vallentiro14:

Richard watched as some British dude flirted with the really hot Norwegian guy he’s had longing for since he came to this small resort. It was excruciating to sit there and be casual. It felt rude to want something to go wrong, but watching them leave together would have been devastating. The trip had been a perfect week away, all it was missing was a textbook one night stand to round it out. Richard had caught the Norwegian guy checking out his ass in the breakfast buffet line earlier that week – he even blushed!- but he’d taken his food to go, so Richard hadn’t been able to make a move back.

Richard held his breath. It wasn’t going well. The British guy was getting annoyed. He was pushy. Richard found himself holding his breath. Norwegians don’t like conflict. The British man should have left after the first “no thank you”. Richard’s heart was hammering. He suddenly realized there was an opening, a very small opening, to resolve this whole situation. It would the boldest thing he’d ever done, and he had to simply take action, because any second longer lingering on the idea and the door to this opportunity would close.

“Here it goes,” he muttered to himself. Richard stood up, stripped out of his wet Speedo, and walked to the two man.
“Excuse me,” Richard interrupted. Both men looked at him with raised eyebrows. Richard handed the Norwegian man his wet Speedo. “Please come give this back to me. Room 741.” And he walked off. There was silence behind him. Richard didn’t dare look back.

Once he got off the dock, he covered himself with his hand and walked back to the hotel with his hand over his crotch. There were plenty of eyes on his body, and one whistle, but he made it to the elevator without a scene. Another man in the elevator asked him to move his hand. Richard did. The man considered Richard’s genitals with the manner of an appraiser. He nodded. “Nice,” he said, then got off the elevator on the 5th floor.

Richard went back to his room and showered. He was putting on lotion when there was knock at the door. His heart began to hammer again. He answered with his boxers on, trying to appear calm when inside the butterflies in his stomach were having a rave.
“Oh hello,” Richard said to the blond Norwegian. He had a small leather bag slung over his shoulder, but other than that he was just wearing swim boxers. and sandals
The Norwegian had a rather amused smirk on his face. “I’ve been told to give these back to you.” He held out Richard’s wet Speedo.
Richard tried to kept his face in check. “Ah yes, I was wondering where I put that, thank you. Do please come in.” He took the Speedo and threw it into the bathroom sink. “How can I repay you at all for finding that for me?”
The Norwegian reached into the bag and pulled out a condom.
Richard broke character with a pleased but sheepish grin. “I would love to repay you that way. Been wanting to bottom for you since I saw you downstairs.”
“And I’ve been wanting to fuck you since I saw you downstairs.”
Richard took that moment to reach for him, to kiss him, and he hungrily returned the kiss. Clothes came off and the Norwegian guided Richard to the bed. There were some other things in that bag – things that stretched, vibrated, and lubricated – which turned the hook-up into a long session

Richard also got to learn some fun new Norwegian phrases that he couldn’t use in public.

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Captions are fictional.

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ginger-kicks:

s i l v e r – l i n i n g

“Take your time, catch your breath.”
“I hate this stupid chastity cage. I don’t want to wait another week. I’m ready to do this now.”
“You were probably ready to go last week. I mean, you’re at the top of your game. You’re one of the top in the sport-”
“I am the top. In this region, anyway. Will be East Coast champ soon enough.”
I smile. “Yes. I am confident of that you will be. Your training and patience will pay off. And you know you need the hormones. The release once you win will be extasy. It’s worth the wait.”

Tom punches the bag hard. The muscles in his arm bulge. “Just a week seems like an eternity.”

I step behind him and massage his shoulders, although they’re slick with sweat, trying to get him to release some of the tension. “You’ll feel better after we have sex tonight. You always leak a lot overnight, and if you don’t, we can try some tactics to help you drain a little more if you need it.”
He exhales. “Yeah, that would probably help. Feeling a little sore from how full my balls are.”
“Oh the problems of a virile young man and his big swingin’ nuts.”
He chuffs out his noise. “I am a brute aren’t I?’
“You’re an athlete,” I correct. “A refined and talented athlete. Wrestling is a classic human sport isn’t it? Perhaps the purest there is. No other sport so elegantly shows off the full capacity of the body.”
“There is something about wrestling naked,” Tom says almost to himself. “Something primitivize and amazing.”
“I wish you could see yourself wrestle. You look beautiful. You know, people come up to me the entire night and tell me what a specimen you are. Sometimes I think if I told them to buy you, they actually would.”
That makes him laugh. “Sold like a show pony?”
“Well, sports players are traded aren’t they?” I lean into his ear. “Imagine if all the wrestlers in this league were owned by their trainers….traded like a commodity, housed like dogs, inspected like horses.  You’d just be muscular sex machines for us to use for sport and fuck for our entertainment.”
“Oh shit,” he replies in a husky voice. 
“Your cock enslaved to me as much as your body.”
Tom pushes his ass back against me; I can feel him trembling. “Oh, you’re – you’re getting hard.”
“You make me hard,” I murmur.” I pull his body against mine.
“Can we just – like, right here?” Tom pleads. 
“Take your gloves off, I can fuck you over the wrestling bench.”
“Fuck, that’s a good idea.” Tom sheds his gloves and his shorts. He’s been leaking and his thighs are glistening. Nearly causes me to blow my load. 
“That’s it stud, right there. Oh hell yeah.” I pick up the oil I use to make his skin shiny. “Gonna give you the relief we both need right now.”
“Just – gah.” Tom curses. “Don’t make me cum. Just leak. Need the hormones to fight better.” He bends over the bench and puts his hands on it, ass out.
“That, Tom. That is the attitude of a winner. And winners get cock.” I toss my shorts aside and stride over to take his hole and fill it with my seed.

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Captions are fictional. 

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My nerves were on edge. Walking around an empty subway station at 3 am in a jockstrap and flip flops will do that to you. I turned a bend on the tracks and saw three men standing there, and knew they were the ones just by the way they were dressed, their posture. For weeks, a friend of mine had been acting as a mediator between these men and I. I didn’t want to meet them or see their faces before they took me and used me for the weekend. Of course, kidnapping fantasies are never so clear cut…there’s a lot of talk about limits, contracts, legal mumbo jumbo. So I had a lawyer friend handle it to keep me removed from the process as much as possible.

Finally, I got my orders to show up late late Friday night. Exposed. Alone. You wouldn’t believe the boner I had. They stopped chatting amongst themselves upon spotting me. Grins spread on their faces

“Well well well…he came. Well, he won’t be coming this whole weekend, but at least he was punctual once.”
Another snickered. “Now what a nice piece of meat this is. Still, it’s funny to see a faggot wearing clothing. Can’t wait to get you home boy and into your more…natural setting.”
The third spoke up. “Oh Hammond was right, this was going to be a most interesting weekend.”

I couldn’t run even if I wanted to. The urge to drop to my knees and suck all their cocks over-powered me. I was very lucky because they let me. With a belly full of cum, they stripped me of my underwear before they tied me up like a hog and threw me in the back of their van. It was the start of most intense, degrading 48 hours of my life and I enjoyed every second of it.

Wonder what my husband and kids would think, knowing the things their corporate father used to do to satisfy his lust…

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Text is fictional.

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When August answered the door, his brain momentarily short-circuited. That looked like Ephraim. It looked exactly like Ephraim…but Raimy was back in Indiana. There was no reason logical reason or explanation for him being in Bahrain, especially not in time for August’s 28th birthday. Last year, he had to spend his 27th at sea spent it sulking over his lack of celebratory sex and abundance of practice drills at 5 am.

August began to hyper-ventilate, muttering oh-my-gods over and over. He twisted to stare in slaw-jacked disbelief at his tight-knit bunch of seamen. They were all grinning like Cheshire cats. August was just grateful they had accepted him as an out gay man, but to think they went so far to organize this was just… everything went blurry. He threw himself into Ephraim’s arms and cried into his shoulder. A chorus of “awws” followed behind him.

Raimy rocked him, kissing his temple and sniffling himself, “I missed you so much…” he whispered, voice cracking.
James handed them both tissues which they used in an instant. August pulled back and grabbed Raimy’s head in his hands, “Holy shit it’s really you.”
“Yes, it’s me.” This was punctuated by a possessive kiss.
“Holy fuck…this is – this is …I can’t ..words!” he cried, flapping his hands. “YOU’re my birthday present? Is that what the guys were talking about?”

“Not exactly,” Ephraim smirked, He was wearing only a pair of tight jeans with nothing on underneath and looked damn dashing. After making sure none of their hotel neighbors were watching, he came into their room and closed the door behind him. Ephraim wasted zero time. From his back pocket he withdrew a small box and got on one knee.
“August Reynolds Tarbell. I cannot fucking stand the idea of you thinking I don’t love you enough to send you out into the world without some assurance you’ve been claimed. You are my world, my reason for living. You gave me a reason to kick my Oxy habit. You pulled me through my mother’s passing. You encouraged me to be a mechanic and open my own shop. You…have always been so goddamn patient with me.” He swallowed hard, voice warbling, “I love you so much, please let me love you forever. I will never take it for granted. Will you marry me?”

August’s hands flew to his mouth. His knees were wobbling, so James stood by in case he fainted. The sailor could only nod his head and squeak out a “yes”. The entire hotel room erupted in roars, cat calls, and whoops. Hidden bottles of alcohol emerged from dresser drawers and under the bed. 
Ephraim put the ring on his fiance’s finger, dried his tears with the tissue, then sealed their promise with the most passionate, sweetest kiss. August melted into the sensation of his lips and the texture of Raimy’s tongue… he’d missed those kisses so goddamn much that he wished he could tell his lover without the threat of bursting like a damn. Ephraim pulled him close with an arm around the back of his neck and continued making out hard, not minding their audience.

James let them have their intimacy for a bit then thrust glasses of champagne into their hands. “Alright, alright, you can neck and have sex later but right now, we drink! To the happy couple!”

They got four noise complaints that night. Only two of those were from the party.

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Johan’s shy younger cousin Franz followed his favorite role model into the woods to see where he kept disappearing to with men from the village. He sure got a surprise! It was the gasp that gave him away. Fortunately, Johan knows how to lead by example and instead of punishing him, Johan will start teaching Franz how to pleasure a man properly. “Come on out Franz, it’s alright.” He’s just old enough to start learning, Johan contemplates, Maybe there’s potential in there. He knows that a boywhore is always good for the village. Any household lucky enough to have one in the family is almost guaranteed a steady income of coins from locals and passing travelers.

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In Western society, we cast downward looks upon anyone who has someone serving under them. Can’t they drive themselves? Can’t they fold their own laundry? Can’t they make their own breakfasts? Is it so hard? That poor maid, the poor nanny, the poor butler, how humiliating.

Yet, no one ever considers that servant would have a desire to serve and the master has put aside his self-sufficiency to give contentment to his slave.

Ever since I was little, I liked to clean, cook, and organize. I was passive, quiet, and observant. My mother worried. I went to college but did not find my way. I threw myself into the BDSM scene, yearning for even a moment to pretend my role was real. After years of play, I was introduced to someone at a fetish party. He was serious; he understood. Like me, he was alone in his perspective. He would not have been out of place in an old English country estate commanding a full staff while simultaneously throwing grand lawn parties and being the perfect host to the lords and ladies.  

There is a private joy in being a good slave. We share one life in both the present and future. He dictates the schedules, chores, and errands and I can do them all without having to pester Him questions. I know exactly what He wants and my actions improve His life.
There is a certain level of psychic communication too. Master will come in from the autumn sleet to find a hot bath drawn and ready, or Master will wake up on a fine spring morning to floral-scented air breezing in through the open windows. Or perhaps, a touch of brandy in his coffee. An extra cookie in his lunch. Warming His bed with my lubricated, naked body for him to find after a long frustrating day running of his business.The list is endless.

He loves me. He is fair. His punishments are just. In public, the curious glances my behavior attracts roll off of me like water on a duck’s back. I show off my collar with pride. I have no shame in being exposed or chaste. It is for His proud gaze and eager touch that I live and the euphoria that accompanies it is my raison d’etre.

There’s a plaque that hangs on the wall in the laundry room that I extol. It says: “A place for everything, and and everything in its place.”

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ed note – this story will likely under go some revisions later; I have to go now.

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Lennox lovingly gazed up at Aran’an, his lids heavy and hard to keep open. Aran’an had dozed off kissing his forehead, one arm over Lennox’s body. The nights were longer here, but brighter with two moons in the sky. They cast a pearly glow over the entire sleeping chamber. The thick bundles of incense had burnt down to ash by now, their scents settling over everything like a lace sheet.

Lennox didn’t want to go home tomorrow. It had taken the sky priests two days to figure out how he had gotten to such a far alternative realm, and two months to figure out how to send him back. 

Lennox was seriously debating staying here forever. Home didn’t have Aran’an. Home was a sparse shoebox, a dull job in a phone processing center, and the dreary weather of Seattle. He had spent his childhood in foster care and had been on his own since he was 18. He had vanished through a tear in time fabric while on a simple walk on the wooden trails behind his apartment complex. Whoops. Had anyone even noticed he was missing? Wasn’t it better here?

Lennox hadn’t met Aran’an so much as he’d been assigned to him. He’d been found stumbling around the town in shock and was put under the care of the councilman until they the Board figure out what to do with him.

Society here operated under two different spheres – men that pursued women for bonding ceremonies or reproduction (Ѯέȫl), and men that did not (ĶѮέȫlƽ). Within that second group of strays, the younger men (ṇÆŗŋ) were assigned to older, educated, and often more dominant men (şÆŗŋ÷) when they came of age. Sometimes a male pair would bond; these pairs were often held high rank in government or business. It was considered a disgrace for a man to live life unassigned to any role.

Lennox had learned that the rules did have flexibility though. He had seen an older man under the care of a younger; he knew that some şÆŗŋ÷ could be deeply submissive . He knew that a person could change their title at any time. It was also accepted that sometimes a grown ṇÆŗŋ would fledge from an older man’s care to seek a woman for a mate. Women had a similar system too, although it was more fluid. There was even a neutral gender called ᾝụἡẫ.

Being under Aran’an’s care was the best thing to every happen to Lennox. Even though the language barrier still remained, his keeper had been patient and loving with him. Aran’an wasn’t even his real name; it was ĂŕⱥŅ∙∂, but Lennox couldn’t pronounce it properly due to his few extra teeth (which had been of great fascination to the local dentists).

Being assigned to ĂŕⱥŅ∙∂’s clan had its benefits too. He could go anywhere in the city and say, “Put it under ₪⁞” whether it was a tab at the bar, a bill at a produce stand, or a ticket for theater. ĂŕⱥŅ∙∂ was respected here, and thus, his assigned ṇÆŗŋ received the same respect. How could Lennox go back home to, to that cubicle, to nothingness? Here he meant something to someone. Here he had affection. Tonight, on their supposed last night together, ĂŕⱥŅ∙∂ had even made love to him using techniques priivy only to the ₪⁞ clan and Lennox wanted nothing else for the rest of his life.

Surely, Lennox realized, that over time the novelty would wear off. He’d learn the language. He’d adapt to their customs, their way of keeping time. He’d have to get an education, take a job. Still, going home was a huge risk at this point. After two months, he’d likely lost his job. He might have lost his apartment. Who knew if time even moved the same? Two months here might have been 20 there. Maybe 200 years. Earth was now an uncertainty. Here, he would live in Aran’an’s home, spending the nights resting on his chest, listening to his lungs rise and fall like this. This is where he wanted to be, his ṇÆŗŋ. His body accepted his decision, and Lennox too fell asleep.