Tag: kept boy

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“Boy? Boy are you awake?”
“Mmmnnn. Yez-Zir.”
“Poor thing, you are so tuckered out from the demonstrations we did today. You were such a good boy today. Made me very proud.”
“I love you Sir. Anything for you Sir,” the slave murmured, leaning against his Master’s touch.
“I love you too boy. You are going to fall asleep in the tub if we leave you in here any longer. Give me the shampoo, I’m going to finish washing you.”
The slave flushed. Being washed by his Master sounded wonderful as it was rare. He handed his Master the bottle. Moments later, strong fingers began to massage his scalp. The reward was so lovely that the slave could not even articulate how happy he was, he just groaned. He fell asleep during rinsing, and did not remember a thing until he woke up the next morning in his Master’s bed.

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Captions are fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Making sure your slave waits for you like a good boy. He hasn’t earned the privilege of being unsecured your home yet, so he’s kept in the bathroom like a good pet until you return. Lucky for him the bathmat is soft and he can get in a good nap, which will help pass the time and leave him well rested for his Master’s affection when he returns. 

One might pity the boy, left there, probably bored, but the slave is grateful. After years of rough living in the projects, in foster care, on the streets, with gangs…this quiet type of peace is what he craves most of all. And knowing someone is eager to come home to see him? It’s the cherry on the cake of the life he’s always wanted and needs.

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Text is fictional.

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mastera6:

A young pet.

“Aww, you look so frightened. My poor pet. The first few days are always so scary. Don’t you worry, I’m not going to torture you and lock you in a cage downstairs. That is, unless you want me to.” His eyes go wide. I try not to laugh at how easily he scares.
“You must be hungry. That was a long trip to my home from the auction center wasn’t it? Ah, you nodded. Haven’t found your voice yet hm? We’ll work on that. Well, lucky for you I made some pork congee last night. You probably don’t know what that is. It’s like Chinese comfort food, but once you add bok choy, it’s also perfect pet food – protein, vegetables, rice.“ I take a portion out of the fridge and put into his bowl, then pop it into the microwave. “Now some Masters don’t heat up their pet’s food, but honestly cold congee is disgusting and I wouldn’t wish that anyone, not even a pet.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see a teeny smile. “Thank you Sir,” he says oh-so-softly.
“Good boy,” I say gently in return with nod. He shifts. It must be hard for him to sit on the floor, with how boney his butt is. I make a note to get him a pillow so he can sit on the floor next to my chair at breakfast. “After you eat, I’m going to groom you – bath, hair, nails. You desperately need a haircut. Then, I’ll give you your wardrobe, show you your quarters, give you a tour… so much to do.” The microwave beeps. I take out the congee and stir it, then pop it back in.
“Maybe we’ll go on a walk so you can stretch your muscles. I’ll guide you through dinner, and then perhaps if you’re not falling asleep we can start on your first Mandarin lesson?”
He blinks owlishly.
“You were told I live in Shanghai and Hong Kong December through February right?”
“No Sir,” he responds.
I raise an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, I do. And I expect you to be able to communicate with my guests and serve their needs there too.” The microwave dings again. “Ah there we go.” I set the bowl down and fill a matching tin cup with water. I can hear his stomach growl from here. “Now you will have to earn your silverware, but you knew that. Let me get a cushion from the living room for your knees though. I don’t want bruises on you.” I fetch the flattest one I can find from the sofa.

I crouch next to him and set it down, then unlock his hand cuffs. “There you go. Eat up boy. Don’t worry about a mess. You’re getting a bath when you’re done anyway.”
He licks his lips. “Thank you Sir.”
I pat him on the head. “Good pet. I like that you know respect and manners. Saves me from having to break you in. Now, eat, eat. You don’t want it to get cold.”

I stand back and watch him bring the bowl to his face and eat. I then fold my arms. “Hm, now to come up with a name for you…”

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Text is fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

gayboykink:

Come on, pup, get in your cage! And remember: no barking. The guests are coming in a few minutes and I don’t want you to embarrass yourself by jumping them or humping their legs as they enter the room. Chopchop, off you go, and behave!

Gooood boy! *clicks lock shut*

Good boy indeed. “You can come out once the guests leave. Aw, don’t look at me with those eyes. You haven’t finished obedience school yet. Once you do, we can try socialization. Now, in case you have to pee, there’s a pad in there but try to hold it. You are housebroken aren’t you? I’ll check in on you in a little bit and get you some water. Here’s a Rubik cube to play with. Good boy.”

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Text is fictional. Eeee I love when gayboykink writes pup captions.

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“Congrats, you passed your Chem mid-term, read ahead on your English assignments, and you re-registered your car. You have been such a good boy this week, I think you definitely deserve my cock.”
Heath licks his lower lip, involuntarily. “Really? Really really? Been thinkin’ about it so much lately…”
I begin to undo my pants. “Hell yeah. Big prize for a good boy. Hell, you are a totally different boy than the one I met three weeks ago, drunk in a gay bar a night before your mid-terms, harassing men way out of your league, barely passing his classes… and what was the other thing?”
“Living on junk food,” he admits, sheepish.
“Yes, that. So amazing, the power the little device around your cock has. Kind of scary to think your free cock has such power over you.”
Heath shifts back and forth on his feet. “May I suck you now? Please?” he begged.
“Yes yes, sorry…just waxing nostalgic.” I move my hand to my wrist.
Heath interrupts me. “No. I mean, please, leave it on.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You like when it’s on?”
“Yeah,” he admits, looking every more impatient, “Cause it makes you look rich and respectful, and I find it kind of hot to serve a man with status. Plus you know, I love a man that feels confident enough to look fully dressed wearing only his underwear and his watch.”
I chuckle under my breath. “I love when you talk about me that way, but boy, you don’t make any kind of sense when you’re horny. Get on your knees now, and don’t come up until you’re rational again.”
“Yes sir! It…might be a while Sir.”
I smile at Heath and cuff him behind the neck. “Take your time.”

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Text is fictional

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Mikhail posed for a portrait showcasing his two favorite things in the world – his family’s old summer dacha and his beloved pet faggot of ten years. He loved to bring the boy out here to the wilds outside of St. Petersburg and live nude and unencumbered by work or societal standards. Mikhail wanted a good photo to commemorate his life happy before he got old and out of shape. He had to wear shorts of course, so he could show it to people that didn’t follow his particular lifestyle.

While the photographer was messing with the light meter or something, the faggot noticed the tempting out-line of Mikhail’s cock in his shorts. It was pronounced, half erect, as Mikhail was excited by fresh air and the promise of vacation after being stuck in a car for hours. The boy’s instincts took over. It needed attention, so he gave it. He began to mouth the shape through the khaki fabric, ignoring Mikhail chiding him and squeezing the back of his neck. He muttered, “Not now, boy,” but the tone of his voice didn’t match the words.

The photographer got himself together and said, “Ok, smile!” but the faggot was no longer paying attention or taking orders from anyone that wasn’t his man. He was lost in playing with the throbbing cock he found hidden up Mikhail’s shorts. Mikhail shrugged and indicated for the photographer to take the picture. It was a more accurate representation of their relationship anyway.

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Text is fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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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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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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Being collared will set you free. I could recall the sign word for word, as I saw it often hanging over the door of His dungeon. I pondered the phrase, initially thinking it was a contradiction. How could being owned and being collared result in any type of freedom? The more he trained me and sculpted me, emotionally breaking me down and working me back up to a stronger, more obedient boy, I began to see the genius in my Master.

I began to see, like the difference between the grass and the sky, that some men were naturally born to dominate and lead where was others were not. There was no situation my Master could not handle with grace and his own charm; there was nothing he couldn’t fix with a certain facial expression and corresponding body posture; there was no mystery in life he had not pondered and solved. I felt mentally weak and inferior to his brilliance, in awe of the clarity in which he saw the world. With his training I gained manners, then I learned to check my pride and my ego. Just because I was a male, it did not mean things were owed to me. My Master taught me this, and a great deal more things, and through pain and love, helped me gain a stronger foothold in life. A deeper, appreciation, so to speak, for things I could change and the things I had to accept as is.

One of those things, was that He would always be a superior and an alpha in my life, even though we were cut from the same a template of the same bone and muscles. In my early years, I found him aggravating and his opinions frustrating, but now there was only an odd sort of peace in being content with my status. I had an open window to his knowledge. I often felt deep reassurance in knowing he would always be there to keep me in check, to keep me on a straight path, and to discipline me when I had faulted. I could always ask him for advice. I pitied those who were left to discipline themselves.

I tore my eyes away from the handsome black and silver collar in his manicured, outstretched hand, and looked beyond it to my Master’s hopeful face. My silence had perplexed and worried him. I could read his expressions like an open book these days.

I cupped the soft leathery collar in my hands and knelt, offering it back up to him. My Master stepped forward – I could hear the creak of his leather pants – and took it out of my palms. I felt his fingers unhitch the silver chain around my neck – my training collar. My neck felt light without it. The buckle jingled as He handled it, then He wrapped the real collar around my neck. I bowed my head as it was fixed in place. Even after one second, it felt as if it had been there all my life.
“Lift your head,” my Master said.
“I did.”
He smiled, looking dazzling. “Look at that.” I was surprised to detect a bit of emotion in his voice.
I raised my hand and felt the material around my neck. I couldn’t wait to see it in a mirror.
“Thank you Sir,” I said, “Thank you for this fine gift, and for allowing me to serve under you.” My Master nodded, then to my surprise, he responded: “Thank you for being a fine pupil. I saw enormous potential in you, but I am surprised you gave me the honor of staying with me and allowing me to teach you for so long. There were so many times I was sure your machismo would get in the way and you would break. You have exceeded all my expectations.”
At that moment, my throat was so tight, I couldn’t say a word or even cry.
“Merry Christmas, boy,” He said.
I broke my form. I leapt to my feet and embraced him in a huge hug. To my relief, he crushed me back instead of chiding me for it. I was shocked to feel a sob go through him. “God, I love you,” he whispered in my ear, barely audible. I wanted to tell him the same words back, but “I love you” did not seem to convey enough the adoration I felt for him. Instead, I said, “I will always be yours.”

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Text is fictional. Cannot believe I forgot to post this yesterday. It had been sitting in drafts since November.

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torontopup:

kicksleathermen:

Instructing his lad on the play out for the up coming session where he will be shared …

Roy was trying to listen to his Master. He usually was entranced by the timbre of his voice, the low commanding tone he used to give instruction. His Master was laying out the specifics on how he was to behave later that night, how many men were coming over, on how he would be tied down and shared for their pleasure. Roy should really had been listening to that. It should have filled him with a bit of nervousness, both over pleasing his Master and pleasing the men. He hadn’t taken so many man in one session, so it was an appropriate time for self-reflection before the night began.

“And they’ll probably want you in the swing, so your hole will be open to them, and they can fuck you one by one..”

But Roy wasn’t thinking about that…he was smelling the smoke from his Master’s cigarette. He could faintly smell the acrid scent of cheap beer too and hear it slosh around in the glass bottle. It reminded Roy, very bluntly, that nine months ago he was in a pub holding those same things when they met. He used to smoke two to four a day. Roy loved the social aspect of smoking, how cool he felt, the shape of the box in his hand. He wanted just one drag, to feel the sweet caress of nicotine of it in his lungs. The cravings had died down after his Master had forced him to quit for his own health, as he couldn’t run even a block, but Roy discovered that the cravings had never really left. He wanted one, more than he wanted an orgasm at this point. And of course, nothing quite rounds out the buzz of a cigarette like the aftertaste of alcohol on the numbed tongue. Roy considered begging, asking for his Master to share them, but Roy did not dare. He knew his Master was doing this on purpose, to remind him distinctly that this casual conversation was masking a lesson about control. About denial. About ownership. And Roy was the one in this cage, awaiting use by all those men, for his owner’s pleasure.

His Master was a man amongst men. Undeniably male, in his form and presence and voice. He could have a cigarette, and a drink whenever he wanted; hell he was entitled to them! Anything in moderation, because Masters are in control of themselves. Roy knew he was not on that level. He was weak, susceptible to peer pressure and addiction. He sought chemicals to dull feelings of inadequacy and poor self-esteem. It was better that his Master had the upper hand and could make decisions for him, about his health, and body, but it didn’t mean Roy always enjoyed it. And now, he wasn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Are you listening, boy?” his Master asked, with a burp.
“Ye-yes Sir.”
“Then what did I just say?”
Roy swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. “That…that I’ll be stretched before Ortega fucks me, because he is huge, and that I shouldn’t assume I can take him just because I took the others.”
“Or?”
“Or because I’m horny and would be excited by a big dick, Sir,” Roy mumbled, blushing.
His Master took a long drag, then exhaled. Roy nearly whimpered at the scent. “Good boy.” He stubbed the cigarette out, leaving about a quarter of it unburned.
“You please me tonight, you can smoke the rest of this. You fail me, and I’ll make you eat it.”

Roy felt a chill go through him. This was a very different kind of reward, and the challenge excited him. He strained in his cage. “Yes sir, thank you Sir. I will not disappoint you tonight.”
“I do not expect to be disappointed, or embarrassed in front of my friends. Are you a good boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Are you horny?”
“Yes sir.”
His Master took another swig of beer. “This is going to be a fun night, don’t you think?”

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Text is fictional.