Tag: gay captions

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Mitchel came to the gym quite late at night, much later than he normally did. Overslept that morning, couldn’t come till after dinner. He was pleasantly surprised to find a cocksucker on his knees servicing the men in the locker room. It was too hot in there, so Mitchel took the boy out to a corner of the gym and gave him his cock. He always got a raging boner after a great session at the gym, so he was more than willing to let the cocksucker have at it. Mitchel felt a hand rubbing his asscheek, squeezing hard. This boy clearly went into heat at the sight of naked, buff men and went to the source to worship them.

Mitchel felt it would be rude to deny him his erection when he was clearly so gifted at sucking and so at home on his knees.

He later found out that the cocksucker was there three or four nights a week, and a couple rich gym rats paid for his bills and STD checks. Mitchel never went to the gym early again and soon he too was investing in that boy.

________________________________
Text is fictional. Source is watermarked.

PSA: Last day I’m advertising selling some writing for bill money~

Gallery
by ccallenreese

I bought the apron for him as a joke. I expected Bastiaan to be annoyed about it, because ethnicity is such a touchy subject with him. His mother was from Spain and his father was Dutch, but he was born in the Netherlands so he insists he’s 100% Dutch despite genetics (and most of his friends) saying otherwise. Turns out Basti loved the apron and he strutted around my kitchen wearing it with pride. Sure, I prefer him naked. I was not shy about ogling the way his muscles as they expanded and contracted under his skin, the way his buttocks clenched and unclenched as he moved, or the way his balls swung. He was golden and gorgeous, and all that black hair was fine as hell.

It was his job to clean naked though, and at that he got flawless reviews. I had met Bastiaan at a swanky bar. I was kind of drunk and he was cuddling with me, and I was teasing his hair with my fingertips. I was whispering into Basti’s ear all the things I wanted to do to him, how many ways I could fuck him. It wasn’t long before he was begging me to rub him between the legs, even in that semi public setting. I did. I soon realized he was prostituting himself when we started talking about money, but I was too obsessed with him to care.

We were drunk on tequila and peach liquor, and so I took him home and enveloped him in attention and touches. The next morning, I woke up more than a tad hung-over. Bastiaan was an immortal god, cured by an aspirin and an electrolyte drink. He hung around, taking care of me. When he got bored, he began to clean despite my insistence… but I soon stopped protesting. The view helped my headache. 

I said to him: “I love watching you tidying up – especially when you bend over. You could make more cleaning people’s houses naked than you could prostituting yourself. It’d be safer and you wouldn’t drink so much, like I did.” I groaned, rubbing my temples for emphasis. I expected him to shrug off the comment, but he took to it with incredible interest. Of course, once I realized the potential of having a nude maid boy around the house I was totally on board with it too.

A couple phone calls and he had the start of a client base. Gay men talk to other gay men, and pretty soon he had steady work. I saw him first though, and I always get priority. In this job, ‘getting a tip’ is as phallic as you imagine it to be.

It’s a bit unfortunate I’m falling in love with this exotic boy. It’s getting hard to share him with others.

“…David? David? Earth to David?”
I blinked. “What? What is it boy?”
“Ciapianno or beef burgundy?”
“Both… just freeze the ciapianno in containers, I’ll bring them to work.”
He eyes me curiously, wondering where I went off to. “You alright?”
“Mmnn. Yeah, just thinking.”
“About what?”
“That you should call me Sir. And you should be a good boy and respect your Master.” I walked up behind him and let my hands roam over his waist and ass. “I think you like the idea of being a hot little slave boy at my whim,” I growled in his ear. “I should keep you naked and collar you, make you wear it in public.”
He moaned in response and pushed his ass against my crotch. “Fuck it, Sir, please don’t start with the sexy talk or I’m going to go into a frenzy. I need to make dinner first or-” I turned him sideways and kissed him, shutting him up.

I pushed his legs apart, slid a condom over my dick, and buried my lubed cock into his ass without any preparation. I kept him pressed between the counter and me, my hand against his throat which made it impossible for him to escape. He was panting so hard, keening so sweetly. I put a hand on his hip and gave him a hard, staccato fucking. It wasn’t meant to last and we both exploded shortly. Basti was still wearing the apron and his cum dripped down the inside of it.

As soon as it came on, the feral urge faded away. I blessed him with more kisses and wiped off his sensitive penis and ass with a cool damp paper towel. The flush on his cheeks made me gasp, he was so beautiful after sex. I wrapped my arms with him and rocked him until the afterglow faded.

“See, now you can make dinner without any distractions.”
“Mm have I ever told you I love how you fuck?”
I reply, “Your body tells me every time that you do. And you’re still gonna cook for me right?”
“Mmmhmnn,” he says lazily, “Cause that’s my job, and I’m damn good at it.”
“You are Basti. You let me know if you ever decide you want to retire. Because I want to keep you and cherish you, whenever you’re ready.”
I surprised myself by saying that. Again I misjudge him. I thought he’d tense and shrug me off with a polite dismissal. Instead, he leaned back into me more and nuzzled my chin. “I was hoping you’d say that. No one appreciates me and fucks me like you.”

“Oh Basti. I will, forever. Just tell me when ok?”
“Yes, I will David. And until then you’ll still fuck me?” he asks, hopeful.
“As long as you still cook,” I tease.
“Naked in an apron?”
“Yes, naked in an apron.”

“Then a shower after dinner?”
“God yes.”

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Model is Pedro H. Moutinho, and you MUST see the rest of the photos. So fuckin’ sexy. Late night post cause I had a long day! Pedro has a Twitter too, but it’s in Portuguese I think.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Andrew sighed and cursed under his breath as he examined his racket. “Broken string, I need a break.”

It was just a local tennis match between two regional teams, but a small crowd had populated the stands. They began to murmur as the announcer called for an interruption. Andrew’s tennis partner was happy for a water break.

However, repairing the racket took longer than Andrew thought. The crowd began to get restless, so the ball boy decided to take matters into his own hands. He’d gotten the job of fetching errant tennis balls and cleaning up the locker room from a friend of a friend, and he thrived in it – he liked being useful and getting recognized for it. Joseph didn’t know what a houseboy was, or a faggot, what BDSM was, or any of those fancy words. What he did know was that he had a massive crush on Andrew and wanted him to know he existed.

Joseph walked out to the court. He took off his shirt first – which got a lot of applause from the ladies – and then his shorts, which got whistles. He tried not to blush. The jockstrap didn’t hide much. By now the crowd had gone quiet and were watching him. Joseph put his hands down on the court and brought himself up to a handstand. He used to be a gymnast, and although he stopped in college, he hadn’t stopped going to the gym and was still in top shape. For the next fifteen minutes, he entertained the crowd with impressive handstands, splits, balancing tricks, and standing backflips.

After nailing one of those, Andrew walked over and swatted him playfully on the ass with his fixed racket. An announcer stated the game would commence. Andrew held up Joshua’s hand and he got a standing ovation for saving the day. Joshua was trying not to freak out that Andrew was actually touching him, acknowledging him! He flushed under the recognition from the audience. He nearly fainted though when Andrew whispered in his ear, “I hope to see you in the locker room later.”

Joshua was floating on Cloud 9 for the rest of the match. When he got to blow Andrew in the shower later, he was convinced he’d died and gone to heaven. By the end of the season, Joshua was following Andrew around like a loyal dog and was happy as a lark.

__________________________
Text is fictional. Source is unknown.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Amir felt totally helpless, stuck at work and reading the texts from his boyfriend who was having an increasingly bad day. He overslept. The printer ran out of ink. He spilled half his coffee on the counter and didn’t have time to make more. He managed to drive to school but because he was late, had trouble finding parking. Marvin had put the files he needed to print on a thumb drive, but when he got to the computer lab, he realized he’d left it at home. Luckily, his teacher was sympathetic and allowed a one day grace period.

It didn’t end there – the yogurt Marvin bought at lunch was spoiled. He dripped mustard on his shirt. When he took it off to wash it in the bathroom, someone snickered and called him “fatty” under their breath as they walked out. I laughed when my boyfriend texted me: “I wish I were a real bear, I would have bit him.” And on and on; my boyfriend worked at a cafe, and they called and said they were temporary closing because they’d violated health code. Mold in the ice maker, for example. And in an afternoon class? A plagiarism program had detected some inconsistencies on a paper he wrote, despite that it was all original content.

On the way home, Marvin’s car began to make funny noises. Despite his fearsome appearance, my boyfriend was a sensitive guy. I knew he was going to be upset and down from life dumping on him. I came up with a plan to cheer him up, and left work a little early. By the time, Marvin dragged himself through the door, he was mentally beat down and barely had the energy to kick off his shoes. I sent him a text: Come to the bedroom, babe.

Curious, he scurried down the hallway. When he opened the door, his face lit up. I was lying on the bed, nude and ready with my balls peeking out from between my legs, one of his favorite donuts perched on my ass.

“Oh Amir,” he purred. “Now that is a sight for sore eyes.”
“The donut is from Lucy’s.”
“Lucy’s still had chocolate frosties still late in the day…?”
“They had one left. I guess you could say you got lucky there.”
Marvin smiled. “A thoughtful boyfriend, his hairy ass on display for me, and a donut… yeah I guess you could say I am pretty lucky. I just don’t know which one to eat first.”

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. This or this might be the source but not sure if that’s the original poster or not. This caption is for Big Gay Rob.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

We were leaving the park and it happened – we synchronized. We had each-other’s hands in the respective back pockets, then we removed them and gave each respective asscheek a squeeze. Tim and I both just stopped and looked at each-other.
“Did that just happen?” we say at the same time. Tim begins to laugh. “Oh god we’ve become ‘that couple’ haven’t we? We’re spending so much time together we’re becoming the same person.”
I scoff. “That’s impossible. It was just a confidence. We’ve only been dating three weeks, it can’t happen that quickly!”
Tim raises an eyebrow at me, then shakes his head with a little smile on his face. “Whatever you say, babe.”

We begin to walk forward again, but we both put our left feet first. Tim immediately stops, and then of course, I stop. By this point, he already has the giggles. “You go, then I go. You do left foot, I go right foot.”
“That was just a coincidence too,” I insist.
I put my left foot forward and take a couple steps and Tim lets me pass, then jogs up to catch me. Our stride fell into its natural ways. That is, until I subconsciously reached for his hand and mine bonked against his – seeking the same thing.

“Oh come on!” I say exasperated. “You did that on purpose!”
“I swear I didn’t!” he gasps, laughing.
“We need to be careful. I like you, I don’t want the relationship to burn out too soon.”
That goofy smile appears on his face. “You like me?”
“Yes, I like you. You’re cute as hell, you have great posture, you’re so considerate and ambitious and your humor is off the wall. Plus, I like men who are smaller than me.”
“Ohhh god, fuck now I have to marry you for saying that. We have to elope and everything.”
“We can’t elope after 3 weeks, Timmy.”
“Why not?”

We both speak at the same time. “Your mom would kill us,” I say. Tim answers himself: “Well, my mom would definitely murder me.” I’d only known him a short while, but he’d already told me about his mother who was a wedding planner specializing in big, showy affairs.

I stop walking again and give him a glare for having synched with me again. “Ok, it is silent time until the car. Stand over there and be normal.”
Tim laughs again. “Oh god I can’t. I can’t deal with this. We’re too adorable, I’m giving myself a cavity.”

_______________________________________________
Text is fictional. Source unknown, would be appreciated.

PSA: I’m selling some writing to offset the cost of bills, please check it out.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

I know, I know. Religion is outdated, atheism is in. Americans are shedding their faith faster than last’s seasons iPhone. I mean, I get it – if you try to take the Bible literally it’s impossible to accept from a logical standpoint. It’s the message though that I like. I don’t see anything wrong though with believing that some great, divine power guides nature and humanity, using the universe as a cosmic canvas. When life falls apart or seems uncertain, I love to go to church and bask in the light streaming through stained-glass windows. It reminds me to not worry about things I cannot control, to accept things I cannot change, and it invigorates me to make what improvements I can.

There is one school of religious thought that I still cling to though. Purity. The whole concept of “my body is a temple”. Technically, I was born in this world with one biological purpose – to reproduce with a female counterpart – but the Divine Power gave me a special assignment. I turned out homosexual, with interest and lust towards men only. Although with science’s advancements and adoption, I could very well still reproduce, but is no longer my primary function. I did not know exactly what it is.

I was confused for many years because I also did not understand why the Divine Power would reassign my purpose but allow me to keep my penis and testicles and sex drive. One morning while listening to the choir sing hymns, the answer to my question of purpose came to me. Love. Even if I was not destined to reproduce, the Divine Power wanted me to go forth and share the awesomeness of world through the lens of love. I figured that two people bonded as soulmates that shared sexual energy would be a better conduit of this power than a solo individual. Love was the difference between being *in* the universe and *part* of the universe.

I could still give my body and virginity to someone I cherished. It would be a gift I could only give once, though, and I felt great responsibility to protect it. Perhaps I’m just silly. Perhaps it’s all in my head, that I’ve over-estimated my own importance. Deep down, I know I’m weak. I need the reassurance that there is a plan for me. I need faith.

So, that is why I locked myself up. I do not believe masturbation is a misdeed, I just worry that if I became complacent with my cock I would take advantage of it and slowly lose the magic behind intimacy. When you experience an orgasm, your whole body becomes an unstoppable engine of hormones and muscle. I don’t think people appreciate it enough. When I finally bed the right man who will take my virginity, I want it to be ceremonial. I want each climax to be a religious experience. I want to wake up the next morning feeling enlightened and new.

I am still young though, and that man will come. For now, I still go to church on Sunday and take long, solitary walks under the stars and keep my hands off my cock.

_________________________________
Text is fictional. Source has been deleted.

PSA: My special writing sale/fundraiser is still ongoing~

Gallery
by ccallenreese

When I explain it to people, they tend to get a confused expression on their faces. A dominant bottom? Isn’t that a contradiction? How can that exist? Then they meet my boyfriend and suddenly they get it. Even in khaki shorts and a tight knit tee shirt across his firm pecs, he attracts your eye and your attention. He’s impossible to ignore, even when not saying a word, he has this incredible aura and this steel glint to his eye that makes you wonder what he’s going to do next. It’s his confidence, his swagger. 

The boy is going to go places, but there is only one place he’s cumming – on me. Being gay to him is a non-issue. He easily accepted it, as if it was natural to him as breathing. His Type A personality doesn’t accept that he has to sit around until some guy gifts him with his cock. He finds it juvenile. When he wants sex, he needs to be in control the entire time, from actively pursuing a partner to the actual penetration. He quickly deduced that sticking his dick into something was not nearly as pleasurable as riding one. Big cocks, small cocks, curved cocks, he’s taken them all. Unfortunately, most of those cocks were attached to confused men who didn’t know how to react when their “submissive” bottom began to growl and take charge.

I, on the other, love just staying still and relaxing during sex. I love watching my partner fuck himself me because I know he’s in heat. I know he’s crazy, near foaming at the mouth, with the need to be penetrated and my cock is better than any dildo he can buy. It’s hot, it’s damp, it throbs and twitches. It fills him up and soothes the ache. After we had sex a few times, he simply told me, “You know I’m keeping you right?” I couldn’t find a reason to disagree.

Sex is usually triggered by two words: “I’m horny”. He purrs like a kitten and rubs my shoulders. I can rarely ever resist. I obediently climb the stairs and follow him to the bedroom, and there I wait for him to undress me. He pushes me to the bed licks me all over. Soon he’s grinding against me, testing my patience until I’m practically begging. God, I love watching him. He’s poetry in motion. All I have to do is stay still and he devours me. He mounts me and takes me into his body, rocking back and forth on my cock as he pleases. Often he seems he slips into a trance from how good it feels. Normally both of his hands are pressed flat against my chest like a panther that’s pinned his prey. I keep my hands busy, caressing him, tugging on his hair, encouraging him to use me as he desires. My cock is his.

The sex with him is incredible. I would let him lock my cock up if he wanted to, I just can’t resist. I can’t wait until we don’t have to use condoms anymore.

________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Source unknown.

PSA: I am selling some gay sex stories to offset some of my bills; if you’d care to take a look I’d appreciate it.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

My boyfriend came with a lot of baggage. Abandoned by his parents at 3, Ciprian grew up in an orphanage in rural Romania until he was adopted by American parents at 12. Malnourished, club footed, and institutionalized, it took years of therapy and medical care to salvage his youth and life. I met Ciprian at an art gallery showing. His therapist suggested he paint as an outlet to his anger and so he created beautiful, turbulent works of art. I purchased two, then asked him out for coffee.

Cip reminded me of a moth, cute yet a bit dull colored, flapping weakly with an injured wing. He needed more love than his parents could give him. He was starving for it. He needed so much love, it overwhelmed me. His eyes were so hungry. When Ciprian and I walked down the street in our big city, he always looks frightened and meek in ill fitting clothes. He was also self conscious over his leg brace. But, I loved him. I loved his interest in plants and his dedication to art, the way he served me tea and homemade cherry dumplings as if I were the Queen.

Some days, when Ciprian gets overwhelmed or depressed, and insists that he was a mistake and he should have died in that orphanage, I take him to the park. I let him gaze upon the river and the trees, feel the wind and the sun on his face, listen go the birds and frogs. It grounds him, to remember that although sometimes the world is ugly, it can be beautiful too and he is as part of it as anything else. There isn’t much that words can do. I just put an arm over him, and kiss his shoulder, and remind him I’m here and I care about him. Sometimes, he’ll put a hand on my thigh, squeeze it, and just cry softly while staring forward. I think when this happens, the poison is being pushed to the surface and washed away by his tears.

He’s getting better for sure. Ciprian has improved a lot since we met. He dresses better, and is painting more and selling steadily. Even though he is on disability for PTSD, he landed a job in an art supply and framing store. I threw him a party for this accomplishment and after everyone left, we made love in our bedroom with the windows open.

I was actually quite surprised he liked sex. At first, he was only interested in exploring my body in almost a clinical way. I would just lie there and his hands would roam over me, pushing on me, stroking me, testing me. I let him. I thought it was erotic. I always had to finish myself off because Ciprian liked to watch; he found it fascinating.
Gradually, we built it up trust until he permitted me access to his body. I think it makes him happy knowing that although he feels like he’s gross and malformed, that I desire him. Also, he seemed surprised that there was nothing wrong with his sex drive after all, it was just dormant, buried beneath all his trauma.

I think sometimes I’m doing a little more than helping him heal. I think I’m helping him find his identity. Not Ciprian the orphan, Ciprian the adoptee, Ciprian the 24 year old, just…Ciprian. My Ciprian.

___________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Couldn’t find the source for this. Edit on pronuncation: ‘Ciprian’ is pronounced “Chip-riahn and the stress is on the second syllable”.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

The buckshot scatter of freckles and bright red hair gave his origins away instantly. I ghosted the back of my fingers over his soft cheek. “Pretty boy, what are you doing so far from home?”

He cast his eyes down. “I am not pure blooded. They discarded me. No one will hire me or let me board because of stereotypes, they think I am a danger.”
“You don’t seem dangerous. You’re bonded using minimal security devices, no muzzle or harness or hood.”
“They fear that I will burn them all or set their houses on fire while I sleep.”
I give him a soft look of pity. Life is not easy for half-blooded demons in this world, especially the element ones. “So how did you end up for auction here?”
“I offered myself. I was terrified I’d be kidnapped and sold into slavery on the black market to a collector. I heard horrible things…” he trails off. “Well, at least, this way, the Society screens the bidders and I’ll go a good home. This is my third auction though, and it seems no one in society wants me at all, not even as a pet.” His shoulders sagged, and I could hear in his voice he was on the verge of tears. “I don’t know why my parents even conceived me. They should have been more careful.”
“Poor boy.” I caress his cheek again. The heat under his skin is magnetic. I can’t fathom how anyone would turn his prize down. It routinely dips below 0 in the winter. His bright hues would be a welcome sight against the whiteness of the season, and his hot thermal body would be a welcome addition to cold nights.

“I own and run a musical instrument shop and repair center. There is a lot of wood. Are you going to be a danger to my merchandise?”
His eyes search mine, unsure what I am truly asking. “No – no sir!”
“You can control it?”
“Yes,” he says, with confidence. “It is not as strong as others, because I am half-blooded, but I can control it. I don’t sneeze fire or whatever the rumors say.”
I snicker. “I heard one that says fire demons ejaculate lava.”
He screws up his face into one of annoyance. I find it charming. “That is wholly incorrect Sir.”
I chuckle. “I would hope so.” I wave over a clerk and ask for his dossier. The clerk rushes to bring me the clipboard and I peruse the documents. I read through his medical papers, making sure I’m not missing anything. “Mn I see you’re on the pill…you still experience heats? I thought that didn’t happen in half-bloods?”

He shifts, embarrassed. The chain connecting the cuffs on his feet rattles lightly. “Another untruth. If the dominant genes are human, no, if the dominant genes are from the demon parent, then yes. I was genetically screened when I joined the Society – my human genes are recessive.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I see. I appreciate your honesty, boy.”
“…Is that bad?”
“No. I think I would enjoy having you off the pill very much, though.” My hand lifts his cock and pulls back the foreskin, making sure it’s not too tight. I hum an approval.
He blushes hard.
“Clerk? Please bring me the bidding paperwork please.”

The young lad lights up. “You’re really- I mean, you want to purchase my contract?”
“I think three auctions is enough. You’re eager and beautiful and will thrive under my training in my home. I can see you would benefit from being taught some decorum, and I will fix that. I can see the ache to serve in you, to be wanted, to have a place. Plus, now I won’t have to fuss over lighting that stupid pilot light again.”

He beams and I can smell the fresh scent of roasting cedar coming off his skin. “I will not disappoint you Sir.”
The clerk brings over the paperwork and waits to guide me to a bidding counselor. I turn to leave the half-blood so I can go sit down and fill it out, but at the last moment I turn and give him a parting phrase. “All I ask is that you do not burn me. And I do mean both definitions of that word.” I leave with the clerk and let the lad ponder its meanings.

_________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. The saturation on this picture is way up, but the model’s name is redhead Oliver Dale.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Sebastian knew he was not allowed to touch his Master’s musical equipment. He could only run a feather duster over their surfaces. A lot of it was very valuable, some probably more valuable than he was as a replaceable houseboy. Yet, out of everything, the keyboard tempted him the most. He went to close the window because rain was on the way, and lo and behold, the keyboard was right there. He was mulling over the temptation to press them and didn’t hear his Master wake up from his nap.

The notes of Für Elise drifting down the hallway were unmistakable. Sebastian’s Master knew instantly his boy was breaking a cardinal rule. He caught him red handed, guilt all over his face. Sebastian knew it was against the rules and had done it anyway, had given into temptation.

Sebastian tried to smooth this over by placing his hands against the wall and pushing out his ass, assuming the spanking position. His Master stood behind him for a moment, quiet, until he said just one word: “Why?”
“Instruments were meant to be played Sir…I’m sorry I gave into temptation, Sir.”
His Master sighed. “Well I am disappointed. You know I don’t like anyone else’s fingerprints but mine on my instruments. At least your Für Elise was on point. You are going to get a spanking, boy. Face forward.” Sebastian heard him rustling around. “Now you can’t see this, but in my hand is a tuning device. When I strike you, you will tell me which note it sounds like. You’re getting 25. For every missed answer, you will get another swat, doubling your number. For every right answer, you’ll get five minutes to masturbate under my supervison.”
Sebastian’s eyes went wide. “Sir that’s-!”
“A challenge? Yes. If you think you are so accomplished at music that it excuses putting a houseboy’s fingerprints on my things, I want evidence.”
Sebastian groaned. He really did know better and felt stupid the had no one to blame for this but himself. Still, a part of him was impressed at his Master’s creativity and brilliance in keeping him in line.

__________________________
Text is fictional.