Tag: gay captions

Gallery
by ccallenreese

I came into the room holding a white box in my hands. My boyfriend didn’t notice me at first. Flint was draped over the sofa like an over-sized Great Dane, his eyes glued to the muted TV. I heard him sigh in lament as he watched the clips KCAL News were broadcasting of firework shows from the East Coast. The sun hadn’t yet set here in Los Angeles, but on the other side of the country it was over.

“Flint,” I said softly. He lifted his head and glanced over at me with a mournful, uninterested expression on his face.
“What?” he sulked.
“I have a present for you.”
“…But my birthday isn’t until August.”
“I know baby.” I smile. “This is a just-because present.”
He glanced over at the bright colors on the screen before sitting up. I took a seat next to him and offered the box. Flint carefully peeled off the white butcher paper; the box was blank and held no clues to its contents. He popped the tape and opened it. When he saw what was inside, his brow furrowed.
“Headphones?” he inquired.
“They’re gun-range earmuffs, and there’s some high end earplugs in there too. I know how badly you wanted to go see fireworks this 4th of July, and this will help dampen the sound so it won’t trigger your PTSD.”

Flint’s face softened and he traced his fingers over the padding on the left ear cup. “But…are you sure it will be enough so I don’t have an anxiety attack?”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes. I found a place up in the hills, called the Baldwin Hills Overlook. It’s in Culver City. It’s way up in the hills and not directly below any fireworks shows, so you can see them at a distance without being in direct range of the loud bangs and explosions.”
He bit his lip. I could see Flint badly wanted to believe me. Before he was deployed to the Middle East, we would go down to Dockweiler Beach and light bonfires and set off illegal firecrackers and just generally act like drunk hooligans. As a child, Fourth of a July was a family affair for little Flint and he felt a strong pull to carry on the tradition of flag cakes, cook-outs, and things that go boom. Being stuck at home made him miserable, especially because he was a military man and felt pressure to participate.

“Tovy…I’m not …but what if it’s not enough?” he said softly.
“Parking is free, and we can leave at any time. It’s not far from our apartment here in West Hollywood, just down La Cienega then we turn on Jefferson. Easy peasy. Worse comes to worse, Brotman Medical Center is like right there.”

Flint took the items out of the box. “You’ve thought of everything,” he said in awe. He looked away but I saw that his eyes were wet.
“Yes, because I know it means a lot to you. Oh – one more thing.”
Flint blinked. “There’s more?”
“Yes,” I said. I got up and vanished into the kitchen, then returned holding some rectangular in metal tin.
“A flag cake!” he squealed.
“Made with Cool Whip and everything,” I beamed.
“Oh Tovy baby,” his voice cracked as he threw his arms around me. “You’re the best goddamn boyfriend. I’m so excited.” He punctuated that with a kiss. I watched him put the earmuffs on. “How do I look?”
“Dorky,” I chuckled.
“What?” he said.
I pulled them away from his ears. “Adorkable, but I like you that way. Now grab your sweater while I pack us some drinks.”
Flint smiled at me, then turned off the TV and was up the stairs in a flash.

We got lucky and found parking at base of the park, then began the upward climb up switchbacks to the baseball fields above; from there, we then continued up a steep driveway to the Overlook. Flint paused to stare at the panorama of Los Angeles spread out below us. “This is fantastic,” he breathed. “You can see all the way from the Pacific Ocean to Downtown…and beyond. I had no idea this was up here! Goddamn, the sunset is gorgeous, setting behind the hills like that. Oh, I can see the 10!”
I let him gush, then we found a spot and sat down. By the time we cut the cake, people were lighting off things down below and Flint dived for the earplugs and headphones. People stared at us, but Flint ignored them in favor of being hand-fed cake by me. We drank our sodas until the sun set, and firework shows began legally -and illegally- all over the city. Flint and I eventually packed up our stuff back into my backpack and stood to see over everyone else. As the night deepened, more and more neighborhoods began to shoot off their pyrotechnics. I watched Flint carefully, but he was transfixed.

When a community college close to the Overlook began their show, Flint reached for my hand and squeezed it hard.
“Do you wanna go?” I asked.
Flint didn’t respond. He couldn’t hear me, and he wasn’t paying attention. I watched the colors reflect in his eyes and I realized he was crying. I wrapped my arms around him and he clung to me, sniffling. “You know why I love fireworks so much?”
I shook my head.
“Because even if we fucked up in the Middle East, and even if the US sometimes does dumb shit, fireworks allow us to be patriotic without being political. I think we need that, now more than ever. I never thought I’d get to see them again because of my stupid PTSD.”
I kissed his cheek and rested my head on his shoulder.

As the finales came on, Flint had started to tremble from their bombastic displays. We made it through the Culver City finale, and then he told me he wanted to go in a harried voice. Truthfully, it was a smart move. We got out of there before traffic began and we were home in record time.

I was the first in the door with Flint trailing behind me. He barely shut the door when he grabbed my wrist and spun me around. I gasped in surprise as he came at me pelvis first, then pinned me to the wall with a deep kiss. His hands roved up my arms and my shoulders as he rubbed his half-hard erection into my hip. My hands instantly went to his ass. When we broke, I was panting and my lips felt slightly bruised.
“What was that?”
“A thank you,” he murmured, trailing kisses up my jaw. “You are just the most wonderful, fantastic thing to happen to me, Tovy. I haven’t felt so wonderful in a long time, and watching you feed me cake made me ridiculously horny.”
I lifted my hips off the wall to meet him, and I was pleased to hear him groan. “You wanna go create some fireworks of our own?”
I saw a flicker of amusement cross Flint’s face. “Fuck yeah I do. I’m going to make love to you so hard you’re gonna sing the Star Spangled Banner.”
I laughed and Flint couldn’t help but join me. I paused to put the rather smushed cake remains back into the fridge, then ran to join Flint in the bedroom. He was naked and waiting for me, and tasted deliciously of strawberries and Cool Whip.

I didn’t dare tell Flint, but he was a screamer and he made more noise than any explosion we heard from Baldwin Hills that night.

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Text is fictional. Can’t find the source. The Baldwin Hills Overlook is a real thing on Jefferson Blvd in Los Angeles (not to be confused with the Kenneth Hahn Recreation area on La Cienega Blvd) and a great place to see fireworks.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

As the foreign exchange student, it was my job to be properly baffled by the swaggering patriotism Americans display toward Fourth of July. I joined my host family on their trip to the lake and the subsequent BBQ but I couldn’t help but feel it was too over-the-top. The blaring country music from the stereo, the giant racks of ribs and slabs of meat going onto the grill and smoker, speedboats zooming around the lake with big flags waving on the back, the casual haphazard use of firecrackers…it was sensory overload. I stepped away from the party and went for a walk down by the dock.

That’s where I found him, all 6 foot 3 of him, upside down on his hands with his flag-clad ass in the air. My eyes were glued his taut, contracted muscles in his arms and shoulders holding up his torso. He was so pale, his hair was so blond and fine. I was captivated.

“Goddamn,” I murmured.
He came down and grinned. His face was all red. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was putting on a show for someone. I was just stretching.”
“No um. Continue. Please. I’m not really getting all this 4th of July stuff, but I think that was helping…”
His eyes flickered to the rainbow bracelet on my wrist. My host sister made it for me; it was made out of embroidery string and impossible to get off without cutting so I had left it on.  “You have a cute accent. Where are you from?”
“Indonesia. I’m a college exchange student.”
“Indonesia?” He looked impressed. “Wow, that’s far.”
I shrugged, a bit shy.
“Wanna see me do it again?”
“Yes please.”

I watched him go up on his hands again, my eyes roving over his body. I was beginning to see the allure of an American boy…if he didn’t stop this, I was going to be sporting a flagpole soon.

When he uprighted himself again he said, “My name’s James.”
“Mine’s Rukma, but everyone calls me Rick.” We shook hands.
He scrunched up his face. “Rukma is better.”
“I agree,” I said quickly.
“Hey Rukma, are you doing anything now? I was gonna go do some fishing, pick berries for a bit. Fishing’s better with two.”
“Fish?” I perked up. “I would love fish…I come from a fishing village, so it’s seafood all the time, but here it’s just meat meat meat and more meat.”
He laughs, a deep mirthful sound. “Well find you a rainbow trout to match your bracelet.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Let me just go tell my host family I’m going to go explore for a bit.”
“Sure,” he grins, a cocky smile. “Be right here.”

We kept busy; he took me out on a small boat, we fished, and we cooked them. We drank American beer, swam, and played horseshoes. His parents asked me so many questions about Indonesia. The thing I remember most about that day though was the firework show after dusk. James and I had gone off together to a little secret spot by the lake. We put down a towel. I had a beautiful view of every single explosion, as I was on my back, losing my virginity to a man I’d met that morning. I had a feeling it was the most American thing I’d done all day.

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Text is fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

rip-spank-jerk:

regretting his predicament

Sean loses it after five swats. He covers his face but it doesn’t stop the tears. He knows better than this! He’s so ashamed to be getting a spanking after seven months of not getting one. He used to get them every other day, and thought he’d finally proved to his Master he was a good, obedient boy who did not make mistakes. He feels so helpless, like he hasn’t made any progress at all, bent over his Master’s knee. His cock has long been locked up, so he’s frustrated and uncomfortable and everything just sucks. Each strike stings and makes him yowl. Soon he’s just bawling.

All Sean wants is to be a good boy, but when he closes his eyes all he sees is the disappointment on his Master’s face when he came home. Sean had gotten his chores done early, and so he decided to dust the bookcase and his Master’s CD and vinyl collection. It wasn’t something he’d been told to do, but it was noticeably dusty so he decided to do it anyway.
It was an open bookcase and there was a gap between the displayed goods and the wall. In the process of moving things around to dust in the gap, a record slipped out of its sleeve and crashed onto the wooden floor, snapping in half. In the haste to catch it, Sean dropped another and it chipped and cracked.

The first was a rare, limited edition copy highly sought after by collectors. The second Sean had damaged had been one of the records given to his Master by his deceased father. There was nothing Sean could do expect wait until his Master got home and explain his errors in a heavy, sad voice. Fibbing would only lead to worse punishment once it was discovered.

Oh, he knows better! He really does! He’d been given very clear instructions – he was free to clean anything in the house, but never his Master’s personal things without permission. He’s fucked up, and for it, he got the wooden spoon. Sobs wrack Sean’s body each time the implement strikes red flesh and his muscles tremble; his Master spanks him until his hand begins to hurt. He then lowers the spoon and massages the tender muscle with his other hand.

When he spoke, Sean could hear that the seething anger in his voice had dissipated. “I want you to know, boy, I did not enjoy having to do this. To say I am disappointed is an understatement, but it also reflects on myself. I got comfortable and you got sloppy. I do not like hearing you cry, boy, but you know I had to punish you. The records cannot be fixed, but they will be replaced. I’ll talk to Miguel about getting you some labor hours to work off the debt.”
Sean only gasps and hiccups. “I’m so so sorry Sir, I’m so sorry. Thank you Sir for allowing me to work it off. I feel so ugly for having failed you.”

“It is good to work out your weaknesses while still fresh out of training. You’re released, but I have instructions for you. First, go blow your nose, wash your face, and fetch me a clean pair of pants as you leaked all over these. I’m not mad at you for that, I expected it. Then, you’re going to drink a cup of water, then go to your cot with an icepack and think about how you can be a better houseboy. If you ever want to ascend into training to wear my collar, you will think very hard.”

Sean’s throat is tight and he can barely push any more words out. “Y- yes Sir. Exactly as you said Sir.” Sean sniffles, his face the color of a ripe tomato.
“That’s a good boy now.” He helps Sean to his feet, stabilizing him as he blood rushed downwards. In a moment of impulse, he gives Sean a brief hug. Sean returns it instantly and exhales a ragged sigh. “I’ll be better Sir.”
“I know. And that starts now. Go on. You’re dismissed.”

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Text is fictional. Source is the watermark.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

mastermikes-slave:

After an intense pain-pig training session Master comforts HIS property. Using pain and pleasure to manipulate HIS slave, Master Mike expresses HIS absolute dominance with HIS mental attitude of absolute superiority and control.

“You made me very proud today. Master Will told me he was impressed with you, and I’ve never heard him say that about anybody. I know your back, your balls, and your butt are throbbing. When we get home I’ll put some cooling salve on, and while you go out for a piss, I’ll put a soft blanket in your crate instead of that towel so you can rest fully before feeding time.”
“Thank you Sir, it was a pleasure and a honor to serve you with my body and mind Sir. This slave humbly accepts your generosity and will use that time to rebuild my energy and body into something you can use and manipulate again.” The slave tries to keep his voice neutral, but he’s on the brink of being emotional. He loves it, absolutely loves it, when his Master pets him and plays with his hair after a session and talks to him in this low, soothing tone. It means he’s done well, and lived up to all expectations. Nothing can make a slave happier to be fawned on by a strict Master and recognized for hard work.

Master Julian crinkles his forehead. “Boy, if you need to cry, you have my permission to do so. It’s a normal response to an intense session, and you didn’t cry very much after that strapping. Takahashi’s boy couldn’t even make it the whole way through.”
The slave manages a “thank you Sir” before his voice cracks and he begins to make little gasping noises as the tears stream down his face.  Tutting, Master Julian pulls him into a bear hug, minding his back, and rocks him until his slave’s shoulders stop heaving. “There there…that’s a good boy, Exi. Let it all out. Burn it all away until nothing is left but the pillar of your strength and training.”

The slave hiccups, hilariously loud. Master Julian goes over to the sink area and wets some paper towel, then wipes the tears and snot off his boy’s face.
“There we are now. Feel better, boy?”
He nods, his head hanging low in exhaustion. “This slave is lucky to have such a caring Master.”
Master Julian shares with him a private, little smile. “Because this Master loves this slave very much and does not see merit in damaging his property. Mental health is just as important as physical health.”
“Th- thank you Sir, that makes this slave want to work even harder to be worthy of your attention.”
“It’s my job to find your limits, Exi. Just obey orders and the rest will follow. Alright now. Let’s get you home, you need your nap before you fall asleep standing up.”

On the way out of the Dungeon, Master Will pulls Master Julian aside and inquires if he plans to sell Exi, like he did the rest. To Will’s surprise, Julian gently rebuffs his inquiry. Unlike the other five other boys he’d trained and sold – Uno, Two, San, Quatre, and Fimm – something had clicked with number six, he explained. To tear apart the bond between a slave and a Master would be ruinous to them both. Master Will understands this nods. A shame, but at least they can still play together. They shake hands, and Master Julian takes his beloved Exi home to recover.

Master Julian struts all the way to the car, wanting anyone who was in the parking lot to see his marked slave’s body and know that this slave on a leash was unquestionably His.

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Text is fictional. Source is from Teen Wolf. The names of the past slaves are simply 1 through 5 in other languages – Spanish, English, Japanese, French, and Icelandic. Exi is Greek. Julian picked those names based on their bloodlines.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Kirk had lost track of how many times they’d had sex. This wasn’t like those countless times other mornings they spent together in bed, naked and intimate. Something was different. The air was thicker, headier. Kirk swept his hand over the knot of Ben’s shoulder muscle, over his collarbone and up his neck to cup his jaw. He gazed deeply into the eyes of the sweet man that captivated his attention and time. Ben looked up at him inquisitively, his own hand massaging Kirk’s bulging pectoral. Kirk moved in to kiss him, and Ben submitted to his lips. Kirk took a deep breath and nuzzled his boyfriend’s jaw. He knew right then of something that he’d been unsure of for a long time – that there would be nobody else.

“I love you, Ben Miller,” he murmured, jostling the words loose from his tight throat.
Ben paused exploration of Kirk’s body at the declaration. His mouth fell open, then closed tight. He swallowed. His lower lip trembled and he began to weep.

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Text is fictional. I think this is from Sean Cody.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Todd told himself he would stop flirting with boys on the N train. He really meant it this time. But that boy across from him is damn adorable, and definitely flirting. Todd convinces himself that it’s OK to break his rule this one time because the other guy started it first. Clearly. Todd licks his teeth and enjoys eyefucking the other stranger back, marveling at the sight of the half-chub between his legs wrapped tight in blue denim. When the cutie gets off at his stop, Todd follows him all the way home and into his bed. No bait and switch here – that bulge was just as advertised.

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Text is fictional. One of these guys is Ben Baur and this is from the web series Hunting Season.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“Do you mind if I smoke?”
“No, go ahead, just don’t blow it in my face.”
“Yeah right on, right on. Sorry, I’m buying a vape thing with my next paycheck.”
“Good luck to ya mate.”
He smiles and nods, lighting up. “So …tell me again what is it exactly do you do for this guy you’re seeing?”
I nibble the flaky pastry, then sip my tea to hide a private smile. “I’m his houseboy.” I leave out the part about pup play.
“His…houseboy?” Marcus repeats. “Like a slave?”
“No no.” I shake my head and set down my cup. “We have a contract, and it’s all consensual. If I’m not cool with something, I get to say so immediately. Never had to do that though.”
Marcus takes a drag. “So what do you do?”
“I go over there four days a week. Here’s an example. Sunday is laundry day. I come over around 9. I make brunch, coffee, and fresh juice. While he eats, I’ll do the dishes ..or you know, blow him under the table.

Marcus barks out a laugh. "Really?”
“Oh yeah, he has like a fat five inch dick, it’s fun to suck.”
My friend shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’d do if I went down on a girl and found five inches.”
I smirk. “You just put it in your mouth and suck, Marcus.”
He sticks his tongue out at me.
“So anyway, I finish up. I tidy up anything out of place in the house, then I clean the bathroom. His underwear is all fine men’s underwear brands, so I fill up the tub and hand wash all his underwear and wool socks using Dr. Bronner’s soap. He says detergent is bad for them.” I shrug. “Then I hang it all on the line out in the backyard, and use run the rest through the washing machine. That too goes on the line.”
Marcus looks fascinated.
“So, normally during this time he’s gone on a run or a hike and if he’s back in time, I make him a late lunch. He goes to shower. I change the laundry out. I then do the grocery shopping and errands while he watches sports, and then I stay late cooking him meals for the week. We eat together. Normally by this point he’s horny again and he fucks me. I sometimes stay or I leave if I have an early exam.”
“Wow…” Marcus says, “So you’re like a maid with benefits?”
“Yes!” I say. “I do whatever he needs. I’ve cleaned and vacuumed his car, cleaned his gutters, powerwashed the driveway – which was a blast, oiled wood furniture, flipped his mattress, washed him in the bath… it’s very satisfying. He is very appreciative, and goodness gracious he gets so horny watching me serve.”
“He has a cleaning fetish…?”
I delicately sip my tea. “Oh didn’t I mention? I do all of this naked.”

I try not to laugh as Marcus drops his ash into his coffee and hurriedly pours them out, saving his drink. “W..what? Wait what? You’re naked while cleaning??”
“Oh yes. Well, I wear an apron while cooking. Grease and all.”
Marcus doesn’t know what to say. I nibble the pastry. “Hard to believe you used to be such a pious little choir boy,” he mutters under his breath.
I chuckle. “Well, that was before puberty.”
“How did you find this guy again?”
“I was at a kink party on someone’s roof. The host kept dropping the ball because he was so distracted, so I stepped into his place – keeping the food and drinks stocked, whisking away the trash, etc. A friend saw me and introduced me to Mr. White, who had a running reputation in their circle of being totally disorganized.”
“Aaahh. Well. Huh. Someone for everyone.”

“Mmmhmm. He’s wonderful. I’m really falling for him. There is a difference between fucking, making love, and being handled during sex. And Mr. White knows the difference between all three. I mean the pay is good, but I would do it for the sex if I could.”
“I don’t remember you being this cock-crazy.”
“Oh Marcus, once you find a girl that is the perfect fit, that is perfectly in synch with you, you will want her all the time. It’s like living near a donut store. You just end up eating more donuts.”
“Only in your story you’ve stuck your dick through the donut for him to eat off of?”
I gasp out a laugh and nearly spill my tea. “Marcus! My dick isn’t that tiny.”
He grins, stubbing out his cigarette. “Maybe I’ll find a girl who likes donuts and loves to clean in a maid uniform.”
“…Why don’t you ask Caroline?”
“….What? The waitress.”
“This is a coffee shop. She sells donuts. Ask her out.”
Marcus stares. He looks across the patio to where Caroline is talking to customers.
“Fuck it, I’m doing it.”

I watch him down his coffee, remove his smoke-scented jacket, then get up to go talk to her. Caroline goes back inside and I can’t see what’s happening. Marcus comes back after a long moment.

“So?? How did it go?”
He holds up a napkin with a smile. “Got her number.”
I clap my hands together. “Oh Marcus, congrats! What did you say?”
A sheepish look appears on his face and he runs his fingers through his hair. “Well she was kind of hesitant to date customers at work. So I thought about what you said – I asked her if she cleaned up at the coffee shop, and she said she did and hated it. I told her if we could get together sometime I’d clean her apartment for her in appreciation – in my underwear. And she said yes!”
My jaw drops and I choke back a laugh. “Marcus!” I’m delighted at his craftiness. “You sly dog. Congrats, again.”
“Mmm now you gotta teach me how to find fine men’s underwear and how to wash underthings in the tub or the sink.”
“Lucky for you Marcus, I am an expert.”

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Text is fictional. Source is too common to track down.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“No…sit. Sit. Stay. Stay still. No wiggling. Good boy. Eyes up on me. Eyes. Up. Oh good boy. You look so cute today, puppy. You can lick my crotch after I’m done with my coffee. Not before. You’ve done cursed yourself – you made me such a damn good cup of coffee, I wanna enjoy it nice and slow. Ah-! No wiggling. That’s it.” sip “Man, you are adorable. I love having a houseboy and pup in one. mm what do you call that? A housepup?”
Bark!
“That’s what I thought. You’re such a good housepup, Cortado.” sip “ Hey, how on earth are you staying so still but your tail is wagging?”

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Text is fictional. Model is Todd Sanfield of underwear company www.toddsanfield.com. ‘Cortado’ is a coffee term.