Hey there – I saw your fantastic comment to my cat post: “Omg! I fangirled!!!! Continue?!! Omg please?!!”
You have Asks turned off for your layout, so I can’t write ya back. There will be in fact a continuation of this on Christmas 🙂 The cat will be there too.
“Alright, cat. Talk.”
“Mraow.”
“Don’t be coy with me. Where is it.”
“Mraaaoow.”
“I know you know where it is. It was sitting right here. My ring, I wear it all the time. You know, on the hand I pet you with? Where is it.”
“Mraow.”
“What did you do with it? What do you want? Money? Catnip? Power? Well, you won’t get a lick of it without my ring back!” Ethan insists.
Mrs. Fluffington licks hers paws.
“Don’t you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!”
I watch from the recess of the hallway, smothering my giggles behind one hand while filming the scene with my phone in the other. Ethan smacks the table with his palm. “Where is it! Talk damn you, or I will make you talk.”
The cat jerks her head up at the noise, looks at Ethan, then stands up and headbutts him. Ethan sighs and begins to scritch her behind the ears. “Yeah, yeah you like that huh? Feels good huh? Right in that spot. Weellllllll now you won’t get anymore until you tell me where the ring is!”
“Mraaaaow.”
Ethan growls in frustration as Mrs. Fluffington rolls to her side to show off her belly. He narrows his eyes
“They taught you well in cute school. You won’t break easily. Crafty cat. Wait…did you eat it? Did you eat my ring?”
“Mew.”
I know I should really just step in and give Ethan the ring back, but this is far too entertaining. I had taken the ring to measure so I would know what size band to get for his engagement ring. It’s going to be the big surprise for Christmas. Thing was though, Ethan never takes his father’s high school ring off, which made it difficult to measure. When I saw that Ethan had left the ring on the table before he went outside to clean out the gutters after last night’s storm, I made my move. I hadn’t expected him to come back in so soon though, and now I had inadvertently framed my cat.
“Purring are we? That’s a bold move, Mrs. Fluffington. If that even is your real name. You aren’t even married. I know this, I have your file. Talk, kitty, it’s for the best. If you talk, I won’t have to take you into the medical room. Mwuahah. Is that what you want? You have ten seconds to talk. Your adorableness won’t save you this time.” Ethan said in a cartoon-villain sort-of-voice.
I can’t contain myself and my laughter catches his attention.
Ethan swivels his head around until he spots me. “How long have you been standing there?” he asks, sheepish.
“Long enough,” I reply with a smile, tucking my phone into my pocket. “You’re good at that, I think she was about to crack.”
Ethan picks up the cat and snuggles her like a baby. “I seriously think she ate my ring though.”
I make a show of sauntering into the living room holding up his ring in one hand. “I have your ring. I took it to polish it. She was sniffing at it, didn’t want her to eat it or knock it on the floor.”
Ethan’s face melts in relief. “Thank god. Scared me there. I always get so nervous when I take it off.”
“Sorry love.” I kiss his cheek. “I didn’t expect you to come back in so soon. Are you done already?”
“Nah, I had to use the bathroom.”
“Aah. Do you forgive me?”
“I think I can,” Ethan says with a smile, kissing me on the lips. I show him the ring I polished. It only looks marginally shinier.
“Man, I’d go insane if I lost it. I still feel the hole he left behind.”
I cup his bearded cheek. “Your dad would be so proud of you, all your accomplishments. Your weight loss. He’d be pleased that you grew up into such a handsome man.”
Ethan lets the cat down so he can pluck the ring from me and turn it in his fingers. “I would hope so. I often wonder how he would feel if he knew I was in a relationship with a man.”
“Hm. I think he would be a bit freaked out at first, maybe a bit hostile, but once he got to realize you were the same son, I think he’d be ok with it. Besides, I like football, I think we would have bonded.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Your mom likes me doesn’t she?.”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah she does. Joel?”
“Mm?”
“You know…” he slides the class ring on and off his finger, distractedly. “I wouldn’t mind wearing your ring next to this one day.”
I smile, my heart aching for how much I love this man. He’s making it very hard to keep my secret, well, a secret. I almost crack and propose right there and then. I take his hands into my own.
“I think we are moving in that direction for sure, Ethan,” I say slowly. “That’s something we can absolutely discuss more after Christmas, when we can look at our budget and see just how much we spent spoiling your nieces.”
He makes an exaggerated wince. “Yeah I think we bought the whole toy store…”
I chuckle, and nuzzle him. Ethan returns my affection and kisses me. I volley it back. He smells kinda nice, all outdoors-y. One kiss turns into two, two into four, four into… well.
After some time of standing there, with our hands roving over each-other’s torso’s, Ethan breaks the connection.
He sounds breathy. “Hey uh…you know, I really need to go finish cleaning the gutters before it rains again tonight…”
“…but?” I pry.
“But I was thinking, I would much rather have sex with you right now,” he admits, looking sheepish.
I suppress a groan. I love it when Ethan announces his intentions so bluntly like that. It didn’t use to be this way. His history was mostly with women, and it took him a long time to come around to his lust for me.
“Jesus Ethan,” I sigh. “I would love that. We’ll just do a quick one, alright? So you can get back to those all important gutters.”
“Juuust a quick one,” he agrees.
“Maow.”
We both look down at the black and white fuzzball weaving around our legs.
“And that means keeping the door closed so you can’t get in.”
“Man it’s so weird the way she likes to watch us,” Ethan says. I laugh, and then I take his hand and escort him upstairs.
I can barely wait for Christmas. He’s going to be so surprised.
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Text is fictional. Sequel is here!
“Oh the phone…Hey Jim. Yeah what’s up? I’m a little busy why? I think I can meet ya there, just need like an extra hour. What am I doing? Oh teasing my houseboy’s cock. He got a break from his chastity device, and I caught the little bastard jerking off on my bed. Well now he’s tied to his own bed and he’s gonna be there a while. …What’s that? Haha you can hear him? Come on boy, say hi!”
“Mmnnffgg!”
“Good boy. Alright Jim, I’ll text ya before I leave. Bye now. Now where were we, boy? You have such a nice long, smooth shaft… so many different toys I can use on it. I think the feather will be next, followed by the e-stim machine perhaps. Jim doesn’t live far. I can torture your cock right up until the point I’m gonna leave..and I will. How does those metal spikes feel boy?”
“MMnnnnn!”
His Master flicks his nipple clamps.
“MMNNnnnnnnnnn,” the boy groans.
“Better. Oh ho. I can feel your dick twitching. It thinks its getting another ejaculation, hahaha. Nope.”
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Text is fictional.
Pup looks up at his Master’s stern face and realizes he’s in deep trouble. …But he had a lot of fun rolling around, and feels pretty all covered in glossy black paint, so he gives a happy smile and a panting tongue. He hopes being adorable will help him avoid the worst of the spanking.
“…What are you doing?”
The pup looks down, sheepishly. “I…I wanted to know what I’d look like if I had patches or spots?”
“Christ, how on Earth am I supposed to punish you when you’re being that cute?”
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Text is fictional. Edited!
I got home from the club, late. The streets were empty. Rain had started to fall. I changed out of my leather pants, my harness, and my Aussiebums, then jumped into the shower to rinse off the layers of sweat, cigarette smoke, and the pheromones of a hundred men. I slipped into comfier clothes for bed, then padded downstairs for a glass of iced tea and a snack. When I reached into the fridge for the pitcher, the light from the bulb illuminated my hand.
I paused, staring at the dark X on my palm. I retracted my hand and stood up. I closed the fridge door, then turned on the kitchen sink light and examined my hand under the yellow glow. The mark was originally black, made with permanent marker, but it had diluted in the shower. Faded. Not rinsed away. This was unusual. The lines were definite, like a tattoo.
It was like he had marked me. Branded me, with ink, instead of iron. The bouncer did it at the door. I flirted with him a little, caressing his bulging arm muscles as he examined my identification. He smirked at me, and did nothing to brush off my touches. Instead of slapping a mark of entry on the back of my hand like the other club-goers, he flipped my hand over and did it on my palm. He then leaned over and whispered into my ear the huskiest voice I’d ever heard: “So I can find you later.”
Initially, that struck me as odd that he would club at a place where he worked. He told me at the bar, later, over drinks when we were parched from dancing our asses off, that he sometimes covered for a friend who was the main bouncer. He worked here very part time. Mostly he came to be with the men. I couldn’t blame him. The men. The cock. The dancing. The whipping and milking demonstrations downstairs. Heaven was in Atlanta, and it had nothing to do with Coca Cola.
He monopolized me all night, this huge guy. He said his name was Ulysses, but everyone calls him Uly. It only added to his image of being a Russian gangster. He kept me away from the other men, grinding against me on the dance floor, rubbing his body against mine until we were basically having sex with our clothes on. People gave us room. We were in our own space.
The braying sound of the Closing Bell broke our spell. Like Cinderella, we returned to accountants and lawyers and actuaries and writers, all stumbling onto the sidewalk completely drained of energy. Some drunk, some buzzed on ecstasy, most ignoring the wet stickiness in their pants.
Uly pulled me to the alley and kissed me, then stuck his dirty hand down my pants and stroked me off. Before I came, I unzipped him and handled his beefy cock until we shot our seed together all over the cement. When we broke from kissing, I watched it mingle together in a puddle. I looked up at him. There was some sort of connection. I could sense it, mostly in how he looked at me. It was in the regret in his eyes when he said, “You get home safe ok?” and left without giving me his number. I was too stunned, too drained, to speak. I could only watch him walk away.
Looking at the X on my hand, it occurred to me this was the last thing connecting us together. Sure, he knew what I looked like now – but would he remember me? or just my body? Was I person to him, or a vessel of pleasure for his amusement? I shook my head. Club boys were not boyfriend material. They were creatures of the night. of sex. Of disobedience. It’s all play anyway, those leather personalities we craft for ourselves.
Before I could hesitate, I grabbed a kitchen rag and scrubbed my palm. It wouldn’t come off. Not a bit. Not even with soap. It was like magic. What kind of marker was this? I pondered. I knew how this would play out in a fairy tale. I would have to go back to him to get it removed. No doubt, it would vanished when he kissed my palm – and he would tell me to marry him so we could run the kingdom and live happily ever after. Or something.
With a scoff, I tossed the rag onto the counter. I padded over to the fridge and continued extracting the pitcher and pouring myself a glass of cold tea. I looked at my hand as I drank. Part of me wanted it to be permanent. Part of me wanted a mark I could wear everywhere, in public, to show everyone that a man had picked me. That a man owned me. That I was his property. Property. The word gave me frisson.
I was marked property though, at least for now. I wanted to see Uly again, one way or another. Normally, I went to the club once a week to blow off some steam. I didn’t know if the mark would last that long. The ink would fade with sloughing skin cells. I’d have to go again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after, until I saw Uly again. I knew if I lost him, I would never stop thinking about him again; it would wear a hole in me I could never fill.
I drank my tea, made a grilled cheese sandwich, and went to bed. I dreamed of Uly, and woke up horribly aroused.
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Text is fictional. This is Charles Gaget of Sports Models, photographed by Sylvain Norget for Calvin Klein.
“Why do YOU get a bigger, cooler wooden sword?”
“Because I’m a bottom. I need to protect myself from lustful men,” Bobby says, swinging it around.
“But I’m the top! I’m in charge here!”
“Your sword is in your pants. That’s why you get the skinny one, cause it looks like you’re dick”
“My dick isn’t skinny! It’s bigger than yours! Da~~~dddy~~ why does he get a big sword?”
Sigh. “…We are never going to get this Christmas play together in time. You are both two old for time-outs. Bobby, stop teasing Max. Max, stop whining. You get the wooden sword in the next act.”
“Yes Daddy,” they said simultaneously.
“Alright, now let’s try this again from the top. And action! Good.. Good. Move over there good. Wait – Max stop trying to take the sword away from him! Arg, cut!”
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Text is fictional. Edit – just noticed the other guy actually does have a sword so I had to rewrite it…
Awww how cute. All those tops amusing themselves while patiently waiting to be called.
Jonathan needed some help dealing with the stress of finals week. Luckily, the other guys assigned to his team science project understood his suffering. They made sure his mental and physical health concerns were addressed properly, in succession, until Jonathan was so relaxed he nearly melted off the table. They received extra points on their assignment for such an excellent display of teamwork.
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Text is fictional.
“Check this out. My friend did a filter thing on it. Cool pic huh?”
“Jesus, Sam, ya fat bastard, look at ya! You’re a stud!”
I laughed. “Alpha male, I tell ya. It’s one of my favorite shots. Just me and my boys.”
“Why is the dog in front?”
“Well, he’s better trained and better bred. He’s got papers. The slave back there I just took in – he’s a Latin mutt. Last Master turned him in due to overcrowding. Badly trained and growly. I put him in his place in those first three days I’ll tell you what,” I laughed again. “You see how resigned he looks?”
“Ya?”
“Cause he knows he’s under the dog.”
“Aaaahhh.”
“It’ll be good for him. Already showing some improvement already. He’s food fixated, so if you promise him food, he’ll do almost anything. Yep, he’s a good boy. Love him already.”
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Text is fictional.
First was that theater kid, Kip, behind the vending machine in high school….and most recently, that hot Puerto Rican guy behind the bar. There’s been a lot in-between. Anthony, my best friend’s roommate in college, after he lost that bet. He liked it too. Man, I wonder what happened to Silvio. Hottest foreign exchange student ever, with the body of a god. Then there was that bear I sucked off at the gym. That wasn’t really my thing, but god what a cock on that man. Still picking hair out of my teeth though. God who else? Ryosuke, the skinny Japanese guy. He was one loud motherfucker. Dion. John. Chris. So many guys off Grindr. I don’t think I remember half their names – the dude with the eagle tattoo, the redhead, the Russian accent guy. I wonder if James counts, cause I stopped sucking his dick once I realized he didn’t clean his foreskin right. Gross. Who else? Oh, Marcus. Never seen a guy so proud of such a small dick. Fit so nicely in my mouth. Man, I’ve sucked a lot of cock. I wonder what that says of me? It says I like to suck cock, that’s what. Most guys are grateful, at least I like to hope. Everyone likes getting their dick sucked. Oh, forgot about Aaron…
Oh crap, this is my stop! “Wait, hold the doors!”
I rush off the bus, giving a wave to the bus driver in thanks. I get out of traffic and find a spot on the sidewalk to stand so I can check my phone. I fire out a text message: “Hey David, just got off the bus. On my way to your place. Looking forward to meeting you. Hope you’re naked.”
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Text is fictional.
This is what happens when you act like a snot. As soon as we get home, we go to the bedroom and eliminate that type of behavior.Â
“If you want me to take you to Joel’s All Male Christmas Party at the end of the year, you better adjust your attitude boy. I know you’re looking forward to it. This spanking is a warning to change your snotty attitude, or you’re going to stay home and clean while I’m out having fun and drinking and partying.”
“Ow! I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”
The spanking stops.
“Oh thank god.”
Then it started up again.
“Ack! What the heck?!”
“I gotta do the other cheek now.”