that made him see stars.

After a long silence on Jet’s part, Chris added, “If…you need some commitment, but only want to go half way, maybe we could be fuck buddies, at least. No strings attached, so if you hate me still, you don’t have to stay. You could probably even spank me if you want. I know I deserve it.”

Jet liked that idea more than he would admit it. He wanted to spank him impaled on his cock, and god he did deserve it. “Fuck. Just fuck you man, calling me like this, manipulating me, dangling your body as bait. Get the hell over here. Bring the condoms and the lube, cause you aren’t using any of mine.”
Chris gasped, “Alright! Shit, thanks man. I’m coming right now.”

It was like a day hadn’t past since Chris left. He was still handsome and young, sporting a goofy grin and the scar above his eyebrow from a childhood bike accident. Jet tore his clothes off and pushed him onto the sofa, getting that big ass of his in the air.

No one could fuck Chris like Jet did. Only Jet could give him that incredible, slow steady rhythm, each inward thrust nudging against his prostate. It made him drip like crazy. All the pent up energy, frustration from imperfect fucks, it all dissolved like butter on a skillet. Jet cleared him out. He filled him wall to wall and fucked him hard.

Chris reached between his legs to milk himself, and the pre-cum poured out of his body. He moaned and keened over how goddamn great it felt to be fucked by this god of a man. Chris’s dick got so slippery, he could barely hang onto it. When the orgasm finally crested, he shot a triple XL load all over the bed while screaming Jet’s name into the pillow. His balls burned from the effort, his cock spasming and twitching to empty every single tiny seed. On top of him, Jet couldn’t get a word out of his throat, just animalistic grunts and cries as he bred his man hard. He suddenly knew why the break-up had been harder than any other in his life – Chris was his bitch, his mate. His other half. Maybe now Chris had fucking realize it, and just maybe they could try again…

but he would get all the sex he could out of the man before he told him that. He wouldn’t let Chris win that easily.

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Text is fictional. The gif was made by fagsmut, but the source for it isn’t them, so I don’t know who these men are. Lemme know if you know, I wanna see the video.

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mathematick:

Day 6: Rebirth

Apologies for the posting hiatus, but not too long after day 5, my priorities were slightly rearranged.  I’m writing this post now remembering back on the time after that first ruined orgasm.  I remember he asked me immediately afterwards, “what’s wrong?” – it was a question to which he already knew the answer, I realize now.  But I can’t honestly say whether or not I realized it at the time.  I told him how frustrating cumming without touchingly dick had been.  Seeing the torrent of thick white spunk flooding onto my hands and body, yet feeling nothing but a numbness in my dick.  I had been disassociated with my cock for that moment.   He told me he could “help” – I had no clue what that meant.  Then he asked me if I trusted him, to which my immediate response was “No”.  He laughed at that and said, he was going to help anyway.  I responded with a quick smile that must have indicated I was open to his offer, after all I still had more than a week to go.

With that he grabbed my underwear and, in one swoop, he expertly wiped up the puddle of cum I had left on my leg.  Then he told me to open my mouth.  I have no idea why I did, but I did.  Then he put that shit in my mouth and told me to suck it off, which i did – in a daze – still, no idea why.   Then he told me that the next week and half will go easier if I accept the situation, instead of fighting it. Submit – was the word he used actually.  The cum taste in my mouth lingered as l heard these words.  I removed the undies and wiped at my tongue.  But it was pretense.  For some reason this time – unique to all my other prior experiences – the taste of cum was pleasant to my palette.  I didn’t dwell on the thought.  I begged him to unlock me.  He told me he didn’t even have the key on him, and then he went home.

I took the next day to think about things.

It was clear, I still needed sex, erection or not.  But it wasn’t going to work the same way in chastity.  I remember rubbing at the various holes in my chastity device a lot that day, trying to find a sensation as close to rubbing the underside of my dick as possible, but nothing was doing the trick.  Again I tried pumping the whole device, and I would start to get a little hard, painfully so.  The top of my cock now had an ongoing dull ache from my erections being forced down.  I knew I could probably build up to another orgasm, but something inside me kept stopping just short.  I didn’t want to feel another ruined orgasm.  It was terrifying to me.  All the mess and none of the glory.  What was the point?  Then I remembered the weird cum tasting ceremony from the day before and suddenly I had a bit of an epiphany: this could just be a temporary transition from output to input.  

It felt scientific, worth an experiment. 

I needed a cock to suck.  I debated for a moment whether I should call my key holder or just find someone else (Grindr).   But I kept coming back to the fact that I had no desire to explain the situation in my pants to a stranger, in person.  I could only imagine that conversation.

“Hey before we get started, friend… What was once a raging all-night rock-hard concert of fuck in between my legs is now best described as an awkward tupperware party with a padlock…Can I get you a beer?”

Needless to say, I ditched that idea and just went to his house, I think he was expecting me.  

Upon entry he told me to take my clothes off.  He told me I couldn’t wear clothes in his house anymore.  I argued that it was cold in here, but for some reason I made this argument while removing all of my clothes.  The conversational speech-center of my brain had not yet come to grips with what my body had figured out hours ago:  When one’s dick is locked up, one is officially in the business of pleasing others, despite one’s own discomfort.

He was sitting in an arm chair, legs slightly apart, watching me.  I walked over, knelt down, and opened his pants to get what I had come for: Research.

I sucked him like I wished I could be sucked.  I wasn’t waiting for my turn anymore – his turn, was my turn.  I made it last, I started gentle, too gentle which almost made him cum early.  Then I grew more aggressive and started deep throating, nearly gagged because I got into it too much.  He didn’t even warn me when he finally came, usually guys always warned me.  But then he didn’t have to anymore.  He held the back of my head as he shot his load in my mouth.  I moaned vicariously.  He then pulled out and let his dick flop on my face.  I laid my head on his left leg – still positioned in between his legs while he recovered.  The cum was still in my mouth.  I couldn’t bring myself swallow at first, I wanted the taste to remain.  Once I finally did I felt relieved, for the first time in 6 days.

Chaste boy makes a break through in finding relief in other places. What a great write-up, maybe it’ll inspire other frustrated chaste boys. Well, “frustrated” and “chaste” is kind of redundant isn’t it?

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I watch with big eyes, my throat dry, as his full heavy sac bounces and then tenses to spurt the seed out of his red and engorged cock. The way the skin slides up and down around the exposed tip is my favorite part. Love a boy with a fleshy cock, lot of extra space for him to get big and hard. Privately, I also love the way he moans when he cums and his eyelashes flutter. He’s a young stud in the sexual prime of his life. Masturbation like this is a necessity.

After he finishes, I cup those velvety balls and roll them in my hands until he’s too sensitive and asks me to stop. I drop my arm. The pants go back on. I take out my wallet and press two $20s into his hand. 
“Same time next week?”
“Yes,” he puts the money into his pocket.
As I refold my wallet, I glance at the photos of my wife and kids in the plastic sleeves. They can never know about this, about how it keeps me faithful to them. I’m just worried one day the handjobs won’t be enough anymore…and the craving for gay sex will return.

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Post is fictional. This is Kris Evans of Bel Ami.

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“No no don’t pull out! I’m so full of you and your cum… awww nooo.”
“Too sensitive to keep it in there boy, you milked me too good. Plus I wanted to see my load dripping out of your ass. Hm, your hole is still twitching for me too. I bet you spend a lot of time in this park spreading your legs to anyone with meat between their legs.”
“Please put it back in, please fuck me again,” he whimpers, “I felt so full…your cock is so long, please~”
I look around, “Hey! You over there! Come fuck this slut, he needs another cock in his ass and I’m all outta cum." 

I was happy to sit by and fondle myself as I watched the boy get a fresh, hard fucking from a horny man until my refractory period was over and I could get back in his wet, tight ass. He wrung me totally dry. God, I love this park.

Hello, I am a countryman (my english is not perfect) and admire your activities and attitudes. My question is: is it possible for you to make a video once? I would love it.

Hello, I am a countryman (my english is not perfect) and admire your activities and attitudes. My question is: is it possible for you to make a video once? I would love it.

pupnobley:

Hi there, thank you for your question!

I already made some videos, of which I posted some on xtube. There were more, but I deleted some for privacy/recognition. Just search gayboykink and you can find some milking-videos. 🙂

x

You have an Xtube channel?? Oh you dooo. Well there goes the next hour of my life. You are so hot <3