Tag: gay captions

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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.

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Text is fictional. Edited for tense issues.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Being collared will set you free. I could recall the sign word for word, as I saw it often hanging over the door of His dungeon. I pondered the phrase, initially thinking it was a contradiction. How could being owned and being collared result in any type of freedom? The more he trained me and sculpted me, emotionally breaking me down and working me back up to a stronger, more obedient boy, I began to see the genius in my Master.

I began to see, like the difference between the grass and the sky, that some men were naturally born to dominate and lead where was others were not. There was no situation my Master could not handle with grace and his own charm; there was nothing he couldn’t fix with a certain facial expression and corresponding body posture; there was no mystery in life he had not pondered and solved. I felt mentally weak and inferior to his brilliance, in awe of the clarity in which he saw the world. With his training I gained manners, then I learned to check my pride and my ego. Just because I was a male, it did not mean things were owed to me. My Master taught me this, and a great deal more things, and through pain and love, helped me gain a stronger foothold in life. A deeper, appreciation, so to speak, for things I could change and the things I had to accept as is.

One of those things, was that He would always be a superior and an alpha in my life, even though we were cut from the same a template of the same bone and muscles. In my early years, I found him aggravating and his opinions frustrating, but now there was only an odd sort of peace in being content with my status. I had an open window to his knowledge. I often felt deep reassurance in knowing he would always be there to keep me in check, to keep me on a straight path, and to discipline me when I had faulted. I could always ask him for advice. I pitied those who were left to discipline themselves.

I tore my eyes away from the handsome black and silver collar in his manicured, outstretched hand, and looked beyond it to my Master’s hopeful face. My silence had perplexed and worried him. I could read his expressions like an open book these days.

I cupped the soft leathery collar in my hands and knelt, offering it back up to him. My Master stepped forward – I could hear the creak of his leather pants – and took it out of my palms. I felt his fingers unhitch the silver chain around my neck – my training collar. My neck felt light without it. The buckle jingled as He handled it, then He wrapped the real collar around my neck. I bowed my head as it was fixed in place. Even after one second, it felt as if it had been there all my life.
“Lift your head,” my Master said.
“I did.”
He smiled, looking dazzling. “Look at that.” I was surprised to detect a bit of emotion in his voice.
I raised my hand and felt the material around my neck. I couldn’t wait to see it in a mirror.
“Thank you Sir,” I said, “Thank you for this fine gift, and for allowing me to serve under you.” My Master nodded, then to my surprise, he responded: “Thank you for being a fine pupil. I saw enormous potential in you, but I am surprised you gave me the honor of staying with me and allowing me to teach you for so long. There were so many times I was sure your machismo would get in the way and you would break. You have exceeded all my expectations.”
At that moment, my throat was so tight, I couldn’t say a word or even cry.
“Merry Christmas, boy,” He said.
I broke my form. I leapt to my feet and embraced him in a huge hug. To my relief, he crushed me back instead of chiding me for it. I was shocked to feel a sob go through him. “God, I love you,” he whispered in my ear, barely audible. I wanted to tell him the same words back, but “I love you” did not seem to convey enough the adoration I felt for him. Instead, I said, “I will always be yours.”

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Text is fictional. Cannot believe I forgot to post this yesterday. It had been sitting in drafts since November.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

This is the sequel to this.

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Ethan and I sat in a pile of wrapping paper and small boxes, sipping hot cocoa with vanilla vodka in it. He was dangling a ribbon for Mrs. Fluffington to swat at. We had spent the morning playing in the snow and going sledding on a golf course hill by the house, then came home to a nice lunch and gifts. Sweaters. Books. Sex toys. Sarcastic post-it notes. A shaving kit for Ethan. Hockey stuff for me. The climax of Christmas was over…or so Ethan thought.

“Ethan?” I began.
“Hm?”
“This Christmas has been magical. I mean, I’m sitting here, by the fire, with medicated hot chocolate, with no place to go and no one making demands on me at work. It’s snowing beautifully outside, and we’re all warm and toasty in here. It’s cliche, but it’s magical, and every Christmas I spent with you, I find this intense happiness that I never knew possible. More than anything, I feel just so incredibly happy with you, and am just far too pleased with the idea that I get to spend a whole ‘nother year with you.”

Ethan smiled at me. “Honey that is so sweet of you to say.” He leaned over and we shared a chaste kiss. I could see the suspicion in Ethan’s eyes. He was no doubt wondering if this was in fact The Time, or if he was reading into things too much. “Jesus christ, I can’t even begin to express how I feel about you..” He worked his jaw, trying to make words come out, but I put a finger over his soft lips so he’d hush.

“Now, I know being with me over the years has been a strange journey for you. We started off as friends. You were dating a girl. Then, you came out to me as bisexual, and then you confessed you had a crush on me-”
Ethan groaned and blushed, much to my delight.
“Which was one of these most wonderful things that has ever happened to me, as I was going insane with my unrequited feelings for you.”
“…You were?”
“Absolutely,” I admit. “I didn’t want to be ‘that creepy gay guy’ but, even then, I knew you were special. I loved your scruffy look. I thought you were so handsome. I was selfish, just looking at the surface. You taught me what it really means to be *in* a relationship, and I never wanted to work so hard for love in my life. You are so ambitious, so forward thinking, that I was – am – constantly amazed by all your kinetic energy. Being with you has made me like… jolt free, and move with intent, to improve and better myself, and grow up.  I wanted -” at this point, my voice cracked -“ I wanted so very much to be worthy of your love, and your approval, to be someone you didn’t consider below you. I want to live in a house with you, and share your bed, and listen to you mutter in your sleep and put jelly on your toast. I love you, and I hope, I really, really hope, that you love me too. So, Ethan Richard Norwich, will you marry me, and let me have you forever?”

I presented a small box from the pocket of my bathrobe and opened it with two trembling, hands.

At this point, I must have entirely mesmerized Ethan because his pupils were dilated and his lids were wide open. It should have been entirely obvious that I was proposing minutes ago, but when he saw the ring Ethan made this high pitched noise, the end of which was smothered by his hands covering his mouth. Mrs. Fluffington fled for the nearest box. Ethan’s palms over his chin were the only things keeping his jaw from falling off his face.
“Holy shit is this really happening…?” he asked, hesitating.
“Yes, it is,” I replied, swallowing hard.
Yes!” he squeaked, a loud voice coming out of a tight throat. “Yes oh my god yes! Yes yes!” He threw his arms around me and squeezed me so hard, I couldn’t breathe. He then peppered me with his kisses.
“Oh my god! Did I just get engaged?” he said, his eyes overflowing with tears.
I was laughing with bliss and happiness, high off adrenaline as the nervousness faded away.
“Yes, it’s happening. I’d been planning this for months.” I showed him the ring.
“Shit, it’s beautiful. And yet, masculine. Shit.” He was openly crying now.
I took it out of the box and slid it into his ring finger. Ethan exhaled audibly. ‘Oh god it fits perfectly. Look at it, it’s just…shit, Joel.” He wiped tears away with this shirt. We embraced and rocked and cried together. The snow continued to fall outside. I piped up. “You know when you came back in from cleaning the gutters and found your dad’s ring gone? I lied. I had taken it to measure for this.”
“What…? Ah you crafty bastard! How did I – how did I not see it? You’ve been planning this for months! You told me we had to put it off!”
I grinned. “That is true. I wanted you to be surprised.” I examined his trembling hand, sniffling too. “God it looks perfect.”
“I’m engaged,” Ethan announced, his eyes red, his voice light with disbelief. “I’m going to get married. Holy shit. This is the best Christmas ever.” He gazed up at me. “I love you so much, Joel. Don’t ever think you’re not worthy of me. I spent so many years worried that you get frustrated or impatient with me and leave. So sure you would assume I’d find a woman and eventually leave. Coming out as bisexual was the hardest thing I ever did because I risked your friendship. Now I’m marrying my best friend, and I think I might be dreaming.”

The tears, the hugging, and the kissing continued until we needed tissues. Ethan’s disbelief melted into excitement, and he fetched his laptop so we could Skype his mother in Florida.
When she saw the ring, she made the exact same noise as her son, and punctuated it with a: “Well it’s about fucking time!”
I left them alone for a moment so they could talk about how much Ethan’s father would have loved to see this moment.

After we called our respective families, I took Ethan out for a walk in the snow which had blanketed the neighborhood. I looked behind us and saw our footprints recede into the distance, and I realized that we had always been sharing the same path. We would be officially starting a new life as one. I squeezed Ethan’s hand.
“I will always love you.”

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Text is fictional. The source and maker of the ring is here.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house; not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse….or your cock for example, because I locked it up. In its plastic cage you can see how cute and small it is compared to mine, which is allowed to go free and get hard when it wants. Your little inferior one is where it’s belongs because it’s too distracting for you. Just a little bit of flesh there, but you could not stop playing messing with it…

Aw, you better not pout. You better not cry. You’ve been such a good boy this year, and I’ll tell you why. You’ve pleased me so much this year, satisfied me so many times when I needed a boy the most… I’m sure Santa is going to be bring you lots of presents this year. I know your wish list is long. He might even bring you an orgasm. You don’t want Santa to peer through your window and see you jacking off do you? He’s going to think if you just want those boring kinds of orgasms and cannot control yourself, then he won’t need to bring you all those fun toys in his bag…

I know, it’s difficult. Why not come play with my cock and whittle away the time? Christmas morning is still a day away.

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Text is fictional. Borrowed some lines from "Twas the Night Before Christmas” and “Santa Claus is coming to town”.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

I lean against him, one hand around his waist. He’s mostly quiet now, except for his sniffles punctuating the silence of our living room. The warm Florida sunlight streaming in through the windows is making me sleepy. I close my eyes, doing my best to emanate calmness and serenity. It took me nearly twenty minutes to get him to calm down, my boyfriend was that upset.

I was just congratulating myself on my ability to recover from such a turn of events when Quint’s thin facade crumbled again. I felt his shoulders tremble first. I opened my eyes and turned my head slightly him, just enough time to see his bottom lip tremble but not enough time to react.
“My gecko,” he wailed through a tight throat, and fresh tears began to fall. “My poor little Shovel.” He burst into fresh sobs.
“Oookay come here,” I cooed, using my hand on his waist to guide him sideways and into my arms. Quint crawled into my embrace and set to work on soaking my shirt again. I held him tight, wishing I could do something – anything – to lessen his pain.

The shock of coming back from a trip to the post office to find the little guy deceased had sunk in now, and Quint was now ruminating in his grief. I kissed his temple and rocked him. “Oh my poor baby.”
“I already miss him so much,” Quint babbled. “I am never gonna see his smiling face when I come to see him again. I’m never going to feed him another mealworm again, or watch him climb up the glass like Spiderman… he was just such a bro. Watching TV is never going to be same without him. He loved hockey.”
I try not to laugh. It’s not the right time. “Aww honey. Shovel had an excellent life with you. You said he was old wasn’t it?”
Quint nodded as he blew his nose with a tissue he pulled from the box to his side. “He was old for a leopard gecko. He was 17. I had him since I was 11. He was my birthday gift for getting straight As in school. I spent more of half my life with with-” At the end of that sentence, Quint’s voice goes up into a falsetto and clings to me hard, still crying. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.
“There, there,” I say, knowing my words won’t do a thing.
“I had gotten him some new stuff for his terrarium for Christmas. What do I do with it now?”
“You can donate it to a reptile rescue, so some other lizard will get a nice life in Shovel’s name.”
I can’t tell if that upset Quint or made him happier, but the waterworks are in full gush mode right now. I hug him until I’m worried his ribs are going to break. My heart hurts for my boyfriend and I feel a little helpless that I can’t make this suck less.

Quint sniffles. “Two days before Christmas…why…”
“He just decided it was time,” I explain. “Shovel was very lucky to have you. I don’t want you blaming yourself now. He knew your schedule well. I think he passed when you were out at the post office because he couldn’t do it while you were around. Shovel knew how much you loved him.”
“Y-you think so?”
“Yes,” I say, with a nod. “He was an old gecko. He just took a nap and went. I’d say that’s the best you could have hoped for right? No pain, no lingering illness…”
“I loved that gecko.” Quint pauses for a loud hiccup. “I knew this was coming one day. I just thought there would be a sign…”
“Being 17 was a sign, love.” I insist.
“Still. I wanted more time,” Quint whines. He still hasn’t let go of me.
“I know, baby, but that wouldn’t be fair to Shovel. Shovel couldn’t give you more than that. He gave you all he could.”
Quint is quiet for a long moment, thinking about his beloved pet. “You are such a wonderful boyfriend, Marcus,” he says, surprising me. “I am blubbering like an idiot and crying all over you and you’re just putting up with me.”
“It’s part of loving you,” I say. “Being in a relationship means that you don’t just get the fun times and good sex-”
“Yeah the sex is pretty damn good,” admits Quint.
I chuff through my nose. “It is. But it also means being there when you need someone to get you through hard times. Shovel was part of our family. I’m not a total dick. I will put black bunting on his terrarium in mourning, if you want, and we can have a lovely funeral for the little guy.”
“Oh, I’d like that! I’d like that a lot.” Quint kisses me on the lips, then rests his head on my shoulder. “You are getting so many good boyfriend points right now.”
I smile. “Does that mean I’m getting extra Christmas presents?”
“Oh, it definitely does. And I’ll even let you be the little spoon in bed when we sleep.”
“Oh ho, I am a good boy on Santa’s list this year huh?”
Quint nods once more. “Uh-huh. Very good. God, I love you, Marcus.”
“I love you too, Quint. Why don’t we get you something cool to drink and you can wash your face?”
“Oh vodka. I need vodka.”
I laugh. “11 am vodka it is. A drink in Shovel’s memory?”
“To Shovel,” Quint agrees, all red-eyed and drained of energy.

I pat my lover on the shoulder, help him get up, and walk him to the kitchen. Again, I applaud myself for how well I handled the situation. I had been dangerously close to thinking Quint might be “the one”, but there were a few last tests to be done before I could make such a declaration. I was pretty sure we passed this one. There were a few more tests left, like talking about having children, and then I would know for sure if Quint could be mine for good. I was looking forward to them, because I was confident everything would work in our favor. I was confident in our love, because nothing could stop me from feeling the way I did about Quint – on good days, or bad ones.

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Text is fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Justin and Diego decided to treat themselves this Hanukkah and splurge on the best mattress in their budget. The other one was in damn sorry shape. It was yellowed and creaky; there were a big dent in the middle where they cuddled together at night. In addition to the lumps, a couple of the springs were broken – souvenirs from a few particularly vigorous nights of sex.

Three seconds after the delivery boy left with a tip and a handful of Star of David cookies, Justin and Diego peeled out of their clothes and got to testing it out. It looked like a giant rectangular marshmallow. At first they just jumped on the mattress like children, laughing at their cocks bouncing around, but soon hands and mouths gravitated together until they were both randy and ready to play. Diego begged his lover to allow him to try out this position he’d never gotten to do, riding Justin backwards while crouched over his lap. He could only be fucked this way if the bed would do most of the work.

Both men were delighted when the springiness of the mattress lived up to their expectations. For Justin, it was such a bizarre sensation to feel something push up under him when he was thrusting into Diego. His pale cock was deep red and rock solid; he couldn’t take his eyes off that brown bubble-butt bouncing on his thighs up and down, up and down.

God, why hadn’t they done this sooner! They spent the entirety of Hanukkah in the bedroom, enjoying all their favorite positions as if they were brand new. They would kiss after eating chocolate gelt, and the floor was littered with the shiny metal wrappers. By the eighth night of the holiday, they went to light the menorah and realized they still hadn’t even opened most of their presents yet!

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Text is fictional. CockyBoys gets credit.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“What are you boys doing in here? Why are you standing around like that? There’s a lot of cooking to be done! We got a lot of people coming over later for our holiday party.”
“We’re warming our buns, Sir.”
“Yes,” the second houseboy says, “Our buns are cold. It’s freezing in here!”
“We can’t cook if we’re too cold, so we’re warming the kitchen a little.”
“You’re still wasting time! Isn’t there something you should be doing?”
“Sir, forgive me for saying so, but it’s 8 in the morning. The party isn’t until 5. Plus, we did a lot of prep-work last night. We’re going to have plenty of time.”

The man out of the house puffs out his cheeks as he gets momentarily distracted by bare legs and cute butts. “Well..fine. Could one of you at least make me a cup of coffee then?”
“Right away, Sir,” they both echo. One houseboy on the outside of the oven turns to the other closer to the counter and mouths. “Decaf. Use the decaf.”

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Text is fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“Can I get on? I wanna get on,” he grouses, pouting all the while, climbing into my lap.
“Woaah – ok there big guy. Oof! Watch your leg there. Ok oook alright. Are you sure you don’t want to do this somewhere more comfortable?”
“No now,” he insists, settling into my lap. “Put it in me. I want it.”
There is something oddly adorable about the sullen, childish tone he is using with me. I reach under and position my cock up. He wiggles his ass until he gets into the right place, and slides down with a loud gasp until we are flush.
“Oh god, yes,” he breathes, wrapping an arm around me. “So good, so good.” He clenches his ass and moans as I push up into him. “More.”
“You have to do some of the work, baby,” I gently remind hm.
“I just want to be connected. I missed you so much.”

And there it is. He put on a stiff upper lip when I picked him up the airport, but when I got him home he totally fell apart. He’s always been one to hide his emotions until he’s all stuffed up. Sometimes when he’s horny, I can get himself to bare himself to me without any guards up at all. After months away, he was fragile as spun glass.
“You missed me?”
“So much,” he sniffles. “London was grey without you.”
“You didn’t have a good time studying abroad?”
“I learned a lot but I was lonely.”
“Aww, there there. I’m here now.” I run my palms up and down his back, doing my reassure him. I tense my thighs and trust up into his tight ass; he rewards me by squeezing his buttocks around me and groaning. I sigh as I slide in and out of him, my face and nose buried in his shoulder.
No condoms. No distance, not in miles, not in centimeters.

“I missed you too.”

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Text is fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

torontopup:

kicksleathermen:

Instructing his lad on the play out for the up coming session where he will be shared …

Roy was trying to listen to his Master. He usually was entranced by the timbre of his voice, the low commanding tone he used to give instruction. His Master was laying out the specifics on how he was to behave later that night, how many men were coming over, on how he would be tied down and shared for their pleasure. Roy should really had been listening to that. It should have filled him with a bit of nervousness, both over pleasing his Master and pleasing the men. He hadn’t taken so many man in one session, so it was an appropriate time for self-reflection before the night began.

“And they’ll probably want you in the swing, so your hole will be open to them, and they can fuck you one by one..”

But Roy wasn’t thinking about that…he was smelling the smoke from his Master’s cigarette. He could faintly smell the acrid scent of cheap beer too and hear it slosh around in the glass bottle. It reminded Roy, very bluntly, that nine months ago he was in a pub holding those same things when they met. He used to smoke two to four a day. Roy loved the social aspect of smoking, how cool he felt, the shape of the box in his hand. He wanted just one drag, to feel the sweet caress of nicotine of it in his lungs. The cravings had died down after his Master had forced him to quit for his own health, as he couldn’t run even a block, but Roy discovered that the cravings had never really left. He wanted one, more than he wanted an orgasm at this point. And of course, nothing quite rounds out the buzz of a cigarette like the aftertaste of alcohol on the numbed tongue. Roy considered begging, asking for his Master to share them, but Roy did not dare. He knew his Master was doing this on purpose, to remind him distinctly that this casual conversation was masking a lesson about control. About denial. About ownership. And Roy was the one in this cage, awaiting use by all those men, for his owner’s pleasure.

His Master was a man amongst men. Undeniably male, in his form and presence and voice. He could have a cigarette, and a drink whenever he wanted; hell he was entitled to them! Anything in moderation, because Masters are in control of themselves. Roy knew he was not on that level. He was weak, susceptible to peer pressure and addiction. He sought chemicals to dull feelings of inadequacy and poor self-esteem. It was better that his Master had the upper hand and could make decisions for him, about his health, and body, but it didn’t mean Roy always enjoyed it. And now, he wasn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Are you listening, boy?” his Master asked, with a burp.
“Ye-yes Sir.”
“Then what did I just say?”
Roy swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. “That…that I’ll be stretched before Ortega fucks me, because he is huge, and that I shouldn’t assume I can take him just because I took the others.”
“Or?”
“Or because I’m horny and would be excited by a big dick, Sir,” Roy mumbled, blushing.
His Master took a long drag, then exhaled. Roy nearly whimpered at the scent. “Good boy.” He stubbed the cigarette out, leaving about a quarter of it unburned.
“You please me tonight, you can smoke the rest of this. You fail me, and I’ll make you eat it.”

Roy felt a chill go through him. This was a very different kind of reward, and the challenge excited him. He strained in his cage. “Yes sir, thank you Sir. I will not disappoint you tonight.”
“I do not expect to be disappointed, or embarrassed in front of my friends. Are you a good boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Are you horny?”
“Yes sir.”
His Master took another swig of beer. “This is going to be a fun night, don’t you think?”

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Text is fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

jeanbaptistehuong:

© JBH/BVD-2014 – Madrid (Spain)

Fabrice & Sylvain

When we’re out in public, or on the streets, they see a man that just doesn’t stop. He’s gregarious, extraverted, out-going. Always there with a grin and a wave and a boisterous. “Hey how have you been? How’s your mom/dog/sister/job/chastity going?” He remembers everyone. Memory like a steel trap.

At work, he’s bright eyed and bushy tailed at 7 am, cheerful and chipper and done with his work by 3 pm. He’ll top it off with a work-out and then come home to cook-dinner by humming.

At leather events, he’s almost like a puppy although he is the one holding my leash. He struts around, so eager to show me off while trying to talk to everyone and investigate everything. Pulling me aside to fuck me in a fit of lust only seems to spur him on more, and for the next hour he’ll lavish me in attention and touches until I’m desperately horny again and sucking his cock in the middle of the room. His nickname is the Energizer Bunny at these events for a reason. Four hours of spanking demonstrations? Ok! Let’s go.

What these people don’t see is that my baby needs to recharge sometimes. Sometimes those batteries do wind down, and he gets sullen and cranky. He can only get his energy back through a thermal charge, so I’ll half carry him into the bedroom for a nap. He’ll cling to me, both hands touching my skin like positive and negative terminals, seeking the current running through me. We’ll talk in low voices until he drifts off to sleep, and he charges.

I like to stroke his hair and kiss his face, and shower him with the gentlest love I can manage. I can’t do these things when he’s zooming around the house. This is my time to monopolize him, without roles or statuses. He goes from an Energizer bunny to my cuddle bunny.

And how do I know when he’s recharged? Because he does what all bunnies start doing when they get their vigor back – he begins to hump my leg.

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Text is fictional. Source is below.