Tag: houseboy

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I watch Esteban sigh, toss, then turn. My eye rests on his rump before considering the bigger picture.
“What’s wrong? Did I not satisfy you?” I ask my oldest and dearest friend.
“No no, not at all. Your blowjobs are fantastic, each one better than the last. I’m just…restless, I think. Normally, your wonderful mouth makes me drowsy and I have the most wonderful naps sometimes. I just – I don’t know. I can’t sit still. I can’t relax. I want to nap, but can’t slow my brain.”
I furrow my brow. Now this was a challenge. I prided myself in filling all of his needs. My mother had been his family’s housegirl when I was growing up, and her son – me – became attached to the Gonzalez’s second son, Esteban. We were, and always would be, inseparable.
As I enjoy the sight of him shirtless, it dawns on me. “I know just the thing.”
“Oh?” Esteban asks, turning his face toward me.
“Spread out, face down,” I instruct. Rest your cheek on your arms.”

I wait for Esteban to get into position, then I climb into his bed and straddle the back of his legs.
“What are you going to do?”
I don’t answer him. Instead I reach forward and rake my nails down his back.
He arches up under me and groans. “Oh my god backscratches, yesss.”
I suppress a laugh and end up snorting out my nose. He always liked these as a little kid, but for some reason it’s not something people do as adults. I start at his shoulder blades, and scritch his upper arms, before returning to his upper back and working my way down his spine. I admire this rare view of him, and enjoy the sight of his muscle and bones and the shadows it casts on his sandy skin.

Under me Esteban is grunting and moaning. “Yeaah that feels so good.”
I smile, pleased with myself. I always know what he wants. It is my responsibility, more than anything else in the world to carry on the tradition – his family, my family, the symbiosis we share. 

When he begins to squirm with sensitivity, I change technique to a muscle rub. By the time I make my way downward to knead his firm doughy ass, Esteban has drifted off in a nap. I massage his balls for a moment, unable to help myself, and then I let him rest. Another challenge, another accomplishment – another scene of satisfaction. Esteban is getting the rest he needs.

I feel energized though. I decide to go make him some cookies for when he awakes.
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Text is fictional.

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“August,” Quincy says with a sigh, “You’re smoking again. You’re a vocalist. You can’t smoke.”
“Oh shut it, Quince, it makes me feel better.”
“Christ,” he replies, shifting his weight to one hip. “You’re pathetic. And when you houseboy tells you you’re pathetic, you have a problem that tequila can’t fix.”
August opens an eye and watches his pierced and tattooed houseboy water his houseplants in turquoise boyshorts with the words ‘power bottom’ emblazoned on each butt-cheek.
“Don’t you think about putting your cig out in my plants,” warns Quincy. “Let me go get you an ashtray, you filthy boy.”
August grunts and rolls his eyes. 

A moment later, Quincy returns with an ashtray. August snubs it down and digs in his pack for another one.
“You know, I think I know how to fix this little problem.”
“What?” August eyes him. “It’s not a little problem and it can’t be fixed. We broke up. Let me get over it.”
Quincy rolls his eyes hard and vocalizes in exasperation. “No. I am not letting you break up your band over this bullshit. I am going to fix this.”

August lifts his head. “What? Where are you going? Quincy! Where are you going you little bitch?”
Quincy disappears back into the living room, then strolls back out onto the porch with a phone pressed to his ear. “Oh hi Franz, this is Quince, I’m on August’s phone.”
August jumps to his feet. “Hey! Is that my phone? Get off my phone!”
Quincy shoves an astonished August back into the chair.
“Sorry to bother you dear,” Quincy continues, sweet as treacle, “But I am so sick of this moping that I’m going to say what August can’t fucking say cause he’s a prick. First of all, he still loves you-“
“Quincy, goddammit, hang up!” August hisses through clenched teeth, eyes blazing.
“-and he can’t stop thinking about you. He’s not eating, he’s not sleeping – and he’s fucking smoking. – I know! I told him not to do that, but he won’t listen so maybe you will. You two are not breaking up your band over this. The Gilded Cranes is on fire right now. It’s all you ever – no YOU shut up, I’m not done.”
“Quincy I swear to god I’m going to spank you so hard,” August fumes.

The houseboy ignores him and waltzes back into the living room. “You two are NOT fucking up the lives of everyone else in the band that wants success so bad. You are not fucking over your manager, or your tour manager, or your merch girl who rely on you for work, nor ALL OF YOUR FANS over this PEDANTIC love spat you have. Listen, August will never tell you this but he’s totally scared of commitment.”
August groans loudly.
“His parents had a nasty divorce when he was growing up and so he’s terrified. He loves you so fucking much and wants you to be out with him, but he just can’t tell you that. So he broke up with you instead, thinking it’d be easier. So there, now you know. Now come over and let him fuck you with delicious make-up sex. before I lose my goddamn mind dealing with you – you children.”

Q exhales a puff of air. “There, you can have your phone back August.”
August was beet red. “Your bottom is going to be raw later. Raw, I say.”
“Oh pfft, you won’t have time, you’re gonna be too busy fucking.”
August glowers at him and put the phone to his ear. “…Franz? You’re still there? ..Oh you are. Shit, I am so- so sorry about this. My houseboy will be getting punished for this, don’t you worry. …Was what true? Any of it? …Franz please. You’re my best friend. I’ll always love you.” Quincy watches August wander off toward the bedroom to take the call in private.

When August emerges later, his eyes are red.
“..Uh oh, what happened August?”
“Franz is coming over.”
“Ha! Haha! Woo! I knew it.”
August smirks. “Yeah we’re gonna fuck. But first, we’re going to spank you together.”
Quincy’s eyes go wide. “That’s not how it’s supposed to go!”
“Just be lucky the whole band isn’t participating.”
It’s Quincy’s turn to groan. “Goddammit. This is the thanks I get?”
“Oh, forgot to mention – Franz is bringing you a cake from Domino’s.”
Quincy gasps. “Oh wow, an entire cake? Not just a piece?”
“An entire cake.”
The houseboy gives a dreamy sigh. “You guys really do love me.”
“You know I’m surprised you haven’t gotten fat already, Quincy,” August teases.
He sticks his tongue out in retort. “Bitch. Go shower, you reek of ciggies.”
“Go clean my bedroom before Franz gets here. Make sure it’s stocked.”
“Alright, alright~”

…”Quincy?”
“Yes boss?”
“Thanks.”
Quincy makes a dismissive wave with his hand. “Just credit me when you get famous.”

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Text is fictional. This is model Ash Stymest.

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“Look what I made,” Avery said again, bursting with pride. “I made these.”
“They’re beautiful. Made with love,” Graham confirmed, wrapping his arms around his partner.
“They are.” Avery took deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh-baked pies. “You think they’re beautiful? They’re kinda messy. The filling spilled out everywhere.”
Graham nuzzled their noses together and placed a chaste kiss to Avery’s lips. “I think they will still taste delicious.”
“The batter was plenty good.”
Graham chuffed through his nose. “That it was.”

Avery set the tray down on the counter, unable to tear his eyes off the final product. He made these! He couldn’t remember the last time felt pride in his work. “I made these,” he said again. “I can bake. I’m going to be a good houseboy.”
“Yes. See, it’s not so hard. You just follow the instructions, take your time, make sure you have good ingredients.”
Avery tucked his chin; his gaze drifted to the floor. “It sounds simple. Dan used to tell me I screwed up every. single. time. The recipes were confusing, the ingredients cheap. He liked to pinch pennies. He would eat one, then throw it into the sink, then make me bend over and he’d cane me.”

Graham embraced Avery even tighter, hoping a reassuring hug from behind would chase away bad memories. He was there at Avery’s physical, so they’d have evidence to process a case of abuse against Dan. Some of those cane stripes were now scars. Avery’s beautiful butt had been faintly marked forever. Graham hated that. It made him mad as hell, but Graham told himself if he thought of Dan, Dan would win. He had to let Avery’s past go if he was to have a future with Avery. Still, it was going to be difficult.

“Graham?” Avery asked softly. “You’re breathing hard. Are you ok? Did – did I do something?”
Graham opened his eyes. “No. Not at all. I was just …stewing. I am still mad at myself for letting you go the first time, when you were cleaning for me part time. I was so stupid, letting you go because I was scared how fast I was falling for you. And Dan happened. You shouldn’t have been punished for me.”
Avery half-turned so he could look at Graham over his shoulder. “Is that what you think happened?”
Graham nodded miserably.
“No,” the slimmer man insisted, his voice firm. “Absence makes the heart fonder. It was only because I moved out that you were able to see clearly how much you love me.”
“I do,” Graham groaned.
“You were able to see what you really wanted. You chased after me so hard to get me back. What happened with Dan was just an ugly fact of life. You were there for me after, and that’s what I wanted. You have atoned.”
"Wow,” Graham breathed.
Avery glanced again at the pretty little pies. “Can I put these on the cooling rack now?” he asked, excited.
“Yes. Go on. Use the spatula. Gentle now.” Graham watched Avery work, and he began to rock him. “I can’t believe you still let me love you.”

“I am really happy you love me. I just want to be a good houseboy. You sent me away. Dan hurt me. I felt like such a failure. I am on cloud nine that you gave me a second chance and are teaching me how to be a great houseboy.” Avery swallowed hard and sniffled.
“Aww, there, there. It’s ok.” Graham kissed his neck and his ear-lobe. “You’re safe now, and you’re mine.”
“I love you Graham.”
“I love you more Avery.”

Avery slid off the oven-mitts, then turned around into Graham’s embrace. They kissed passionately, Avery losing himself in the soft yet firm texture of Graham’s lips. He tasted a bit like blueberries, from when they had licked the falling off each-other’s fingers earlier. After a long tender moment, the kisses trailed off to little nips here and there. They both had to catch their breath. Avery felt something hard poking against his hip.
“I had no idea baking could be so …so sexy,” Avery gasped.
“Is it really the baking?” Graham joked.“
"Well…” Avery puckered his lips in thought. “I think it’s the idea that I’m doing something for my man that he likes. It’s sexy to know he likes me doing it for him. Can happiness be sexy?”
“Oh absolutely,” Graham replied instantly. “I am turned on right now by the sign of your butt in your apron, yes, but I think more than that, it’s how much you are glowing with pride at your accomplishment.”
“I made those,” Avery repeated, gesturing to the pies. “…Wait, what if they don’t taste good?”

Graham traced Avery’s lower lip with his thumb. “There, there, don’t fret. How about we have a nice afternoon tea session? Baked goods, tea, the nice china. I um, bought that tea you like. Remember – the floral kind from France?”
The young man gasped. “You remembered that?”
“Of course! I hadn’t found anyone else that likes that stuff. I bought a big ol’ thing of it.”

Avery bounced on this toes. “Can you um, watch me to make sure I make the tea properly? I don’t want to burn it. I don’t know which forks to use at tea either…”
Graham smiled. “Of course. I will teach you everything you will need to know to be the perfect houseboy.”
”Your perfect houseboy.”
”My perfect houseboy. Mmnn not just that. My Avery.”
Avery felt a lump in his throat form. “Oh, Graham~ I could listen to you say that forever.”
“You better get used to it, love, because I plan to.”

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Text is fictional. The source is an utterly fantastic blog called Piefolk, in where gay guys get together on “SunDATES” and bake. The relevant post is here. This post isn’t intended to assume their personalities. The guys in the photo I think had an intimate moment, but it didn’t work out as boyfriends, according to the blogpost. The photography was done by Tri Vo Studios.

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obedienceisgolden:

I try to be Daddy’s sexy little wife as much as I can. Making him happy and horny is what I live for.

I hear his soft footfalls as he enters the kitchen. “Hello Jackson,” I say, busy prepping supper.
“God, I could listen to you say my name forever,” he admits. “I love your accent.”
“Jack-son?” I repeat.
“Yeah,” he exhales, like that “You’re cooking nude again. In that pristine white apron…” Jackson presses himself up behind me and his palm slides over my ass. “My Russian beauty.”

He’s necking me now, so I lean back against him and offer my lips. He dips his head and our mouths lock. It’s sweet, tender kisses that make my knees weak. For a moment I forget supper and just hope he wants to take it to the bedroom. I reach back and grab his thigh. I feel his package bum against me.
“Horny?” I purr.
“I don’t even have a word for it. I just am totally obsessed with you. Your thick body, those muscles in your arms. Your butt is – god, I just love your butt. I love your python thighs, your uncut cock, and your big low set of balls…” he runs his hands over me, caressing me as if exploring me for the first time. The hand drifts under my apron and cups me between the legs. I inhale sharply.
“You know what I think it is?”
“Hm?” I ask, distracted, as I stir the pot.
“I think it’s me thinking about what life be like if I hadn’t met you.”
“You?!” I exclaim. “What about me? I’d still be in that tiny little town in Russia, drinking myself to death like my papa did.”
“But you aren’t there,” Jackson says, reassuring me. “You’re here. In Canada. Safe, with me, in my home. I just …jesus, Oskar, I just never imagined I’d be this happy. I sometimes wonder if it’s all a dream.”
“Isn’t that what you imagined when you put up the ad?”
“I was scared to dream I’d be this happy. Honestly, I imagined I’d be taken advantage of for sex and money and abandoned once my new partner got here.”
“But you got me.”
“I almost didn’t,” he corrects, still touching me. It’s making me really hot and bothered. I almost wish I wasn’t so deep into dinner or I would just throw himself at him.
“The agency matched you with that guy, Carlos. He was such a creep. He just wanted a sex toy.”
“Honey, I know, I was there,” I chuckle, not really wanting to think about that right now. Jackson was lost in his thoughts though.
“I was wait listed for you, on this off-chance…I just knew, you were the one. When I got the news he hurt you, oh my god, I almost went to his house and beat the shit out of him!” Jackson growls in my ear, his fingers digging a little deeper into me.
“Honey,” I plead again. “Please…that wasn’t a good time for me. Let’s not talk about Carlos. Put your hand on my cock again.”
“Mmm,” Jackson said, perking up. He wormed his way around to my front again and stroked me under the apron. I sigh. “Did I mention I love that you’re uncut?”
I blush as he tugs on my foreskin. “No.”
“Well I do. Dammit Oskar…I can still remember exactly how I felt, the moment you stepped off the plane at the airport. We had only met during the mixer in Russia the agency set up, but I recognized you immediately.”
I’m quiet for a moment. I move to drain the raviolis in the sink and Jackson trails me, still petting me. It is getting immensely difficult to think. My head is clouded with hormones and lust. I want my man to wrap me in his arms, kissing away any thoughts of the violence I experienced with Carlos. Sometimes I think about damn lucky I am, and I feel nearly sick with relief. The world rarely works out so perfectly. We were two men, seeking love, one looking for escape, the other looking for a taste of the years his diplomatic father stationed them in Moscow. The first time I made Jackson blinchiki – or as they call them here, blintzes – he actually cried.

“Honey?” I moan, my cock now achingly hard. The ravioli are cooling in the strainer.
“Yeah?” he says, distracted.
I say to him, exasperated, “Can we please go have a fuck before dinner? I am so fucking horny!”
Jackson laughs.
I feel a bit wounded. “Did I say something wrong? Is it my English? Did I not say it right?”
“No, I’m sorry love, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing with bliss. Just when I think my life is more perfect, you say the best damn things and remind me that I still have many more amazing years with you.”
“Then let’s get living them,” I insist. I turn around and pull Jackson against me. I push my crotch against his hip. Jackson grabs my ass hard until I shout, then he reaches back and unties my apron. I pull it over my head and toss it on the counter. Our lips meet and collide, desperately drawn here and to. I flick my tongue at him, and it makes Jackson ravenous. Before I know it, he’s reaching for the olive oil and I got my legs around his waist. He pushes me up onto the counter, hisses at me to “hold on”. I grab onto the cabinet. My dick is throbbing and it’s starting to ache.
“Jackson hurry!” I whimper.
He fumbles with the olive oil. One hand is still slippery when he grabs my thighs and pushes into me. I bellow out a moan as he fills me in one push. I stroke myself while he devours my mouth again. Jackson notices me pleasuring myself and pulls away a little to watch. “Yeah, that’s it Oskar, good boy” He snaps his hips like a whip, thrusting his fat cock up inside of me. I push my thighs against him. “Yes! Yes!” I cry, momentarily lost in the satisfaction of getting what I need.

Jackson is slipping on the olive oil on the floor, so he leans against me and uses his hips to fuck me. I arch my back, ignoring the counter digging into my butt.
“More! Harder!” I love these English sex words he taught me. I feel naughty when I use them. Luckily, I use the right ones and Jackson ruts until his chest is heaving with effort. Suddenly, his glans hits my prostate in just the right way and we explode together. I scream and Jackson digs his teeth into my shoulder. I am jerking myself furiously. Cum splatters up on my stomach and coats where we’re joined. I groan as I feel Jackson’s load flood in me.

Our foreheads touch as he catch our breath.
“I needed that,” I say, matter of factly.
“That was a great idea,” Jackson agrees, nibbling my jaw. Our tongues duel for a moment before he slides out. I whimper at the emptiness behind. “Christ look at this mess,” he chuckles, setting me down. “Cum and oil everywhere.”
I grin, flustered and happy. “But that is a good problem to have. You need to change your pants too.”
“What?” Jackson glances down and sees our cum has soaked the front of his jeans. “Oh damn.”
“Why don’t we eat dinner naked in the bathtub?” I offer.
“Dinner, in the bathtub?”
“Well, we won’t have to worry about getting tomato sauce on our clothes.”
“Such a smart husband,” he coos. He kisses me again. I wish he would stop that, because I want more when he does. I had a feeling we weren’t going to be getting any cleaner in that bath, and turns out, I was right. We made an even bigger mess too.

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Text is fictional. Tommy Defendi and Alex Adams. This is from Man Royale. Couldn’t find the video on their website, but it’s called Cookin’ By The Book. Here’s stills. Here’s the video bootlegged and uploaded.

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Damien watches from next to the table as yet again his houseboy charms the pants off everyone at the party – and he is the only one not wearing pants! He wonders how on earth Milo got old Dunham Senior to smile. The leading partner in their law firm, Dunham Senior was known for being a grouchy, cranky ol’ coot. Next to him was Dunham Junior and the Misses all laughing and joking as if old friends. Bits of conversation drifted over about Dunham’s shenanigans in his youth.

Damien felt a twinge of irritation. He’d somehow managed to train his houseboy so well that he was outshining him at his own party! What on Earth was protocol for that? He was watching Milo from the corner of the room, wondering how long he was going to stand there. It wasn’t his job to socialize. The cookie platter was running low. Damien glanced around at his guests and two drinks that could use a refill. He was just about to stroll over to his houseboy to put him in his place, but the conversation the group was having was dissolving. He saw Milo gesture to Dunham Senior’s glass; the man put up a hand to reject the offer of another one. Milo nodded and smiled, then touched his elbow and excused himself.

Milo made a dash to the kitchen and returned with a serving plate of champagne flutes, and made a quick lap of the room to make sure all the guests were hydrated. He then swung by the dessert tray to make sure it was full. Damien caught his eye. Milo came over and kissed him on his cheek. “This has been a delightful evening, Sir.”
“Yes, it has,” Damien said flatly, truthfully a bit bored of these necessary social functions. They made Milo happy, so he suffered for him. Milo kissed him again, and then darted off.
Damien sipped his drink and thought about how far Milo had come since his first party, when he was nervous, stressed out, still not used to be nude; plus, he had been leaking everywhere in an ill fitting chastity device. That had been Damien’s mistake, and he knew it. The length was not an issue for any chastity device, but the girth, that had been the problem.

Damien felt someone staring at him. He glanced around and spotted Dunham Senior looking his way. He nodded and walked over.
“Mr. Dunham, I take it my houseboy wasn’t talking your ear of was he?”
Mr. Dunham chuckled, a low throaty noise. “No, not at all. He was a pleasure! He’s such a youthful boy.”
Damien exhaled a little sigh of relief. “That he is. Parties make him excited.”
“He seems very comfortable in his own skin, that one.”
“That took some time,” I say. “Society taught him to be ashamed of his body.”
Dunham Senior made a pshaw noise. “If had a body like that, I wouldn’t wear clothes at all!” Damien tried not to make a face at picturing his boss naked. Luckily, he didn’t notice and went on. “I must say though, he is very well endowed, what a lucky thing. Is that why he wasn’t locked?
"That he is.”
“I’ve never seen a houseboy that wasn’t locked.”
“Indeed. I can’t lock him, though, anything we found cut off circulation. Milo doesn’t need it though, he is obedient. I think it adds to his beauty though. A male body is an art form, so as such, he is a bit of living art in my life.”
Dunham Senior clapped me on the shoulder. “Yes yes! Exactly. They must understand that. You know, I was thinking of getting a housepet for my son and my new daughter-in-law as a belated wedding present. They want to start a family, and they both work, so I think it would be ideal.”
“I would be pleased to provide some direction on that matter.”
“Fantastic, fantastic.” Dunham Senior was momentarily distracted by the frontal view of Milo as he returned from the kitchen with another round of cookies for the dessert tray. “If I were only 50 years younger, what I would do to him…”

Damien did make a face that time and pretended he didn’t hear that. Still, he felt a bit smug that he got to have Milo when no one else did. Milo tended to take control at these parties, so by the time it was over, Damien always felt a mighty itch to remind him where he stood in this household. He had a feeling the sex tonight was going to be particularly vigorous.

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Text is fictional.

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There are a lot of rooms in this old, fine house, but I have a favorite. You’d probably assume it would be my Master’s bedroom because of all it implies. His bed is where he sleeps, and when on rare occasions, I am allowed to join him – a highly desired reward. His bed is where he uses me when he is horny, and makes love to me when he is drunk. It’s where he ties me down, and experiments on me with ropes and toys until I am a heaving, horny mess. It’s where he chooses to milk me once a month. In that room is all the pleasure I could hope for, and the most delicious denial I could imagine. It’s a room of potential, tastefully decorated even with Saint Andrew’s cross in the corner.

However, saying that’s my favorite room is kind of a cop-out. Of course it is. That’s like saying the kitchen is your favorite room because there’s food in it. Of course you like to eat, we all have to eat. Sex and release is just as necessary. So if you remove the secondary functions from the rooms in the house, and take them as they are?

The library is – hands down – my favorite room. It’s one of the oldest rooms as it’s in the original wing of the house. It has that comfortable, wooly, scent of old wood board and wallpaper paste. When it’s warm, the smell of books is overwhelming. There’s thousands of them, lining shelves up to the ceiling. The oldest books that belonged to my Master’s great, great grandparents are here, kept in a special temperature controlled case. Most of the books in here don’t have much value though, and so they can put out in the open.

I never really finish my chores, I just have breaks between doing things on the never-ending list of cleaning and assisting the cook and organizing my Master’s life. Yet, in my rare moments to myself, I am allowed to come here. The carpet is flat and worn, but it is still soft. There’s a big window that lets in all the afternoon sun, and I like to sit under the sill and read or browse. There’s lots of interesting things in here. Encyclopedias. Classics. National Geographics. Fiction from library sales, both adventure novels and crime novels. Heavy, coffee-table style photo collections. Even pornographic stories, that leave me frustrated and sighing. A book for every mood. When the day is too nice to ignore, sometimes I’ll take a book and go for a walk in the garden.

I am not allowed to masturbate, and have not been able to for some time due to the beautiful metal piece around my cock, but I am grateful I do not have the temptation. I would feel guilty feeling, as I would be squandering my time on empty self-satisfaction, all while knowing that I am ignoring this chamber of knowledge just one floor away. I think being denied access to my Master’s library would be a rather formidable punishment.
I know my Master likes that I read his books; he believes that even a houseboy should be educated. Every time we have a debate over a current topic or a book plot, it ends up with him getting flustered and then I’m told to bend over and assume position two. Then I hear his pants unzip. He’s a bit of an odd duck, my Master, but I love him just the same.

I am also grateful there’s a clock in this library, or else I would lose all track of time and neglect my chores. Although, there is one chore I get to do while reading. It’s not an official chore, but it’s more of one I assign myself. My Master hasn’t read most of the books in his collection, and he receives many more as gifts over the holidays, so when I’m up here, I often look for one I think he’ll like. I’ll leave it on his nightstand later. Even during time to myself, I always think of my Master first. It is because he is dear to me, and he has given me literacy, the greatest gift a houseboy could hope for besides a collar and His last name.

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Text is fictional.

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“I’m going to the gym, boy. I want dinner cooking when I get back.”
“Yes sir.”
“Use lots of butter on the potatoes, and make sure not to put in any cilantro onto the roast because Tom hates that stuff.”
“Yes sir.”
“And don’t you dare burn the meat, it was an expensive cut.”
“Yes sir.”
“Glad you don’t have a hearing problem. Oh and wear your plug, I’m gonna be horny when I get back. I expect Josh will want to fuck you too.”
“Yes sir.”
“Glad we’re on the same page. Bye, fag!”

I wait until he goes before letting out the sigh. Bruce is the most aggressive alpha of the group and he makes me nervous. He’s a spoiled rich kid. When he gets angry, he gets rough, so I try not to upset him much. I don’t want to upset anyone or ruin my situation. All through high school I wanted to join a frat in college, but it was just too much for my parents to afford. I could barely afford tuition! Luckily, I was able to talk to the fraternity organizer and he helped me find a house that was willing to work with me. I wasn’t a pledge, I was something better. Still, they had some strange rules – I was not allowed to wear clothing. I had to do the cooking, and the cleaning, on top of my homework. 
It was a lot of hard work, but the pay off was great though. I got to live here for free, earn a monthly stipend, and mingle with the sons of wealthy families. This, in theory, would help me get a job in finance after I graduated.

Tom was one of the quieter boys here. A literature major. He was the first one I offered sexual services too, and soon others began to ask about blowjobs and handjobs. It quickly escalated to sex. I was nervous for a while, but they were all pretty gentle with me. Felt pretty good actually knowing I was appealing that way. However, nothing went on in this frat that Bruce didn’t know about it, and Bruce wasted no time in claiming my ass too. He just left me sore, but I put up with him anyway. He had a small, crooked dick. No doubt couldn’t satisfy his girlfriend at all. Might be why he was always so cranky.

I pulled some ingredients out of the fridge, thinking about sex. Josh had a nice cock though. I wouldn’t mind if he came home before Bruce and fucked me. He always liked my cooking too. I turned on the oven and opened the butcher paper wrapped around the meat. It was nice to serve these men here. I think more than any of my classes, it’s training me for work in a corporate environment where there’s always something higher ranked than you. I wasn’t content being on the bottom though. I was going to the boss of one of these boys one day. I just hoped it was Bruce. I smirked. I could just see it now, the look on his face, when he found out a submissive was going to be his boss. Ha!

Wait, was I forgetting something? Oh yeah, gotta put in my plug before I start.

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Text is fictional. This is Brady Jensen and Lance Alexander.

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My phone rings just around noon. I push around the papers I was organizing until I find my phone. I glance at the number before answering it.

“Hello Sir, what’s going on?” I ask. Atlas doesn’t call me in the middle of the day often. Once was for because he left his lunch here, the other was because he was drunk at a holiday party and wanted to hear my voice.
“Hey boy,” Atlas said, “You know how I was feeling kinda low energy this morning?”
“Yes? Are you alright?”
“It’s gotten worse. I feel like total shit. Everything aches, I can’t stop sneezing. Jorge is sending me home before I – quote end quote – contaminate the entire office.”
“That sounds like Jorge,” I snort. “My poor baby, you need me to come get you?”
“No, I can drive…I’m just gonna pass out when I get – AACHOO!”
“Oh dear. Alright. See you soon. Wait did you eat?”
“No…don’t feel much like eating.”
“Good to know. See you soon. Drive safely.”
“Bye.”

I hang up and glance at the piles of his paperwork I was organizing and filing. New year, new folders. “Well, I guess this will have to wait.” Secretly, I am delighted though because as his houseboy, I live for moments like these.

I dust myself off and make a detour to turn on the space heater in the bedroom before I hurry into the kitchen. My man is going to be hungry, and that cold food I packed in his lunch won’t do. I take a tupperware container of broth out of the freezer and dump it into a big pot on the stove. I turn it on low, and let it defrost while I chop up carrots and the last potato. I add a few more things from cans. By the time Atlas arrives home, I’m just putting the lid on the vegetable and rice soup to simmer.

Sharky detects Atlas’s presence before I do. I rush to the door where the dog is already waiting for his Master to come home.  Atlas gives our stocky Sharky a pat on his rump, and gives me a “hey boy”. He looks like he’s going to fall over.
“Oh jesus, Atlas, look at you. You’re all flushed.” I press a hand to his head. “You’re burning up. Let’s get you into bed.”

I lead Atlas upstairs to the bedroom. I remove his tie, unbutton his shirt, and have him sit on the bed so I can remove his pants.
“I love that you undress me,” he mutters.
I smile. “I enjoy it too.” I fold his work clothes and set them on a chair to be put away later. “Now let’s get you into paja…” I hear rustling noises and turn around. He’s already curled up in the bed sheets. “No, this ish go..goo… ACHOO! ..uughh..”
I toss him the tissue box. Atlas blows his nose.

Sharky sniffs at Atlas’s hand and settles into his cushion next to the bed. He must detect his Master is sick, because normally all Sharky wants to do when Atlas comes home is play.
“My poor baby. You want something to eat?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry all of a sudden.”

I bring him a mug of soup and a glass of cool water. He eats about half of it between sneezes before his eyelids start to drop. “Is it ok if I don’t finish this? I need a nap like nobody’s business.”
“Sure, not a problem. You rest.” I tuck him into bed and kiss his temple. “I’m going to run to the pharmacy, to get you some medicine, some more tissues, and some Powerade or something.”
“K,” he says, snuggling his pillow. I sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his hair. He yawns. “You would make such a good boyfriend,” he slurs before falling asleep.

I sit there, holding the half empty mug, and stare at him. Did he really just say that? Color rises to my cheeks. I’ve heard about this from other houseboys, how easy it is for your man to fall in love with you. I never pictured Atlas as the type. He was too serious, too professional. Everything with him was divided with lines, and nothing contaminated other sections. Work was never mixed with play. His sports socks were always in a different pile than the dress ones. I had accepted I would always be “the help” and nothing more to him.

However, the way Atlas looked at me had begun to change over the last couple months. It was a softer look, as if he was really seeing me and not just acknowledging me. The touches lingered a bit more. On New Years, he kissed me – and it wasn’t a kiss of ownership, or possession, but one of passion and intimacy. It made my cock stir a little, I won’t lie.

I watch Atlas sleep and wonder if he was even aware he said that to me. I smile and stand up, pondering this. I wouldn’t mind being his boyfriend. I enjoy taking care of him, organizing his house, making his meals. He’s handsome, and had a nice sense of humor. He has a nice butt. Besides, someone had to take care of him when he was sick like this. Sharky couldn’t do it. Atlas tosses and turns. I tuck him back in, and turn the space heater down a little. “Poor baby.”

I just hope I dont get sick. The role reversal would break Atlas’s brain. I make a mental note to get facemasks and antibacterial gel on my shopping trip. I would take care of him as if he were a boyfriend. Love is good as medicine isn’t it? I make another note to add chocolate on my list.

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Text is fictional. Edited for tense issues.

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“Oh the phone…Hey Jim. Yeah what’s up? I’m a little busy why? I think I can meet ya there, just need like an extra hour. What am I doing? Oh teasing my houseboy’s cock. He got a break from his chastity device, and I caught the little bastard jerking off on my bed. Well now he’s tied to his own bed and he’s gonna be there a while. …What’s that? Haha you can hear him? Come on boy, say hi!”
“Mmnnffgg!”
“Good boy. Alright Jim, I’ll text ya before I leave. Bye now. Now where were we, boy? You have such a nice long, smooth shaft… so many different toys I can use on it. I think the feather will be next, followed by the e-stim machine perhaps. Jim doesn’t live far. I can torture your cock right up until the point I’m gonna leave..and I will. How does those metal spikes feel boy?”
“MMnnnnn!”
His Master flicks his nipple clamps.
“MMNNnnnnnnnnn,” the boy groans.
“Better. Oh ho.  I can feel your dick twitching. It thinks its getting another ejaculation, hahaha. Nope.”

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Text is fictional.

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damienxazure:

The spikes on the collar are sort of flashy, though.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing,” I say to the nude creature, loosening my tie. I turn to my friend Renard who has just come out of the bathroom. “I didn’t know you got a boy. When were you going to tell me?”
Renard lifts the corner of his lip, suppressing a chuckle as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. “He isn’t mine, he comes with the hotel.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Quite so.” Renard walks over to his side of the table and the servant boy pulls out his chair. Renard sits. I stare at the beauty of his young body, of his bare cock and his chiseled abs. His collar is a bit flashy, but it fits the ornate style of the hotel. I’m so entranced by him that I almost don’t hear what Renard is saying. “…is a prestigious hotel. They offer services to guests that, ah, are off menu.”
“How have I not heard about this?” I gawk.
“It’s a secret,” he says smugly, sipping his water. “When you travel a lot for business, like I do, you hear things. Amazing things. I stay at this hotel frequently, and I don’t even have to ask now. He comes with the room.” Renard reaches up and tweaks the boy’s jaw. “Honestly I find myself coming here more and more, just for a taste of this. Come sit, Sebastian, before your eyes fall out of your head.”
I cough and remove my jacket. The boy glides over and takes it from me.
“Thank you,” I note. He folds it over his arm, before pulling out my chair. As I sit, he vanishes to go hang it up.
“God, he is stunning,” I say, watching his ass as he goes.
Renard smiles. “When I first saw him, I was unbelievably jetlagged after coming off a flight from Sydney. I wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep. I ended up fucking him for three hours. I didn’t get out of bed for two days.”
“You have all my envy, Renard.”
He gestures at me with his fork. “You are not much younger than me, Seb. Soon you too will enjoy these same pleasures. Shall we eat before it gets cold?”
“I concur,” I say, tearing my gaze away from the servant boy. “You know, it’s probably better I do not have a houseboy thus far, as I would do nothing else with my time and lose all my business.”
“Our sex drives are our greatest enemies, yes.”
We share a chuckle and start on our food. Of course, it is superb. As I sup, I notice the servant boy is standing too close to the table, watching us. After a couple bites of myfish, I lower my fork. I glance at the servant accusingly. “What are you doing standing there?”
The boy opens his mouth but Renard holds up his hand and cuts him off. “Ah, I forgot to mention the other thing. He’s waiting for you to give command.”
“Command for what?”
A sly grin appears on Renard’s foxy face. “To blow you under the table, of course.”
I pause, my bite of food halfway to my mouth. “You aren’t kidding are you?”
“I told you, dear Seb, the hospitality here is excellent.”
I chew my food carefully, trying to focus on something than all the blood rushing between my legs. “Well, boy,” I say, addressing him. “Get to it.”
“Yes sir, right away Sir.” He refills my water glass, then drops to his knees and shuffles under the table.

In a moment, there’s a hot velvety tongue laving my cock. I melt into the plush cushion of the chair, and feel as if I never want to move again. I chew a bit of Patagonian toothfish slowly, savoring the meaty flavor, while trying not to groan and thus choke. I swallow, then wash my palette with mineral water from Spain. I find myself leaning back and a sigh of contentment escapes my lips as I watch the servant boy work. I stroke his tawny hair lovingly and he rewards me with tight suction. I sigh again. There is no life I could love more than this.

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Text is fictional.