Filthy Sub, covered in my piss and mine and his cum!
Wow that sub has a huge cock. Strange to see a boy in cuffs handling his own cock though, feels like it should be locked away where he can’t get to it…
Tag: gay bdsm
Never, ever a good idea to tell your Master your butt feels cold. He’ll warm that ass up the way He prefers it.
“Wow….”
“Now look at that.”
“I can’t believe that’s actually my cock.” I watch him cup it and examine himself in the mirror. “Gosh, look how big my balls look! Oh I love this.”
“See, this is what happens when you trust yourself to a man that adores you and takes care of you,” I explain, running my hands over his shoulders and down his arms. “I look just like all those beautiful boys at the club,” he marvels, “Just like them.”
I know his jealously streak runs a mile wide. Everyone we go there, he just gives the other locked boys longing looks because he wants to feel pretty and cute and sexy too, but with his huge bush and long cock prone to random boners, he often felt the opposite. He wanted to join the crowd, make other Masters drool over his nubile, chaste body. I think mostly he wanted other Masters to be jealous that he was mine.
“My PA stands out more too,” he notes. “Damn this is amazing. I feel like a harem boy or something, Sir. Do I look hot to you?”
“I’ve spent the last hour cleaning and handling your cock before locking it away, how horny do you think I am right now?”
He grins. “I can’t thank you enough Sir for buying me a chastity cage. It feels so…so right. May I give you a blowjob? In thanks?”
He’s never offered to do that before. Marvelous how quickly a good cage can reroute the psyche. “You may. It was an expensive cage, you can work it off with your tongue. Now get down there, my cock is gonna burst.”
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Caption is fictional. Photo from zaxaph.
I love this. Being a submissive does not mean that you give up your dreams, professional goals, and future. It simply means that you know what you want from life and you have the courage to seek it out.
Just because you are submissive, it doesn’t mean you are weak either. Only the strongest submissive can override societal taboos to give in to their true nature.
Naked, on his knees, the last knot binding his wrists, Steve knew this was the inevitable last moment of a long series of events. The last time he could have said, “No,” or in another way escaped from what was going to happen was long before. It wasn’t in the car, or over the last drink, or even when the man introduced himself. It was when he looked him in the eye and Steve wanted to be used, taken, covered with spit and cum and bite and slap marks—when he was overcome by the need to be reduced to two slick, warm holes.
Submitting to the need to submit.
Josef’s Master loves His boy a great deal, but His carpel tunnel syndrome prevents Him from administrating punishment deemed necessary when Josef screws up. So, he takes him to the most reputable belter in the city. Some of the richer clients prefer to have their slaves sent here once a month just to keep them in line, allow Them to keep some distance between pleasure and the dirty work.
This isn’t Josef’s first time here or his first spanking. The man with the belt always hides his face, but Josef makes it a priority to look him straight in the eye. It’s not because he wants to know when the strikes are coming, but because he wants that man to know he’s not afraid of him. Why should be be afraid of what’s best for him? Even his Master is kind enough to keep him hydrated and have His other boy pet his hair reassuringly during the ordeal. Josef feels more of a man that he can take the beating with only muffled noises and without tears. He even says “good bye” to the administrator of his pain, polite and friendly.
The other Masters wonder what the secret is to His boy’s training…they all try to sculpt their boys to such high standards of pride and joy.
You’ll be set free when you’ve calmed down boy. And don’t look at me that way or i blindfold you.
Muzzles are a boys best friend, and they look sexy as hell!
I pinned the photo to the fridge with a magnet. “Take a good long, look at this photo. Really look at it.” I gripped his jaw in my hand. “Look at the potential, the hidden strength in those skinny arms of yours, your brassiness, your posturing, your attachment to your goofy teenage years. You may be an adult in this picture, but you are still very much a kid. In three months you will look at this picture in a completely different way, a way you can’t even fathom now, for when you finish with the first landmark of your training you will be even closer to being a man worthy of serving under other men. There are times when it’s going to get hard and you will fantasize about your previous life. If you quit, I will show you this photo again and all you’ll see is undiscovered potential, like I see. Now, when you’re done looking, let’s sign that contract and we can begin training.”
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We got our first submitted story a while ago, but this was the first submitted photo. I had a bit of trouble drawing a story out of this picture because I didn’t know if the submitter is the person in the picture and thus wasn’t sure what direction he (or she?) wanted me to take it, not sure what’s too far. Hope they like it.
I returned from war with a mild form of PTSD. During the day, I was fine as long as there weren’t any loud noises. I couldn’t drive anymore because every time I saw trash on the road I had an anxiety attack, but bicycling was safe and harmless. Night was the hardest though. I’d have vivid awful dreams in where I couldn’t move and had to watch people die, or had pertinent information that could save lives but it wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I would thrash horribly and wake up shouting, often dumped on the floor in a tangle of sheets.
While combing the internet for treatment for night terrors, I discovered the benefits of pressure. Thundervests for dogs to calm them during storms. Squeeze chutes to relax cattle during herding. Mothers swaddle newborns to duplicate the cramped womb. You can’t really burrito yourself in at night. Someone has to do it for you. By the time I concluded my research, I had only slept about 25 hours that week and was desperate to not wake up either on the floor or vomiting into the toilet.
I discovered a networking site called Recon and made a profile. I messaged a few guys in my area, but most declined my request. One said I was into bondage for the wrong reasons. Another said I would hurt myself if I thrashed around in rope restraint at night. The sixth person I messaged offered me a glimmer of hope. His name was Mick, and he said he had a straight jacket I could wear, which might duplicate the experience. Mick lived an hour away by car so I took the train. We talked over coffee. I think he pitied me.
When it was time for bed, he took me up to his guest room and showed me where I’d be sleeping. I balked at the idea of wearing what was obviously an adult diaper but he basically said it was that or wet the bed if I had to go. At this point, I was so desperate to get a good nights rest that I just gave in, self respect be damned. He was a patient man, and explained step by step what he was doing as he tied my straps. To my shock, the more immobile I became the more my cock began to stiffen. I hadn’t been able to rouse it since I returned from the Middle East. I was a bit relieved Mick couldn’t see it as I was on my stomach and in so much padding.
By the time, the ankle cuffs were in place, my cock was throbbing but I said nothing. Mick left me with a water bottle that I could open with my teeth, a baby monitor in case I needed help, and that was it. Darkness. Hard or not, I was asleep within minutes.
I slept for 10 hours and dreamed of nothing. I woke up feeling so alert and bright I wondered if the water had been drugged. The diaper was wet though, which was humiliating in itself as I couldn’t do anything about it. I called for my Mick over the communication device and he came in to undo my straps.
“How’d you sleep last night?” he asked.
All I could say was, “I slept. I actually slept.”
When I took off the diaper in the bathroom, I realized that it wasn’t urine in the padding but semen… lots of it.
I never told my therapist about my alternative sleeping methods, but coupled with those sessions I began to heal. Mick and I fell in love and we moved in together. Every night, he’d tie me up tight with the padding in place, only now he’d kiss me on the head before rolling over and turning off the lights.