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You feigned recognition that your new stepson was completely after your dick since day 1, but that one weekend your wife and his mom went out of town to visit her sister…. you couldn’t deny the obvious anymore and gave it to him hard and fast right over the sofa. You assumed that was that, itch out of the system and all, but you were a fool though to think that one fuck was enough for a 22 year old twink. Now any time his mom even goes on an errand, he’s in your lap clutching the lube, grinding, begging for you to slip it out and thrust it up ass. You don’t even have to do anything except sit back and watch his cock bounce as he rides you. Although, you really prefer to have his butt up in the air so you can drive into him hard.  Something about watching that pale lithe body writhe under you makes you cum torrents – which is why you end up fucking him again…and again…and again.

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Text is fictional

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His balls were soft and squishy like pink marshmallows warm from being close to a fire. His ass felt like silk wrapped over two loaves of leavened bread dough – round and risen, puffy and thick. Every inch of Sacha was as virgin and innocent as fresh snow; even his nipples colored his chest like new rosebuds in spring. Kelley was enamored by his ethereal face and wisps of blond hair. He was best displayed on white shag and feather mattresses, ass up, his chubby cock tucked under him. It was too much to take in his seductive form at once. Kelley found it most erotic to simply caress the boy, gently ghosting his fingers over the most intimate curves and swells until Sacha was thoroughly hot and bothered and his balls were swollen as choux pastries fresh out of the oven. Then, Kelley would coax out the boy’s raspberry red erection from under him and watch it drip white pearls.

At times, sexing Sacha felt like a violation, like he’d crossed the red rope in front of a fine art piece, or like he had been forced to eat a dessert that had been gorgeously plated. Yet, Kelley always gave in to the temptation. He only had to put a hand anywhere near Sacha’s entrance and it would relax and open to receive Kelley. He’d never directly ask or beg for sex, but the soft mews of need from Sacha told Kelley all he needed to know. Once Kelley slid his cock into the velvet walls to the hilt and nestled it in the confines of the boy’s bottom, the lingering guilt slid away. Kelley would lose himself, become detached from time itself and float away as he rocked and thrust. Sacha needed the stimulus, he needed the release; masturbation was too rough a game for a tender boy as him. He could only empty those plump balls through internal stimulation, of which Kelley was now the sole provider.

It had been like this for almost a year.

Kelley found Sacha at a high-end adult club for gay men. While trying to find the bathroom in the VIP section, he heard a boy crying. He wandered into the “employee only” area and found Sacha crying in a ball on the floor after accidentally having caught his fingers in a closing door. Kelly soothed him and iced his fingers, then inquired as to why he was not on stage with the other boys. He was beautiful enough. Through his tears, Sacha explained that he was too nervous around the customers and became emotional when handled too aggressively; the house mistress had banished him to the dressing rooms to clean up after the more successful performers and to sew shut the holes in the boys’ costumes. Yet, she was still deducting money from his non-existent paychecks for room and board.
Kelley had been furious; he paid the debt and whisked Sacha off to his yacht in the Mediterranean as a gift to his beloved slave and houseboy, Jules. Jules had a lot of chores – especially when tending to the villa Kelley shared with his brother and socialite wife. He was often times, lonely, so Kelley had brought him a pet to keep him company during the day. The boys had become best of friends.

Jules was not a delicate flower. He was the son of Slavic farmers, meaty and substantial. He was a voyeur and terribly slutty. He could take a lot of cock and plenty of strikes from a whip, and he was quite proud of his own endurance. Jules liked leather. He liked humiliation; he liked it rough and sudden. Yet, Jules was delighted by his new pet; he enjoyed spoiling him greatly, sneaking him pastries from the kitchen or washing him by hand in the bath. Sacha’s milk tasted like the sea and they would pass the time together when their Master was away. His Master approved of their play, knowing a chastity cage kept Sacha safe from Jules’s rough lust.

As Master Kelley rode Sacha to his orgasm, he was more convinced than ever heaven existed right here on Earth. Forget collecting fine art or vases or whatever rich people did – he had all he could every want right here in his bed for any mood or whim: one angel and one devil.

Under him, Sacha moaned and his bones trembled as his nervous system overloaded from the sensitive tip rubbing against the sheets. He never dreamed intimacy could feel this wonderful. He loved being full of Master Kelley, to know the Master he worshiped and adored was was fully using his body and exploring all its potential. Master Kelley’s cock never hurt him, it only drove him to sweet madness and divine bliss. Sacha pushed back against the man dividing him and gasped as the blunt tip pushed into his gland. He whimpered, close to peaking. Master Kelley often left him horny and needing, choosing to spill his boy’s seed when he deemed it fit. By the time he reached the exact second of penetration, Sacha was often near delirious with heat.

Just as he felt as if he would burn up from the inside out, Master Kelley pushed him over the edge and the fever broke. Sacha wailed like gale winds and his spine and thighs cramped from holding a tight arch. He gasped and a cascade of his seed gushed out onto the bed. Master Kelley grunted, dripping with sweat; he pulled Sacha’s hips up and held him in place as he delivered a few intense thrusts and spilled. Besides them, Jules moaned and continued to masturbate with a large rubber toy.

Master Kelley dropped his weight onto Sacha and flexed his ass, nudging his cock up as far as he could go as the orgasm crested and began to fade. Sounds of three men panting filled the small bedroom on the yacht. Master Kelley remained buried in Sacha for as long as he could, making sure every tiny little drop of seed was out of his pet. When he withdrew, Sacha cried a little at the loss. Master Kelley instantly swept him into his arms and cuddled him, kissing his cherubic cheeks and rubbing circles onto his hip with his palm.

Once the hormones and emotions dispersed, Sacha was left exhausted and drained and wet. The ache of the loss not so great now, and in truth he was quite happy. Jules however, was angry and frustrated, so Master Kelley took a moment to clean his cock, relubed, and then pounded Jules into the mattress until he triggered an anal orgasm and gave his locked boy some relief. Sacha didn’t mind watching; he found it all fascinating how so much cum could come out of such a trapped little penis. Jules, of course, loved it when Sacha watched. He’d thank him by parting his legs and licking him clean under his Master’s approving gaze.

Afterwards, the three would have a rest, talking and giggling. When it got chilly, there would be a hot bath together, with sparkling water and finger foods. Master Kelley would normally pinch himself at least once to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Then he would draw the bath and the yacht named Paradise would sail off in the night toward the Almafi Coast.

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Text is fictional. One source says the name of this owner’s ass is Brandon from Sean Cody but he’s in too many videos to pin down a specific one. Goddamn, that ass though.

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captionstojerkby:

“Hey, buddy.”

He doesn’t answer, but he looks up at me with a face that’s meant to be both dark and inscrutable, and that probably is to everyone in his life but me. But you grow up right next to a person, with him, alongside him, and you get to know him in a way no one else quite does—not parents, not classmates, not neighbors, not friends. (Or not the people who would have been his friends, I guess.) He’s been away for years now—weird to think he’s a junior already!—but I knew I’d still be able to find him here, find him curled up against the wall next to the sink in the upstairs bathroom. That’s where I always found him when things got bad and I took it upon myself to be his protector, a fraternal influence—or even just a distraction. I nod my head toward the door, the hall, the stairs, the noises coming from below.

“Fighting again, huh?” I cluck my tongue. “You think they’d be able to at least keep it in check when you’re back home, right?”

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” His voice is quiet, half questioning and half accusatory even though it’s almost devoid of inflection. He’s never been glad to see me, really—at least not since we were younger, not since he really grew up, and things changed between us the way they do. You know how it is.

“I heard you were coming home for a visit, so I thought I’d make an appearance, too. Get the whole happy family back together!” I chuckle, but apparently he’s too upset even for my weak and rueful humor. “How’s college?”

“Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?" 

He doesn’t answer.

I squat down in front of him so I’m level with his eyes, but he’s trying his best to ignore me. Trying to look through me, as if I’m not even there—and as if he weren’t even there, too, I guess. A door slams, and there’s silence for a moment, and from long habit we both count the time to ourselves, the way you do when you count how long it is between the lightning and the thunder to gauge how soon you’ll be in the thick of the storm. One, two, three, four, and then there it is: the door opens, the shouting resumes. I sigh. “They really do miss you, you know?” No response. “They talk about you all the time. How they wish you stayed in touch.” I pause. “And I—I wish you’d stay in touch, too.” Still nothing. “Actually—I’ve thought about maybe coming out to visit you sometime.”

"Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” That got his attention; his voice is hard and cold and severe. His mother’s voice.

“But I’d love to see what your campus is like! Maybe come with you to a few of your classes, you know? Meet your friends. I could even stay in your dorm—you think your roommate would mind?”

“You can’t.”

“Sure I can! Think about it. Us two, together again. You can lie all you want—big man, gone off to to college—but I know you’ve missed me. You have, haven’t you? And I’ve missed you. So you just say the word and I’ll be there, whenever. For you.”

“Please,” he says, and as he’s realized I’m serious the anger has melted into urgent, desperate, pleading anxiety—his father’s. “Please. You can’t.”

He’s quick; he’s always been quick, but I’ve always been quicker. His hand reaches out to stop mine—but he can’t, of course, and my fingers connect with the thrumming root of flesh running down the side of his right thigh. I smile, vindicated; he squeezes his eyes shut in confused shame. And the yelling gets louder.

“I knew you’d miss me,” I hiss.

“Stop,” he tells me, and I don’t. I reach in with my other arm now, too, spreading his knees apart, cracking his posture open, his arms falling uselessly, helplessly to either side. As I unzip his jeans I watch his socked toes curl against the floorboards, and my body—I’ve always been a little taller than him; I’ve always made damn sure he had me to look up to—curls over his, sheltering him. Smothering him.

I softly kiss his neck and he shies away, pressing himself back against the wall even as he thrusts his hot need into my cold hands. A plate crashes into a wall downstairs. He whimpers, and maybe someone else would miss it over the sound of the fighting below us, but I don’t. As I continue to stroke him I hear each and every noise he makes, each little whine and sob and plea and hope and fear. I may ignore them, but I hear them just the same. I’ve always been the only one who can really hear him, the only one who really listens to him, the only one he’s ever had to talk to, just as he’s the only one who’s ever been able to really and truly see me. 

“C’mon,” I whisper, hands working his dick as his hips fall into a rhythm he wishes they’d forgotten. “You should be glad to have me back—most imaginary friends wouldn’t love you nearly this much.”

Woah, this is mind-blowing, fantastic caption writing. Was not expecting the twist. This has to be the caption of the year right here.

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brosgivemeboners:

he gets so horny knowing his big bro is sleeping above him

Zeke sighed and turned over his pillow, trying to get comfortable. It’s difficult to fall asleep with your foster brother masturbating underneath you. Only two more weeks until you move out for college, he reminded himself. Poor Norman. His foster brother had such a crush on him. Norman was so shy around Zeke, always plucking at his pants and then awkwardly making excuses to leave.

Late at night when he thought Zeke was asleep, Norman would lie awake and masturbate furiously – the only time he could get some alone time in their packed foster family’s house. He imagined that Zeke wasn’t sleeping above him, but on him, stroking his aching cock and telling him how huge it was, how sexy he looked. He imagined Zeke’s hips meeting his, about how their slick organs would rub together until they both spurted hard. After he came into a tissue, Norman would pet himself and ponder if he preferred to be a top or a bottom, what it would feel like to take a cock, or put one in another guy. Mostly, he thought about these scenarios with Zeke in them.

Norman didn’t know this, but Zeke had an inkling of what went on in that boy’s fertile imagination. He sighed again. The boy had an incredible refractory period and wasn’t stopping. He was going to be late for work tomorrow from oversleeping at this rate. Zeke thought, and decided to give Norman a little going away present.

Norman froze mid-stroke as he saw Zeke’s arm drop over the side of the bed. He barely dared to breathe, thinking he’d been caught. Being caught was a nightmare scenario. He squinted in the dark and realized that Zeke was holding something in his hands. It couldn’t be…?

Norman reached out and took it. Once his fingers touched the warm cotton, he knew exactly what it was. Emotions swirled – apparently he hadn’t been so secretive as he thought but this… Norman’s balls began to swell full of fresh seed.

Zeke muttered from above him: “I know. Say anything about this, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Just hurry up and finish, I got work in the morning.”

Norman blushed crimson. Shit. Well, it was a gift from god and he wasn’t going to question it horned out of his mind. He pushed the warm crotch to his face and sniffed. His cock nearly burst, full of fresh blood. He began a third round of masturbation, suppressing his gasps and moans into the fabric. The bed was shaking, jerking, and Zeke was honestly trying not to laugh. It was kind of hilarious.

He heard Norman grunting and gasping along with the sounds of flesh smacking and his body disturbing the sheets – and Zeke coulda sworn he heard the splash of cum on his torso. Then, it stopped. Norman exhaled a loud sigh of contentment, plus a single “goddamn”, and after the rustling of tissues fell away, it was quiet. Pure quiet.

Zeke smirked in the dark, pleased with himself, then rolled over to fall asleep. The next two weeks were going to be awkward but it was going to be worth it just for a good night’s rest.

He never did get his underwear back.

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Text is fictional. I think the source is here.

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“This is my cock. It is mine. You may kiss me, you may touch me, but you cannot touch this. I own this big beautiful cock and the fat peach below. You have been slutting it up with every man in this club, desperate to find someone to tend it every night. Your cock and balls are obviously too much for you to handle. I will be controlling this and milking it when I deem fit from now on. You don’t have a say in this, because you don’t know better. You’re just a beta. You will be happier by surrendering it to me, so I’m making that choice for you. What is this? A drip already? I think you need a date with the handcuffs and the e-stim machine. We need to clear out your pipes before I lock you up.”

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Text is fictional.

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“Hey… hey…HEY! Hey you can stop dancing now.”
“I can?”
“Yeah, you got the job. You look kinda thick but you got some serious hip talent.”
“Ok wow. Fantastic thanks. I’ll uh – call you, about scheduling, and um. Stuff.”
“Yes, call tomorrow, we’ll know more then.”
“Thank you. IIIIII~I’m going to go over there and freak out and be fabulous.”

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Text is fictional. This is Alex Pettyfer from Magic Mike.

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femme4masc:

In my clothes, I am yours.
In my jeans, in my oxfords and my t-shirts, I’m yours.

Naked in bed, I’m yours.
My ass is yours, my body’s yours.
When we’ve spent all day here, I’m yours.
When we somehow let both the sunrise and now the sunset see us like this, I’m yours.

When we start to smell stale and I get up for a shower.
When midway through you turn off the lights and join me in it.
When you put your forehead against mine and I stand there under the water rubbing your chest.
I’m yours.

When we go straight back to bed, fresh and clean, like we hadn’t just spent all day there, I’m yours.
When you take me in your arms and whisper, “My pussyboi.” And kiss me, I’m yours.

——

When you’re worried. When you’re sad. When you’re afraid.
When I don’t know how to deal with you when you’re down and I’m mortally afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing.
When I just want to be here, there, for you.

——

When I’m on my iPad reading, then ordering food, and you grab your old camera, I’m yours.
When you squeeze my buttcheek and I hear the sound of this moment being kept forever.
When I find the picture after you developed it and I see that you titled it on the back in a corner, with a black Sharpie, “08/30/14. Pussyboi. Mine.”

I am yours.

As long as you know it, I will be happy.

A rare porn poem from one of the more elusive writers on Tumblr

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The moment I collapse into bed at night, I never want to get up again. Taking care of my Master as his houseboy and personal assistant is exhausting, and at that point in the evening I am always relieved that my duties for the day are over. Six days a week, I get up before him, I go to bed after him, and for those nine hours between the two I am content for about five minutes before I get lonely. He is my lover and my best friend; my boss and my owner. He nourishes me, fulfills me, drains me. Without him, I forget how to be a human. I get so caught up in his own happiness I often forgot how to feel my own.

But…I like it that way. As I curl up into my pillow, I bask in the satisfaction that he told me he loves me before passing out. I recall the compliments on the wine I selected for the equally complimented steak, his note on the shine to his boots, and his praise for getting rid of a particularly meddlesome client. I chide myself over not making enough carrots for dinner, and for not getting to the post office today, but there is tomorrow and endless days after where I can right all the wrongs from today.

I no longer care that I am in chastity as there is no time for myself – my time is his time. When he pushes aside hours or even minutes in his busy day to focus on draining me, filling me, bending me over and fucking my brains out while I drip on the floor, I am reminded exactly why I do this job – because I worship that perfect, rigid cock. The money is good, yeah but oh the sex! the special privilege of sucking his erection in the morning! The rare bliss of an orgasm! He gives that gift to no one but me. His balls and their cum are mine, and he knows not to let anyone else have them but me. I groan and adjust the position of my hips. I just had his cock between my lips but now I want it again, and my cock feels tight in its cage. My thighs will be sticky from leaks in the morning. 

Sometime I wish I could sleep snuggled up next to him and press my leaking cage against his butt, but my Master insists that I have some time alone. I think it’s kind of silly. All I do is think about him anyway. Eventually, my thoughts drift to tomorrow’s breakfast menu and my mind just gives up from fatigue. I’m slipping away now, my body made of lead….just so fucking’ tired. Sleep will be here any second so that I may rest and heal, but seriously – if he came in right at this moment to fuck me I would not protest one bit.

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Text is fictional.

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“Next up is a fine young lad of mixed stock – Germanic, Portuguese, and Algerian – aged 18 years, by name of Alec. Alec joined our Home Host Program because he recently aged out of foster care and has no where to go. What he is seeks for his two year contract through the Program is a stable home and a Master to serve under. He ideal for houseboy or fram work – cooking, cleaning, and sexual service. Alec has laid with a woman, but is a virgin with men, and will provide hours of fun exploration in bedroom settings. In exchange for Hosting Alec, he intends to take classes and learn a trade. He is open to considering renewing the contract after two years if the fit is good.

As you can see, Alec is healthy, he vaccinated, and has milky white skin from an indoor life. His penis uncut and is 4 inches soft, 7 hard. He has a strong back, and knows when to keep his mouth shut. A good investment for a newer Master or a Master getting back into keeping after a break. Master Ryes, if you could help Alec strip down to his underwear please? …Thank you. And now we will start the bidding at 400 pieces. 405? 415! Do I see 450 in the back? 450 ..450…475! 500! 510! 550!..”

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Text is fictional. In a rush, no source right now.

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Harper glanced over his notes, confirming that the passage he found in the book would support would his argument in the paper. He was pleased with himself; the report was coming along nicely – he would get a top grade for sure. Cody would be pleased as well.

Harper enjoyed the results of his hard work, and blushed under his parent’s praise, but the approval of Cody meant the most. The first semester of college had been a horrible flop – free from his backwater town, suppressed Harper had been overwhelmed with all the men on campus. So many men, in so many shapes, sizes, and colors! He feasted in a frenzy of sex and dick, failing classes and getting an STD for his trouble.

Cody was the only one night stand to see how miserable he was –

“I can’t turn it off Cody! I’m horny all the time! Day, noon, night. All I think about is sex sex sex and more sex! When I’m taking notes, I’m hard, when I’m trying to do homework all I can think about is a masturbation break…and then my cock gets hard and I have to jerk off!”

Cody reassured him that he wasn’t going to flunk out, and that he had a magic solution. Harper loved the gentle, reassuring feeling of the cage around his dick. It did kind of suck that he couldn’t cum during sex anymore, but Cody milked him on a regular schedule so that was alright. It was just between the milkings that felt like forever. Like today, for example. He leaked constantly and was now. Recently, Harper kept having to bring a change of underwear to class with him or else he’d be soaked through by the end of the day.

Still, the humiliation and horniness was a good price to pay for focus. Chastity was better than adderall, and the sex was amazing. Harper was sure he was going to graduate with honors. He bit off a moan as he felt another thick drop tickle the tip of his sensitive cock as it gathered, then fall, and seep into his underwear. Yeah, the waiting between milkings sucked a lot. Harper sighed and turned his attention back to his paper. He didn’t want to bother Cody by begging for release too much. It showed weakness. Once he got this paper done through, asking for a reward for doing all his homework early was not out of the question.

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Text is fictional. Source is Corbis.