Tag: fucking

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meninvogue:

Augusta Alexander photographed by Kosmas Pavlos

“Just, fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t get the offer. They were even making it sound like I did. Maybe I’m already burning out.”
“Hjorn.” I sat across from him on the window seat, my back to the window over looking 5th Avenue.
“What?” he grumps.
“We spoke about this before. It’s probably a good thing. Like your manager said, when you’re a new model you need to be everywhere, but as you get more of a profile going, you need to start crafting an image and niche of what you fill. This gives you value and helps clients find you. That company didn’t fit your image at all. You’re sexy and sophisticated. Cutesy isn’t your thing, and it’s better you didn’t get it. You need to focus on your shoot for the cologne today and on landing Balmain. That’s perfect for you.”
“And I love their style more,” Hjorn agrees. “That’s me.”
“Yes. Exactly. So don’t be too upset. Disappointed, fine, but not upset. You’re going to be huge. Especially if you get called back for that HBO show.”

Hjorn puts an arm on the back of the chair and leans back. With his knees spread, I can see up his robe a little. Just a little. He knows. “You know, Sylvie keeps asking me who you are to me. I guess as my manager she’s worried about people exploiting me as I get more well known. But I just couldn’t explain to her why exactly I like you around. And that’s why.” He points. “Right there. Because you tell me just what I need to hear, just like it is – not because you want my approval or for me to like you, but because I need to hear it. You don’t have secret intentions. You’re just my friend looking out for me. And even though we’ve been fucking since college, you’ve never tried to make it anything else. Which I don’t want right now. And I don’t have time for. And I never have to worry about your intentions. Cause you’d tell me.” Hjorn stands up and walks over to the bed in the other room. I stare at him for a stunned moment as my ears turn red.

I get up and follow him. “That’s…thank you? I mean, you are my friend. I just want things to turn out well for you.”
Hjorn sits on the bed. The corner of his perfect mouth comes up a little. “You are. Thank you. Now are you going to come over here and fuck me before Sylvie gets here or what? I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin from stress.”
“Oh absolutely,” I groan. I walk over to him and slide my hand up his robe. “Been wanting this all day.”
”You can have it.”
I pull the tie apart with my other hand. My mouth goes to his neck.
Hjorn whimpers and puts an arm around me. “Fuck, your hand…”
The robe falls open. I push him to the bed and kneel sprawled over his legs. His chest is a curved hill of barley, pale and dotted with freckles. I continue with his neck as I stroke him. His leg muscles tense and jump under me, and feeling his body squirm makes me so painfully hard.
“In me,” Hjorn begs with reedy gasps. “In me. Now.”
I have to detach myself from him to fumble for the lube under the pillow. I fumble to get myself out of my slacks. I fumble with the lid. It’s impossible to use lube without making a mess. I let the mess happen. I’m between his parted legs now. One finger goes in easily. The noise he makes sends goosebumps down my back. Hjorn fists the sheets. “More!”

I push in a second, but the third takes a moment. “You’re so taut today…you need to relax a little…”
“I can’t! I’m under so much goddamn stress it feels like I’ll never relax!”
“You poor thing. You’re gonna snap if you keep this up.”
“In!” he demands, louder and more angry. I love it. The fire in me is stoked white hot.
I guide myself inside him without giving him time to adjust. The sensation of him enveloped around me is exquisite. I bend over and return to tasting his neck. His thighs slam against my hips and I push past his point of resistance until my cock is against his prostate.
“Oh FUCK!” he roars. “Yeah just – there! Oh god, harder, do it harder!”
I obey him, thinking if I can just fuck him fast enough and deeply enough that for a moment he won’t be thinking of his modeling career or his life or that account he didn’t get. That maybe I can push all that stress up to the surface and it’ll be washed away when the orgasm breaks and the hormones flood. His body is wired tight, his nerves a tight bunch. He needs this, and not from anyone else but me.
I place one hand on the bed to steady myself, and the other curls around his cock. I’d forgotten about it. He moans my name and arches his back. “I’m close!”
Sometimes, when he says that, I like to stop and torment him a while with slow trusts and ghostly touches to his glans… but I think if I tried that today, he may actually murder me. I dig my toes into the floor and drive into him hard. “Take it!”
“FUCK!” he yells. We rut for an impossible moment until my lungs are burning and I’m sure he’s going to outlast me. “Fuck!” he wails again. Cum fouts all over his chest. He fists the sheets, pulling the flat out from where it’s tucked under the mattress. I heave breath against his shoulder as I empty inside him. All of it. The one place that the adoring public can’t see or get to. That spot is mine. It is marked.

Hjorn looks at me through half slit eyes but not really seeing me. His lips are so full and pink that I can’t help but kiss him. He lazily throws is arms over me and shares it. “Mnnn…” His knees fall to the side. My cock is too soft to stay in now and slides out. I rub it against where it’s been in him anyway. It’s warm and familiar and I don’t want to be far from it.
“Fuck…” Hjorn whispers.
I nuzzle his cheek. His scent is different. The acrid aura of stress is gone. I run my fingers over his chest. “You spilled all yourself out…”
Hjorn looks down, almost in surprise. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You did.” I rest down next to him to recover. I feel a bit dizzy.
Hjorn’s phone makes a noise. It’s been charging on the nightstand. He reaches for it. Fumbles it. Then holds it. “Sylvie wants to make sure I’m ready,” he groans. “She’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes.”
“She’s early,” I remarked.
Hjorn looks at his phone again. “…No, she’s actually running late.”
I look at my watch. “Jesus.”
That makes Hjorn laugh. It’s a beautiful sound. If bells could echo off wood, that’s what it would sound like. Soon I’m laughing too, just for the joy of seeing him smile. The furrow in his brow is gone too.

We get out of the shower just in time for Sylvie to walk through the door. She eyes me suspiciously as I help Hjorn with his belt as he works the buttons on his shirt. When she notices the hickie, she loses it, and I’m trying not to die of smothering laughter as she escorts him out, Hjorn waving off her concerns with a casual air of dismissal. God, that lad. Absolutely precious. He’s going to be famous one day.

I stay behind to recover and clean up the mess we hid under the duvet. Later that night, Hjorn calls me and tells me the director loved the hickie and kept it in the shoot, despite Sylvie’s objections. When the photos came out, we sure did have had a fun time reading the Instagram comments about them. Everyone thought they were from a woman.

____________________________________________________________________
Captions are fictional. Not intended to portray the original model or his identity.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Good morning, boy.”
“Good morning, Sir.”
“How were the waves this morning?”
“Excellent, but a little cold,” he answers, busying himself with making coffee.
“I’m glad you had fun, but what did I tell you to do about the sand off your feet and ankles when you come in the house?”
He gives me a sideways smile and rubs the back of his tanned neck. “To rinse off before I enter the house, Sir.”
“That’s right. So why don’t you?”
“Well, I’m the houseboy. I’m going to be cleaning it up anyway.”
“But do you think I want to walk on sand barefoot in my kitchen and track it into the house, into the carpeted areas? And scratch up my hardwood?”
“I didn’t….” he trails off when he sees my face. “No Sir.”
“You are in my employ. My instructions are not suggestions. I have my reasons.”
“Thank you for the correction, Sir.”

He pours a cup of coffee, adds milk, cream, and sugar, and serves me before tending to his own – straight black joe.
“Thank you.”
He nods.
I take a sip and set down my mug. “Now, put yours down and put your hands on the counter.”
My boy groans. I delight in it. Taming a half feral beach bum has tested my limits sometimes, but I do enjoy enforcing my boundaries. He obeys, because he does not want to end up locked in chastity long-term.
I pluck the spatula out of the utensil holder on the counter.
“20,” I announce.
Another groan. My cock hardens. The first six are gentle thwacks, teasing stings to warm up the chilled flesh. I stroke the skin, admiring how the color returns. Seven is a little harder, and he tenses. I play him this way for a few more swats, each spank the same as the one before it, but sting after sting is making him tender and squirmy. The legs begin to kick. The last five are hard swings that make him cry out and kick up his feet. “19…”
“Ah!”
“20.”
He hisses loudly. “Nnnngg!”

“Very good.” I kiss his back between his shoulder blades then put the paddle in the sink. I walk to the fridge, take out the aloe, and squirt some between my hands. I massage it into his hot flesh, and he whimpers and mews and shudders. “Oh my god Sir – it’s so cold!” he gasps.
“God you are delicious,” I reply, distracted, as I’m nibbling on his shoulder and licking the taste of sea water off hsi skin.
“Sir!” he cries, a high needy note, as I stroke his ass, and then his body shudders. I hear something drip, which is followed by a certain smell. I pull back. “Did you ejaculate?” I check the floor, which is covered in milky drips.
“I- I- ” he stammers.
I reach out and grasp his cock, which is softening. I pull back his foreskin. He gasps. It’s wet.
“Oh you did. That torment got you all horny did it?”
“I just got hard when you spanked me, and when you started rubbing my ass with the cold aloe, I just couldn’t control it!” my boy explained.
“That’s sexy as fuck,” I murmur. I reach above him in the cabinet for the coconut oil. I undo my pants, squirt some onto my cock, and take him against the counter. His cries fuel on my throbbing cock. His butt is still tender and every thrust makes him tense and whimper. The urge to fuck him becomes a violent thirst. I give him several hard thrusts and spill my morning load. “Oh FUCK,” I bellow, letting loose.
“Sir!”
I grab his waist and hold us close, his warm butt against my hips. The moment begins to dissipate. My coffee is getting cold. I slide out of him, and we both moan.
“God fucking damn,” I sigh. “What a wonderful morning.”
My boy doesn’t respond. His body is heaving. “God Sir, that was a rush being used and owned by you like that.”
I smile to myself. “That is the world I am trying to create for you.”
“I – I understand Sir.”
“Good. I was hoping to hear that. Well, let’s go take a shower. You have breakfast to make and a lot of cleaning to do.”
“Yes sir.”

I decided to wait until we were in my double shower to tell him he was going to spend the rest of the day in chastity for coming without permission.

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Captions are fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

instructionsforboys:

Fuck yes, move that body, put on a show for your man, show off. You know you love the attention

If I could actually make coherent noises right now that weren’t mostly vowels or an array of moans, I would say to you that you’re either an idiot or naiive. I really think you’re just naiive. Do you not realize I’m not acting here? That it’s not a dance, or a performance. I’m not undulating around on the floor to appease you or to prop up your already puffed ego. I’m not being generous and trying to hide displeasure from an underwhelming fucking by over-compensating. 

I’m not moving like this on my own. My body is moving beyond the control of my mind, on its own, in response to the pleasure you are giving me. The way you fill me with your pillar of a cock and press your weight to my back side makes me hornier than a doe in heat. Did you notice I”m only half hard? I’m losing my mind here just by the way you’re stimulating my prostate. I can’t sit still, I can’t run away. This lust courses through my veins with no where to go, no way to disperse. Yet, I want more, oh god so much more, and I want it harder and deeper and slower and god do everything you can to me.

Do you think being on this floor on my knees is comfortable? You think I can’t smell the Pinesol under my nose? Don’t you realize none of it matters, because you’re fucking me so well that my brain has turned off that feedback so it can focus on the more interesting stuff? And it is interesting. It’s also driving me insane. Don’t say stupid shit to me while I’m in ecstasy. Mostly because I don’t want you to cheapen yourself. Why? Right now you are a God to me. Fucking act like it.

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Text is fictional.