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blissfuldominance:

Waiting for Sir is the worst. 

Even more so when he’s late. He promised me he’d get off work early, and we’d go to the Valentines Day party your local kink scene is hosting. Who’d ever heard of a Master working on Saturday morning? Only mine, it seems; there’s always some crisis demanding his attention in the office. Does he love the office more than me? I start to wonder. It’s Valentine’s Day for god’s sake. My mind drifts back to this morning when he rolled over and gave me a plain, stiff fucking – just like any other morning. I was really hoping for something romantic other than an utterance “Happy Valentine’s Day, boy.” Did he really not care at all? I had withheld my gift for him because of that.

Then, I hear it. A car pulls into the driveway. I lift my head, then tilt it. The engine’s cut. A car door shuts. Then the trunk. I’m up on all fours now, wagging my butt even though the tailplug isn’t in cause it’s drying in the bathroom. Habits. I pace back and forth in front of the door until it swings open.

And there’s my Master, holding a big bouquet of flowers and a paperbag. I was so astonished I forgot to bark. My Master smiles.
“What? No greeting?”
I lose it. Full barking mode on! Complete with paws up on his thighs,and butt wiggling. Master grins at me, and sets down the paper bag so he can scritch me and cuff me behind the ears. “That’s a good boy, thatta boy!”
I roll over and offer my belly, and he gives a rub.
“Good boy. You didn’t think I forgot would you? I lied about having to go into work today. Truthfully, I bought most of this yesterday, I was just an idiot and left it in an office drawer.”

My disappointment melts away. Of course, he didn’t forget to get me something. I butt my head against his leg. Master kneels down and offers me the bloom end of the flowers. I stick my face in there and inhale, nuzzling the velvety petals with my nose. The perfume is fresh. After I dry them, I’ll make sachets out of them. I pause, blink, and then sneeze. Master chuckles.
“I’ll go put these in water. Here, here’s one of your presents.”

He takes a small box out of the paperbag, then begins to open it. I watch eagerly. It smells like chocolate. I fucking love chocolate. He presents it; in his hand in one of those chocolate orange things, wrapped in foil. An edible, scrumptious-smelling toy ball. I bounce on my paws and bark at it. He grins and puts it on the wooden floor, then pushes it so it rolls. I go mental and chase after it, batting it with my paw as I go.

He watches me for a moment, before going into the kitchen. I wait for a few moments, distracted with my toy, before I get his gift. I hear him get himself pour a cup of water and figure it’s good timing. I trot in, carrying a red paperbag in my mouth.

My Master looks pleased. “Whatchoo got there boy? Is that for me?”
“Ruff ruff!” I reply although it’s muffled.
He strides over to me and takes it out of my mouth. After beating the staples, he peers inside to see those Japanese gummy candies he likes so much, plus some heart hard candies, heart post-it notes (for the damn office), and strawberry lube. A smile lights up his face. “I love it. Exactly what I wanted.” He kisses my forehead. “Thank you boy.”
I lick him back.

He goes to find my orange ball again, and rolls it with his shoe. I chase it all over the house in a tizzy, until it hits a wall, cracks, and then I feast on its sacchrine insides. After, I make a point of crawling into my Master’s lap and licking his face. He isn’t able to resist kissing me, knowing I smell and taste delicious.

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Text is fictional. Source was deactivated, so no idea.

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blissfuldominance:

This is what happens when you act like a snot. As soon as we get home, we go to the bedroom and eliminate that type of behavior. 

“If you want me to take you to Joel’s All Male Christmas Party at the end of the year, you better adjust your attitude boy. I know you’re looking forward to it. This spanking is a warning to change your snotty attitude, or you’re going to stay home and clean while I’m out having fun and drinking and partying.”
“Ow! I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”
The spanking stops.
“Oh thank god.”
Then it started up again.
“Ack! What the heck?!”
“I gotta do the other cheek now.”

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yeahstr82gay:

The biggest thrill was being had.

For five days a week, Ray was a buttoned-down, on-top-of-things guy at work, and for two days every weekend he finished the honey-do list at home, went to his kids’ events, and maybe carved out three hours on Sunday to watch the game.  He led, managed, fixed, and loved; he was the guy, the dude, the Man.

But now this business trip had changed everything.  Jack, who was only supposed to be another cog in the wheel, a junior manager whom Ray was actually sent to evaluate in preparation for a potential dismissal, had seen something in Ray he didn’t even know was there, and now here he was, the last day of his trip, walking in a leather jock and leather boots,his ass bare to the world, his body viewed and appreciated by a street filled with hundreds, hand-in-hand with a man who spent all last night cherishing him, unlocking him, adoring and making love to him. Hurt?  Like hell.  But worth every moment.

He was had, and it was wonderful, and he just didn’t know that he’d ever be able to go back.

There is no back, only forwards.

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John got a text on his phone: “Get over here right now, Markie is about to work out.”
I jumped on my bike and pedaled half a mile like an idiot through the streets of Boston to get to John’s house. I walked in like it was no big deal, red in the face. John pressed a beer into my hand and guided me to the sofa. The TV was on. I plopped down and watched Markie do push ups. He was wearing this tiny pair of red shorts – my favorite color – that barely covered his muscular ass. The V-shape lead my gaze down between his legs to were his balls bulged. The cropped shorts also provided a peek of the pure white straps of his jockstrap which gave me a stupid boner almost immediately. I sighed again in contentment and adjusted myself, then crossed my legs.
Markie paused and looked over his shoulder at the sound two people sitting on the sofa. “Am I bothering you guys? I can do this later if you want to watch TV.”
“No, it’s fine. We can see the TV fine,” John said smoothly. I nodded and sipped.
“Cool,” Markie replied, then went back to his work out.
I looked over at John; I mouthed ‘you are the best straight friend ever’ and we shared a fistbump. God, I had such a crush on Markie. I liked to think he was keeping his body primed for me, you know, for when I actually got the courage to go after him. No one knew if Markie was gay or straight. I would get to the bottom of that eventually, but for now, I was perfectly content with the view. I had even long-ago forgiven him for being a Cubs fan in Boston.

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Text is fictional.

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captionstojerkby:

Nah. He’d put the jock on because—well, because he was a jock, right? I mean, he didn’t play anymore, but he had, he used to, and so wearing it was a habit, something he’d just never given up. This little piece of bro-hood that he kept with him, even as he’d grown and changed and moved on. That’s what it was.

It wasn’t at all a function of his new identity, the one he felt like he was still trying out sometimes, like a new pair of kicks or a new pair of sweats or, yeah, like a new jockstrap. It wasn’t that it framed his ass just so, wasn’t that it divided his body up, managing to emphasize both the rear he’d been starting to work so hard on (“It’s motherfuckin’ squats, man,” he’d said with a laugh when he got his first whistle at his new gym) and the dick he kept coiled in the pouch, the dick that (it turned out) liked locker rooms, athleticism, and bros just as much as he did. It wasn’t that he wore one so that then he could feel the fabric of his shorts sliding over his skin all day like a caress, wasn’t so that he could caress it himself, just run a hand along a cheek nonchalantly, you know, touching it, the same way other guys constantly and unconsciously scratched their nuts.

And it certainly—definitely, definitively—wasn’t that it made him feel so, so sexy.

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“Well, now what do we have here?”
“Oh! Um, Coach that’s …well I- I…”
“Wearing your best brand jock strap to boxing practice? I think you want to impress someone, Richie.”
“Gosh Coach, I’m so embarrassed you found out this way…”
“I think you wanted me to find out. You have a cute butt. I was right about that.”
“…You really been checking me out, Coach?”
“Well not as much as you’ve been checking out me,” he said, releasing the elastic and cupping Richie’s left cheek.
“You could tell??” Richie said, sounding shocked.
Coach tried to suppress a laugh. “Your eyes always lingered in certain places, boy. You are a tremendous flirt and are always trying to get my attention. Too shy to take the first move? Have you worn these for me every time, hoping one day I’d notice?”
“I- I- well -um-”
“You have a hot body, Richie. I mean, I sculpted it myself, but I’ve never gotten to taste it. Why don’t we hit the showers early?”
“Oh wow, Coach, you mean it?”
He reaches around and squeezes Richie’s cock between his shorts. “Unless you want everyone to see you get fucked over the weight lifting bench.”

Richie gulps. “No, Coach, I want you all to myself!”
“You are one of my best students Richie. You know why? Because you listen and respect your superiors. Come on, let’s go. We’ll finish up your lesson later.”
“Yes Coach!” Richie asks, pulling off his boxing gloves in a hurry.

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Text is fictional.

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chastepup:

slaveboy13:

I have a beautiful 4MB version of this GIF… But I bought a harness today and decided to celebrate my playing the piano.

Ahhhhh! This is adorable!

I was sitting on my sofa, reading a romance novel and drinking my tea, when I noticed it. I watched him quite intently, although I was afraid he would sense my eyes boring holes into him and stop. Although the playing happens in the front, his long fingers sweeping over the keys with hypnotic grace, I prefer to watch him from the back. My eyes were first attracted to the bunching of his muscles moving under his skin and the new harness he wears all the time. Then, my gaze slid own to his stiff back, pausing to admire his excellent posture, before resting on his butt. He has a cute butt. It’s one of my favorite parts of him. Well, all of him really. There isn’t a part of him that isn’t adorable – even his toes are frankly, adorable.

But that’s not what I noticed. What caught my attention to the point that I lost focus on my book was his tail. It was moving in sync with the metronome on the piano. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. I smiled, privately. I feel privileged to see my boy wrapped up so entirely in the music that’s playing. It seems to be a part of him; the muscles moving and bunching under his skin show striking similarity to the way the the hammers and actions move in waves under the wooden lid.

I also realize that I’ve never seen him play piano without some sort of gear on. After we have a session, like tonight, we cuddle, we shower, and then he gravitates toward the bench after supping. I wonder what he’s feeling. I wonder if this is just a way for him to unwind, or if he’s pouring love and passion into the music which is why it sounds so beautiful.

I feel lucky that he’s mine. I set my book aside and clutch my tea cup in my hands, sipping it patiently as I watch his tail bob back and forth. It never falls out of sync.

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Text is fictional. This is slaveboy13.

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reconfetish:

Here are some of the amazing photos from Folsom Street Fair’s nasty younger brother, Up Your Alley 2014.

One year I am going to this. I love the photo of the pup with the clipboard:

“Pup, give that back.”
“Woof!”
“Give.”
“Woooofff.”
“Puppy, give it! Giiive it.”
“Grr.”
“Hey! Come back here with that! I need that! Bad puppy!”
Another Master behind me speaks up. “You do know he thinks you’re playing right? Look at his body language. He wants you to chase after him. You do that, you’re gonna go in circles all day.”
“I want my clipboard back!” I huff. I take a menacing step forwards and the puppy bounds away, tail wagging. “Arg! He’s probably drooling on it.”
“Yeah he does that when he gets excited. Pup, come here boy! Aww yeah come here, that’s a good boy. Who likes scratches? You like scratches, yesh you do. Alright, give the man his clipboard back. Give. Give. Good puppy, here’s a cookie.”
The Master hands the man back the clipboard, now decorated with chew marks and a bit of drool. “ … Lovely. Thanks.”
“Sorry about that. He gets excited at these things.”
“I see tha – …hey! He stole my pen right out of my hand! Dammit pup, I need that!”
His Master just laughs. “You’re on your own for that one.”

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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.

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Text is fictional. Source is unknown.

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femme4masc:

He had the nerve to ask YOU, his pussyboi princess, to do manual labor, because “one of the cars is really dirty and what does that say about us [he has a point there] and no one can come do it because it’s a holiday weekend and blah blah blah. Excuses.

You figure: if you’re going to have to be on all fours with him for the better part of an hour without getting cock, you might as well make him pay for it. So you wear your favorite slutty jockstrap panties. And just that.

Poor Stud is so distracted. Washing the car’s gonna take way longer than you thought, but you’re enjoying this — making him suffer — too much.

He even tries to rub and finger your pussy a few times while you’re bending over to scrub the tires. You slap his hand, look back coyly, and admonish him, “We have to focus on the work at hand, baby, because the car’s very dirty, and what does that say about us?”

By the time you’re done he’s practically salivating. Without saying a word, you sultrily walk back into the house, paying close attention to the movement of your cheeks, now glistening with sweat.

Three steps into the house and you can hear him running, panting towards you like a wild animal coming after its prey..

Three minutes after and you’re pinned under him, moaning and calling out to the heavens for the way he’s taking you.

Making him wait, and just a little angry, never ever fails to make him ravage you.

Hell hath no fury like a power bottom scorned.