Tag: gay relationships

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Have you seen my coffee? I set it down some-”
“I put it by your keys so you wouldn’t forget it.”
“Ugh, you know me so well,” he chuckles.
I smile. “I do. Don’t forgot we have dinner with my parents after work.”
“Uh huh,” he says, hurredly shuffling papers into his briefcase. “Didn’t forget. I won’t be late.”
“Good. I’ll meet you there with Olivia. I’m taking her to her check-up at 9, and then getting groceries.”
“Don’t forget barbeque sauce,” he says, latching the case.
I blink. “Oh that’s not on the list, thank you. Did you have enough to eat?”
“Yes. I gotta go love. Gonna be late.”
“Hey hey wait!”
“What?” he asks, a bit flustered.
I grab his tie and pull him in for a kiss. “Just that.” I begin to release him. “Oh, and one other thing.” I pull him close to me again and whisper in his ear. “I’m going to come by at lunch-time and let you fuck me in the bathroom.”
He’s speechless. I give him another kiss on the cheek and smile as I smooth his tie. “Have a nice day at work, honey.”
“I – I will,” he stammers. “Thank you.”

He gives me a hungry look, then reluctantly leaves for work. Two minutes later, I’m chasing him down the driveway with the portable coffee container in my hand, Olivia squealing happily at my side.

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Text is 100% fictional. The gif is from the TV show Shameless, but the text is not intended to portray their characters.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“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.

___________________________
Text is fictional. Sequel is here!

Sunday playday!

Sunday playday!

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

gayboykink:

I wanted to make a little post about how bf released me from chastity, but it turned out to be a thorough report on yesterday’s endeavors. Hope you’ll enjoy! x

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Sunday’s are always the most useless days. Nothing to do but to sit home, and mentally prepare for the terrible monday morning that’s coming up. Perhaps that’s why my boyfriend ocassionally throws in a ‘kink’ day during free, lazy sundays. I love it when he puts the kink in ‘the-kinky-bf’ ^^

Just some background: I was in chastity for about 17 days pretty much 24/7. As you might’ve seen on my blog, the horniness it caused was killing me and I was playing with toys an awful lot to get some sexual relief besides the casual sex we had. That didn’t go unnoticed to my boyfriend either of course, so he announced that this weekend would be a nice day to play. I always get even more excited when he announces his kinky endeavors, because it makes me wonder what has inspired him and what he’ll be up to.

So… Sunday evening – after almost a full weekend of eagerly awaiting my fate – he took me to the bedroom. and told me to strip down. He then opened our naughty drawer (which is on my side of the bed of course ^^) and took out the penis gag, blindfold and spandex hood. Then came half a roll of leftover plastic wrap, which he used to bind my torso and arms so I couldn’t get my hands near my chastity cage.
He pushed me over, so I fell on my back on our bed and he cut a small hole in the plastic to get to the chastity lock. I was already leaking at the anticipation of what as going to happen when he took off the cage. Instead of immediately playing with my dick, he began stroking my body through the plastic. Nipples, thighs, chest, chin.. everywhere except for my throbbing dick that was just released from his confinement. 

Then all of a sudden he took the head of my dick, and started rubbing his thumb over my glans. I’m normally not that sensitive over there, but the denial made this the worst torture ever and I quickly began struggling my bondage and started moaning in my gag in a way too high pitch. He asked me if I wanted him to stop. I said yes, but apparently that was the wrong answer. Bf took the empty roll of plastic wrap, firmly pushed me on my side and started spanking my ass thoroughly. I knew what this was about. It was a predicament. He made me choose whether I wanted an agonizing cock head rubbing, or a rough spanking with the role. There was no way to win this. Because I hated the ‘thumbing’, I tried to endure the spanking for as long as possible, but when I was close to tears and struggled a lot, bf turned me over and started ‘properly’ stroking my dick getting me close to the edge in just a few strokes.

I tensed my back and legs to keep the orgasm as far away as possible, but again there was no way to win. After about twenty minutes (or perhaps 45.. idk) of edging, moaning and sweating bf had enough. He stopped, told me to cool down a little, and left the bedroom, leaving me throbbing and struggling on the bed. The gag caused me to drool a lot as well, but instead of swallowing it, I was only able to suck the plastic cock in my mouth… I’d rather prefer bf’s, but he left his cock surprisingly untouched during the whole scene. He even stayed dressed throughout.

After an unknown amount of time, bf came back. Immediately grabbed my dick and got my attention. In the mean time I barely lost my erection, even though he was away for quite some time. Just a minute later we were back at where we stopped: Right on the edge. Intense, loud and frustrating.

I begged him. Not to make me cum, but to please stop the stimulation for a while because the struggle to hold back an orgasm became harder and harder. Bf probably thought that me begging him to stop only meant I wasn’t being teased enough. He obviously wanted me to beg for release, but I didn’t. It wouldn’t help anyhow. For about fifteen minutes bf switched between teasing, some ball squeezing and (again) spanking with the empty plastic wrap role. He was pushing me with his edging. I was again close to tears, because every time I begged bf to stop, he went on for one or two more strokes, making it harder and harder to hold back. I was not allowed to cum, that was something he made very clear. 

But I did.
Muffled moans came from my gag, because I just couldn’t hold back a stream of cum dribbling out my cock when bf stopped stroking. He quickly continued his stroking and pushed me juuuust over the edge again. And again. And again. In about ten minutes he ruined like 5 orgasms until I was completely empty and one sweaty mental mess… Even then he continued palming me until I begged him to please stop stimulating my overly sensitive cock. He did and he left the room again, without saying a word. When he came back he cleaned the mess on my belly, pushed me over on my tummy and lubed my ass. 
I was exhausted. My jaws were aching from the gag, my ass was red from the spanking and my cock sore from bf’s unlubed treatment.. But still I loved the fact he still had a fire going in his dominance. Even though he had be using me for almost two hours, he still wanted one thing and that was to fuck my ass and fill me up with his cum. And so he did. It was the cherry on the pie. He collapsed on top of me and whispered in my ear how much he loved this. Then he left the bedroom again to let the situation really sink in. Fifteen minutes later, he came back, cut open the plastic wrap and undid my hood, gag and blindfold. We cuddled and I thanked him. It was awesome and I needed him to know that. 

We haven’t locked my chastity back on, because even the day after there’s still soreness and red irritated skin on my dick. Even if I wanted to masturbate, I couldn’t, haha. Next time I hope bf uses some lube on my dick as well, haha. On the plus side; For the first time in weeks I can get hard while writing a post. That’s a very nice feeling as well.  ^^

*jaw drops*

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“God that was off the hook!” Josh exclaimed for the sixtieth time that night.
“I’m so glad we got tickets,” Morgan agreed.
“Nice of you to come out with us, Morg, we don’t see you much anymore.”
“Sorry dudes, I’m just so busy with my job ‘n school ‘n all. I’ll try and make an effort to get out more.”
“I think we’re gonna try and scrap together a beach volleyball game if you want in on that,” Rob notes.
“Sounds great, sure,”
“Hey,” Rob speaks up again, “Why do you keep rubbing your neck? Did you get new ink or something?”
Morgan is glad no one can see him blush in the dark car. “Oh um, my boyfriend got me this silver necklace that I’ve been wearing a lot and it feels weird to not have it on. I didn’t want to lose it at the show.”
Rob makes a ‘huh’ noise.
“Ah,” says Josh, “Was wondering that too. Well, we’re here.”
“Awesome. Thanks for driving, Josh.”
“No problem. Bye Morgan, see you ‘around.”

Morgan exchanged farewells and fistbumps with his friends and then got out of the car. He looked fondly at the house in front of him, with its neat lawn and well kept gardens, then turned and waved the car off.

Morgan went inside and shut the door quietly. He turned on the overhead light and sat down on the landing to take off his shoes. As he worked the laces, Morgan noticed that the kitchen light was on. He smiled. Out of the humid summer air and into the cool place, Morgan was suddenly aware of how sweaty and gross his shirt was and so he peeled it off with great relief. The clicking of toenails announced their little French bulldog waddling into the room.
“Hey Porridge. Aw, you’re a sweet girl. Hello, did you miss me?” He gave the dog a few pets, amused at her excited snuffling.

After removing his shoes, Morgan stuffed his socks into his balled up shirt and left it on the landing. He stood up and reached for his collar on the table by the door. When his fingers touched the cool metal accents on the leather, he felt the nagging sense of loss he had carried all night melt away. It was satisfying to hold it in his hands again, to know he was close to returning to his proper place.

“Boy, are you home?” said the voice from the kitchen. Morgan felt an additional sense of peace at the low, velvety voice. He knew that the kitchen light had not been left on by accident.
“Yes Sir, I’m home.”
“Did you put your collar on yet?”
“No, Sir.”
“Bring it here, after you take off your shoes.”
“Yes sir.”

Morgan clutched it with both hands and strolled into the kitchen. He could see the scene before he even stepped foot in the dimly lit kitchen – his Master in his old, worn blue bathrobe, hunched over the kitchen table drinking tea out of a mug emblazoned with fading letters spelling out “Oingo Boingo”. He’d had that mug since he was a teenager, and Morgan lived in mild fear of dropping it.

In one swift motion, Morgan knelt at his Master’s feet and offered his collar with both hands up above his bowed head. Internally, he was begging for his Master to hurry up and just put it back on him already so he could feel right again. He heard the sound of the mug being set down on the table and the swish of the bathrobe fabric as Master Buford turned in his chair.

“Did you enjoy the concert?”
“Yes Master, thank you very much. I cannot …I cannot even put into words how incredible it was. The production, the sound, their stage presence! So much energy. Franz Ferdinand’s bass player is very talented.”
“I’m pleased to hear you enjoyed your reward.” Master Buford said, without a hint of displeasure. He yawned. Morgan tried hard not to smile at that yawn. 
He knew if he ever brought this up, he’d likely be spanked for it, but it didn’t make it any less true. The blogs and industry mags called Master Buford ‘the Bull of BDSM’ for his broad figure and gruff nature, but the fierce exterior hid a deeply sentimental man who hated to sleep alone. Buford loved to cuddle and hold his boy close in his thick arms as he slept. Bucroft scoffed at the old-fashioned idea of having your slave or sub sleep on a cot in a disused part of the house. God, did he love waking up horny and being able to have Morgan in arms length.
It wasn’t just a preference, it was engineering at this point. There’d be no sleep for Master Buford without his slave in his rightful place. Morgan loved knowing his Master had been waiting all night for his safe return.

The boy realized he’d been waiting for the familiar sensation of the soft leather and metal band to be strapped around the neck, but nothing happened. Instead a hand caressed his check. “Stand up. Go sit in the chair across from me. Get yourself a mug.”

The boy was confused and slightly alarmed. My collar! he thought. Still, he rose and found himself a less important mug and joined his Master at the table. It felt odd to be sitting across from him as an equal. To offset this, Morgan refilled his Master’s mug from the teapot before his own. He sipped at the hot liquid filling half his mug.
“Look at me, boy.”
Morgan raised his head. “Sir?” He didn’t understand the expression on Buford’s face. He seemed a tad perplexed, lost in thought.
“God, how bizarre,” Buford said after a long moment of reflection.

Morgan looked down at himself.
“What’s wrong Sir?”
Buford kept talking as if Morgan hadn’t said a thing. “It’s amazing to me how different you look without your collar. It frightens me a little to see you like this, to see you looking so …normal. I know we signed a little contract together, and you live here, but when I see you sitting there like a normal person, in your shorts and all, it scares me a great deal, because you could just be any normal person. You could decide you never want to put the collar back on again and walk away, and there isn’t a damn thing I could do. I would never again lay eyes on your tattooed form in all its naked beauty.”
Morgan stared at his beloved Master wide-eyed, feeling deeply privileged to be hearing his inner thoughts. “I would never–!”
“But you could,” he interrupted. “I mean, when I gave you permission to go to this concert tonight, you were just a normal guy hanging out with your friends. You went not as my boy, my sub, but as Morgan, a normal young man who has a job and a boyfriend like any other person. It’s bizarre to think there’s almost two of you.”
“I don’t – I don’t understand Sir, I’m …I’m just me.”
“Yes, you are you,” Master Buford agreed, sipping tea. “It’s like a magic spell. Don’t you agree there’s some magic in your collar? Like it’s enchanted or something?”
Morgan leaned over the table and put his hand on it. “Yes. I absolutely feel that. I miss it when it is apart from me. I feel that it connects me to you when you’re not here.”
“And if we broke the spell, then what? You’d be gone from me forever,” Master Buford said mournfully.
Morgan felt a bit caught off guard. Plus, the adrenaline from the concert had crashed, leaving him tired and blurry headed. “Sir, what inspired this? I am not leaving. I couldn’t wait to get back here and put the collar back on. Rob mentioned, in the car, why I kept rubbing my neck.”
“That…pleases me, a great deal actually. But I don’t understand why a boy of your age would choose this life over his friends.”

Morgan suppressed a yawn and took a big sip of tea. “I can have both, in proper doses. I like winning your attention and approval. The discipline and patience I’ve learned here has helped me so much in life. You’ve taught me how to respect other men, older men, and it’s improved my relationships with my teachers, bosses, even my father.”
Master Buford eyed Morgan over his cup. “Really? I did all of that?”
“Yes,” Morgan insisted, wondering if he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming this. “And you have more to teach me, I just know it.”

Master Buford was quiet. He then yawned so hard his eyes watered. “You flatter this old man. I think it’s time for bed.”
“You’re not o- …Yes sir,” Morgan replied, quickly drinking the rest of his tea. “I’m exhausted. I need a shower too.”
“Take one in the morning after I’ve fucked you.”
“Mnn yes Sir.”
Buford stood up, holding his boy’s collar. Morgan fixed his eyes on it as his Master walked toward him, polishing it on the hem of his bathrobe sleeve. He abated behind Morgan and strapped the collar around his boy’s thick neck. Morgan exhaled in relief. “I missed this so much.”
Buford cupped Morgan’s chin, then ran his hand down his boy’s neck, over the collar.
“Yes. It belongs here. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Good boy. Come on, it’s bed time. You can tell me more about the concert tomorrow and what reward you want to work toward next.”

Morgan nodded. He rinsed the empty pot and cups, carefully handling his Master’s mug with two hands until it was safe in the drainage rack. He then dried his hands on a towel. He detoured to the entryway to pick up his damp shirt bundle, then followed his Master upstairs, turning off the lights as he went. Porridge trailed behind, and the family of three went to bed.

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Text is fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

neweygn:

I need a houseboy to do my ironing. Don’t we all?

Hamal presses a cup of tea into his hand. “Come upstairs, I gotta finish the ironing.”
Dan nods and follows him, still trying to get used to the fact that his friend is a nudist. They go up the stairs and into the secondary bedroom, everything in pause from when Hamal went downstairs to greet Dan at the door.
“So how’s your brother?” Hamal asks, turning on the iron again.
“He’s doing a lot better, thankfully. Working out in the country has done more for him than any city rehab clinic did. Mom wants to see him for Christmas but we’re not sure bringing him back to Springfield is a good idea, cause it’s where all his drug contacts are. We might have Christmas in the country.”
“That actually sounds better than Springfield.”
Dan chuckles. “Yeah it does. I’m happy for him though. I hated seeing my Dad worry about him.”
“I hope he stays sober too. Are you still working for that accounting firm?”
“Yeah, I am. I am up for a promotion next year. I think I’ll get it, considering the last audit I did for a client turned up a couple hundred thousand in extra money.”
Hamal smiles. “Way to go, Dan! You must be their favorite person in the world right now.”
“Considering the bear hug their CFO gave me, I would say so.”
“You were always good with numbers.”
“Mhm.”

The conversation hit a dead end. The hiss of the iron and the sound of the metal plate swishing over fabric was the only noise in the room.

“What happened to you man?” Dan blurts out, watching Hamal iron.
“Excuse me?” Hamal replies, looking up from working on a shirt sleeve.
“You’re standing there, butt naked, ironing some guy’s workshirts in the middle of a Sunday afternoon like you’re his servant girl. What does he got on you to make you do this?”
Hamal sets the iron down with a bang, making Dan jump. “What does he got on me? William doesn’t have a thing on me. Are you implying he’s blackmailing me into doing his laundry?”
“Well, it’s the only explanation I can think of. You used to get higher grades in class than I did – you were like the top student in our engineer department. You could have been at JPL or Boeing by now, instead of…” Dan gestures. “This. What gives? Everyone wonders what happened to you after graduation.”

Hamal presses his lips together until they were a thin line. “You’re just like my parents. Ever since I was little, it was study study study study. Science camps in the summer, tutors in the fall, flashcards before bed. My father wanted me to be an engineer or a doctor or a lawyer. Those were the only choices they gave me. They sent me to a magnet high school. They never let me take an extracurricular that wasn’t somehow "good for me”. I never even owned my own soccer ball, Dan. You bet that I had very little choice over where to apply for college, or what program I applied to.“
"But you were good at it! You were good at numbers, and at math and science. You can’t blame your parents for trying to nurture that,” Dan counters.
“But no one ever asked me what I wanted!” Hamal nearly yells, pointing at himself. “No one EVER asked me if I wanted to be an engineer! If I wanted to spend my life stuck in a cubicle doing math and science for big faceless corporations. Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I have to have a career in it. I wanted to take home ec and learn how to bake. You know, once I tried to take a quilting class at the local YMCA but when my dad found the papers, he beat me and threatened to kick me out of the house.”
“….What?”
Hamal huffs. “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. It’s ~gay~ or whatever you deem it to be. But I liked it. I like sewing, I like cooking. You know, fifty, sixty years ago, it was expected of a woman to do these things for her husband. We all just assumed they were all repressed now. My grandmother was a housewife. She loved being a housewife. You know, when we were downsizing her house before she died, we found this album of old photos. She was a tennis whiz. She won all these trophies. Could have easily gone pro. She chose to get pregnant and stay home…. and we all pitied her, you know, because we thought she sacrificed her career after an accidental pregnancy. She always insisted she got pregnant on purpose. When she was 90, and half senile, her home aid would find her in the kitchen at 3 am trying to bake apple tarts for her kids. She just wanted to be a mother and housewife, and no one could understand that.” Hamal continues ironing angrily. “I don’t see why a man can’t want the same thing.”

“….And that’s …what you want?” Dan asks slowly.
“Yes,” Hamal replies firmly. “I find it much more satisfying. I would go insane in a cubicle.”
“I just…” Dan puffs his cheeks and runs his fingers through his hair. “I just had no idea. It’s hard to fathom that what people consider tedious chores, you prefer over anything in the world.”
“But it’s not just chores,” Hamid explains patiently. “It’s because I do them for William. William was the first one who really understood me. I made him cookies once, when we started dating, and he thought it was awesome that I liked to bake. I did his laundry once and the look on his face told me he was thinking of marrying me right then. William loves his job in the DA’s office, and has no time for like, life stuff. He hates chores, cause he grew up in a family of eight. So the fact I anticipate what he needs and do it for him is hugely flattering. Makes him feel like a million dollars. I like that.” Hamal smiles.

“But …I mean…what comes after? I mean, this has to wear off sometime. Are you still going to be a houseboy when you’re 50?” Dan asks. “You’re gonna get bored.”
Hamal moves on to another shirt. “Don’t think I’m so simple, Dan. I tutor low-income kids struggling with math skills. I keep busy. I volunteer at animal shelters. William and are talking about fostering or adopting soon, so I’m dreaming of a house full of kids. Then after? Who knows. I’ll get a part time job until William retires, then we will travel the world together. We already travel a lot. We also go to the ballet, movies-”
“Kids? You never mentioned wanting kids.”
“I always wanted kids,” Hamal says, sounding a bit sad. “Just no one ever asked me what I wanted. Being a stay-at-home dad sounds so much fun.”

Dan looks at his old college friend sideways, trying to see the real Hamal instead of the one he thought he knew his entire life. “So you’re…really happy just…ironing? You’re happy being his houseboy? His, um, naked houseboy?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you want?”
“Yes. And I like being naked. It’s comfortable. Plus, William likes it, and when he’s wound up the sex is amazing,” Hamal mutters.
Dan turns red.
Hamal smirks.
Dan sips his ignored tea and watches Hamal iron. “Well if that’s…what you want, then I’ll try and support that.”
Hamal’s face softens. “Thank you. That means so much to me Dan. I know it’s hard to comprehend, but thank you for at least trying. Also, when the kids arrive, I am totally making you babysit.”
“Hey!”
Hamal chuckles. “I’m just about done here, and I gotta get the towels off the line outside. But if you want to stick around…I am baking chocolate chip cookies afterwards.”
“…Chocolate chip cookies?” Dan perks up. “Any chance we could put peanut butter in them?”
“Oh, I think that is definitely doable. William loves peanut butter too.”

William comes home that afternoon and finds two cute boys making cookies in his kitchen. He nibbles one and wonders why on Earth more people didn’t have houseboys. He watches Dan and Hamal lick the beaters clean, and admired how happy they were. It is a relief for William to see that Hamal still has companions outside his own circle. It also makes William a little jealous though, and he smothers down his lust for Hamal in an apron for hours until Dan finally leaves after dinner.

William and Hamal don’t even make it to the stairs before the lust overwhelms them. Hamal still smells like cookies, and William devours him.

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Long ranting houseboy story, ahoy. Also JPL stands for Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Awww lookit the puppy. What a beautiful baby. Is it a blue mix?
I nod.
"Hi there,” he coos. I watch as Zach takes off his glasses and gives the pup a little scritch. My eyes wander over his suit tailored to his body. Blue looks fantastic on him; he could almost be a fashion model posing with a prop dog. The two of them are far too beautiful for my shabby living room.

“So you finally got a real dog huh?” Zach asks.
“Well…”
“He’ll be a good companion for Smokey huh? Say, where is your pup boy anyway?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Zach blinks. “What…?”
“Look at the name tag.”
Zach does. “It says Smokey. Wait.” He looks at me, then at the dog. “What?”
“My pup boy liked being a dog so much, that I woke up one morning and discovered he had turned into a real, live pup.”
Zach is staring at me sideways now. “Not sure if you’re joking.”
“I assure you I’m not. I’ll prove it. Try to get him to do a trick. Something complicated.”
Zach thinks about this a minute. He goes through the basics – “shake”, “bark”, “roll over”. He then makes a gun with his fingers and says “bang!”. Smokey rolls on his back and puts his paws in the air, head lolling on the ground.
I laugh. “Good boy Smokey!” Smokey gets to his feet and comes over to me for a belly rub.
“There’s no way you could have trained a pup to do all of that in such a short time.” Zach says hesitantly.
I shrug. “As I said, my pup boy turned into a pup. Unbelievable as it is, that’s what happened.”
My friend looks at the puppy, silent.

Then, as if right on cue, my pup boy saunters into the room. He’s just woke up from a nap and was wondering where everyone was and who took his collar off while he was out.
“Hey!” Zach cries.
I burst out laughing. “Busted! You totally believe it!”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did!” I fall back into a chair, clutching my sides. “God your face…Jesus Zach, that was fantastic!”

Smokey the pup boy tilts his head in confusion. “Roo?”
The real pup, whom I actually named Greybeard, goes to sniff him. Within minutes, they’re playing. I watch them, still chuckling. Zach looks sullen and miffed.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“No, it really wasn’t, but the opportunity presented itself. I’m sorry. You do look bloody good in that suit you know.”
“Well,” Zach smirks, “I expect all you’ll get out of is a good look, because you are never gonna undress me out of it.”
I groan. “Aw, Zach, that was just harmless fun, why are you being hard to get? You know you came over here to get laid.”
“I did,” he admitted, ‘But you have two pups that need your attention.“
"They can amuse themselves as you see – hey, Smokey, watch out for the coffee table! Good boy.”

Zach folds his arms. “It’s gonna cost you an expensive dinner. THEN, I’ll think about coming back home with you.”
“Alright, alright. I can handle being owned by three boys.”
He grins. “That’s more like it.”

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Couldn’t find the model but the clothier is Patrick Johnson Tailors.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

My frat brother woke me up at two in the morning.

“Max, wake up! Wake up. Come on, it’s an emergency.”
I flailed. “Wh- what? What’s going on?”
“You need to come downstairs right now. It’s your friend, Gordy.”
“Gordy…?” I asked. “What is he doing here?” He lives two hours away.“
"Oh you’ll see.” I squinted in the light coming in from the hallway. Steve was pale as a sheet.
“Shit, what happened?” I asked, throwing off the sheets. I was glad I decided to wear boxers to bed that night.
“You’re gonna puke,” was all Steve said. I bolted down the hallway and ran down the stairs. When I saw Gordy standing in the entrance way, I gasped. He was covered in blood; one eye was starting to swell shut and his nose was crooked.
“Oh my god,” I said. “Gordy…Gordy what happened sweetheart?”
When Gordy saw me, he began to cry. “Max!”
“Shit.” I walked up to him and embraced him a solid hug, letting him sob on me, not caring about his blood getting on me.  Steve was hanging back on the stairs, with a couple other bros who were curious about the fuss.
“Gordy who did this to you?” I asked through clenched teeth. I felt rage and bile rise in my throat.
His voice kept hitching from his fit and it was hard for him to talk clearly. “My – my- my dad, he be-be-eat me up after catching me kissing another guy.”
“Oh Gordy,” I sighed, rocking him. Gordy had been out to me for years. I’d always been somewhat worried how his father would take it when he found out, and I was furious that my premonition was right. I was seeing spots in front of my eyes from how angry I was.
“Is the other boy alright?”
“Yes.”
Did you drive all the way here…?” I asked.
“Yes,” he hiccuped. “I stole my dad’s car. Mine died a while ago.”
“Good god. Ok, let’s get you to the hospital, Gordy.”
“No,” he whimpered.
“You’re hurt and…jesus, I think your finger is jammed or broken or something.”
Gordy glanced at it, then looked up at me. “No, I want to go to sleep with you. Don’t leave me alone please.”
“Shh shh. I’m not,” I whispered. “We’re going to the hospital, then you can come back here with me.”
Steve piped up. “It’s totally cool if he stays here.”
“Thanks man.”

I got my keys and my wallet and my flip flops. Steve gave me his shirt. I walked Gordy to his dad’s car and put him in the passenger seat. There was blood all over the place, but I didn’t even care.

The emergency staff were horrified to hear what happened. They called the police and we filed a report. I mentioned how the car was “borrowed” and we’d be returning it in the morning so we could get Gordy’s things from the house. I asked the police officer not to his arrest his father until that was settled, and the Detective graciously said she’d work with us. The doctors set Gordy’s nose, braced his finger, and cleaned up the blood. We slept together in bed that night, him pressed against me, my arms around his trembling form. It took a while for the white anger to fade enough so I could sleep.

The next day, after breakfast, we drove back to Fishers to return the car. Steve drove my truck down behind us, it’s bed full of empty boxes we scrounged up under a tarp. The plan was for us to all carpool back. Gordy was quiet most of the trip. His bruises had darkened over night and he looked terrible. I held his hand when he seemed to need it most. Gordy and I had grown up together, best friends. He was a year younger than I was. I went off to university and he stayed local to earn money as his family was not well off. I hadn’t expected for us to see each-other again like this though, and I was not happy.

When we pulled up to his father’s house. I told Gordy to wait in the car. I waited until Steve pulled up, then I got out and walked over to tell him the same thing. I then went into the trunk and got the shotgun out of the back.

Steve saw it first, and yelled at me to put it away, but I told him to sit his ass down. Gordy was staring at me with wide eyes from his dad’s car.

I knocked politely on the door, and waited until his father answered.
“Oh it’s you, you faggot piece of shit that corrupted my son. What do you want with that? Gonna beat me up with it? I bet you don’t even know what to do with it. Here’s a hint. You don’t stick your dick in the hole.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I cocked the trigger and shot him in the leg. Behind me, Steve screamed. Gordy’s father collapsed to the floor, baying like a wounded dog. The bullet had lodged right above his kneecap. I kicked him aside, then turned around. “Alright, Steve, bring the boxes in. Get Gordy. Pack his stuff and any photo albums he wants to keep.”

Gordy got out of the car and threw up. He looked better afterwards. I dragged his father in to the living room and sat there with my gun trained on him while Steve and Gordy wordlessly packed up his belongings. His father was still making a terrible amount of noises, crying and cussing at me. Adrenaline and hatred suppressed any guilt or fear I felt. No one hurt my Gordy. Absolutely not, and especially not for kissing a boy. Not on God’s green earth. I had to resist shooting him again, and settled to just telling him to “shut the fuck up, pussy”.

I waited patiently, singing folk songs under my breath as the boys packed. Boxes came down first, then full laundry baskets, followed by bags. Gordy rescued his favorite mug from the kitchen, and a picture of his deceased mother from the living room only mere feet from where his father had been rendered immobile. They raided the coat closet and the basement, and within an hour, Gordy’s presence had been erased from the house. I whistled happily as it all went along.

Steve called my name.
“Yeah?”
He drank from a water bottle he found in the fridge. “We’re ready.”
“That’s everything? Bathroom, closets, cabinets, etc?”
He nodded. “Gordy is fitting the last of it in the truck. It’s gonna be a tight fit. Good thing you got a truck. Boy has a lot of stuff.”
I chuckled. “Yeah I figured. Not a lot of furniture though right?”
“Nah, just a lamp he liked.”

“Alright. Bring me his dad’s car keys would ya?”
Steve did. He threw them to me, and I caught them with one hand. I looked down at Gordy’s father, who was staring at me with utter hatred from a fetal position. I threw the keys onto his ground. “Here’s your car back. Sorry it’s got some blood in it, but that’s your fault. Listen to me. You ever come near Gordy again, I will aim for your head. Got it?”
His father spit at me.
I cocked the gun and shot him in the ass. The howls began again. “You know, Mr. Miller, being gay really isn’t all that bad. Having a little soreness in the ass is actually pretty nice.” With that, I collected the shell casings and left the house.

Once back by my truck, I called the police department back home. “Detective Mitchell? This is Max Tucker. Yeah it’s about Gordy. You can arrest his father now, but you’re gonna have to do it from a hospital.” I then hung up and called 911. I didn’t stay on the line like they asked.

By the time the ambulance arrived, we were gone. Three of us, crammed into the cab of my truck, the empty shotgun in the back. No one said a word, but Gordy cried on me the whole way home. It was a long drive back to the university, and my entire body ached from the tension and adrenaline mixing with testosterone in my veins. I drank my water and kept silent too, thinking about my actions. I did not regret what I had done to his father. I vowed to never again let Gordy stray far by my side, and that was a vow I kept.

________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. The model is Evan Peters. This story in no way intends to depict Evan Peters or make projections on his personality or sexuality.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

lookingfortheman:

I’m the kind of guy who still believe that a kiss can fix everything….

There was my pride, and there was him. I could have walked away, using the pieces of my bruised ego to build a wall around me to block logic out. I could have convinced myself I was right. But I wasn’t. And I knew it. Admitting you fucked up, that you over-reacted is one thing. Telling him that is another. Is that what television had taught me, that it’s not masculine to admit you’re wrong? and when a man is wrong, aren’t they supposed to just charm their way out of it?

Caspian would have seen right through that through. He would have not been amused at being brushed off. There are a lot of guys that want to date Caspian… but Caspian likes me. The First Argument in a relationship is the benchmark between celebrating monthly anniversaries and annual ones. If I skirted this, it wouldn’t be long before Caspian brushed me off. I needed to apologize, no matter how much it stung if I wanted to keep my man.

I texted him and said I wanted to meet up. He didn’t respond, and I started to panic. Then, an hour later, “Hey sorry, my phone died. I’m around. Come over.”

I drove over there, nervous. I parked the car and got out. He was waiting on the walk up to the house.
“What’s up?” he asked, casual and cool. I sighed. It would be easier to walk away from this fuck up if I wasn’t so smitten with him.
“I … I….”
Caspian looked at me, hopeful. His gaze still held a bit of pain from the stinging words I threw at him. I leaned forward and dared to kiss him. Caspian didn’t pull back. He just stared at me in surprise.
“What was that for?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, “I’m sorry Caspian.” I dropped my gaze to the ground. “I fucked up, I took things out of context, and said some really hurtful things… I was having a bad day and just blew up. I feel really awful, god. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Caspian tilts my chin up his fingers. “Hey… it’s alright.”
“It is?”
“Yes. I’m really happy that you came back. When I told you to ‘get out’, I was pretty terrified that you wouldn’t ever come back. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“No no I totally deserved it.”
“Yelling doesn’t have a place in relationships. You only should yell right before you cum,” Caspian says with a teasing smile.
I melt as the relief flows through me. God, he’s handsome. I put my arms around his neck. “I see. Does this mean we’re still… you know. Together?”
Caspian tilts his head and kisses me back. “I hope so. Mmn. I missed kissing you.”
“You can do it again if you like,” I say eagerly, giddy he’s taken me back. “I owe you anyway.”
Caspian nuzzles me. “Let’s go inside. We got time to make up for.”

_______________________
Text is fictional.

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“Oh hey, there you are,” I say, climbing out of the window and up to him on the roof.
“Shit,” he mutters, immediately trying to hide his cigarette.
“No no, it’s ok. You can smoke.”
“I can? You hate when I smoke.”
“Just one,” I say, settling next to him. “You’re under a lot of stress, but I don’t want you hooked again.”
He takes a long drag and exhales. “Thanks.”
I sit next to him in silence for a few minutes.
“What am I going to do?” John asks forlornly, “I am totally fucked.”
“You’re not fucked,” I assured him.

“Yes I am! I totally am, and I deserve it all. I finally, finally got the courage to admit the reason my marriage wasn’t working was because I’m gay. I found a great man, a man I could love, and I had the audacity to think I might actually be happy. I thought Sharon would be happier too, but then…” he taps the ashes off the cigarette and inhales again. “She gets pregnant. From the time I meet her to the day I marry her, she goes on and on about how she hates kids, doesn’t want kids, detests motherhood, etc, etc…and now she’s like "oh I want to keep it.”
I don’t know what to say.
“And she did this on purpose.”
“Why on earth would you say that?”
John puffs out his cheeks. “Because her brother told me she suspected I was cheating. And so when I took the trash out, I dug that nasty condom out from the bottom of the trash bag – there was a hole in it.”

“Jesus christ, John,” I gasp.
“So now! Nooow. We have to raise a kid she doesn’t want, and that kid will be raised by parents that don’t love each-other. And I’m going to lose you.” His voice cracks.
I rub his back in soothing circles. “I am not going anywhere.”
“But…but why?” he sniffles. “I’ve been a horrible person. I don’t deserve you.”
“Because I love you,” I say, kissing his temple, “And you’re going through a very hard time and you’re all alone. You need someone for support. And honestly, I think you should leave her. Poking holes in condoms is psychotic. Children are not bartering tools. Once you tell her you’re breaking up with her, she’s going to realize she’s gonna deal with that kid all by herself and she will…will…” I trail off, realizing the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
John’s voice is very small. “I can’t let her abort it.”
“Then let’s do this. Wait until it’s too far along to abort, then tell her you’re breaking up with her. She’ll have the kid, she won’t want the kid, and we’ll raise it.”
John blinks at me. “What?? Us?”
“You always wanted kids didn’t you? You love kids, you get along with my niece fantastically.” I’m pleased to see him blush a little. “We’ll give her an exit.”
“But you haven’t even known me a year yet…”
“But we have our whole lives ahead of us John,” I reply. “And hey, I sort of gave up on the idea of being a dad when I found out I was gay. This can benefit all of us, if we play the cards right.”

John just looks straight ahead, trying to keep his emotions in check. I take the cigarette out of his fingers before it burns his skin and stub it out on the roof. He sniffles. “I’ve never felt so fucked, and so lucky at the same time. Ugh, I should save that condom, for evidence.”
“eew…but you’re right,” I chuckle. “Don’t worry, it’s gonna be ok.”
He leans against me and sighs. “It’s going to be alright.”
“Yes, it’s going to be alright.”
“Eli?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
I put an arm around him and snuggle him close. “I love you too.”

__________________
Text is fictional.