Another pic of my locked dicklet. I’m on day 4. I don’t know why but I just love looking at it. I love seeing it filling the cage when I’m hard and when there’s room left when I’m soft. I like how my balls look all stretched. I love chastity so much.
“A place for everything, and everything in its place.” I think you look good locked too, boy. Nice and snug. I hope your keyholder gave it a kiss goodnight.
A nude vintage shot of a dancer simultaneously in agony and elation. I couldn’t find his name.
Photographed by Walter Kurtz. He has his own Tumblr, btw.
Holy shit! He is one HOT locked boi.
Hello Master, I hope you’re finishing up a nice day at the office and I haven’t inconvenienced you with this e-mail. If your boss is being frustrating again, just remember when you get home you are the center of my world and he is nobody. So proud to wear your collar and remain locked for you. I’m incredibly horny, but am keeping my mind off of things by starting on your dinner. Don’t want to drip on the freshly washed kitchen floor now. Drive home safely.
With all respects,
Yours.
‘You were complaining that penetrative sex is boring, so perhaps this might make things a little more interesting for you! You’ll be untied when you’re hard. Maybe.“
I came out of the bathroom and he wasn’t in the room. A new tray was on the bed, the pot of mint tea steaming, along with two plates of fig cookies, puffed pastries, and candied violets. I went to investigate to see if he was on the balcony and there he was. If I had picked up a saucer and cup, I would have dropped it at the sight of him.
Those spindly legs went on for absolutely ever, melting into a pair of black stiletto heels he’d pilfered after my sister left them in the courtyard. He’s bent over at the waist, jutting out that small ass I enjoyed so much while he keened out underneath me. His back rolls like a sandbar on the seafloor. The masculine way his arms bulge with muscle contrasting with delicate ankles and such sexy footwear shortens my breath.
I pad over to him, not caring at all if my feet get dusty, and rub his buttocks. He motions to stand up but I keep him bent over and part his thighs with my hands. Even with his heels on, I’m tall enough to mount him and in one motion I’m inside him again, his ass still wet and lubricated from our last session. He starts to protest as I stretch his sore ring of muscle but I shush him. There are people milling in the courtyard below, so he’ll have to be quiet if no one is to hear us.
When our testicles are pressed together, I allow him a moment to adjust before I start up again while gripping his hips. I set a slow steady pace, in no great hurry to cum. He remains silent, squeezing the balcony to steady us as I thrust. It takes perhaps 15 minutes or so for my orgasm to build and then it washes it over me like spilled tea in the lap. I rest my cheek on his spine and roll my hips, ejaculating into his body. His breathing is ragged and he gasps when I pull out of him with a ‘pop’. My seed drips out of him and onto the back of the shoe. I walk backward a few steps and examine the scene I created. “Gods, you are beautiful.” I murmur. I make him stand like that, freshly used and leaking, while I drink my tea. It’s only when the bottom of the cup is visible that I allow him to go wash.
Another late night reblog of a gorgeous male dancer, another shot by Klaus Kampert. Love how weight and gravity and time seem to be suspended in this photo. I almost see the rope as a metaphor for life,
Linea alba.
“I dunno CJ…. I mean…you’re going to laugh. I’m going to disappoint you. Last week someone at the gym snickered at me…”
I should be listening with intensity to his concerns and soothing them, but holy hell how is he so oblivious to how hot he is? The lights reflecting off the water trailing down his warm freshly scrubbed flesh highlight every curve and bump and groove. His skin is utterly flawless – I can tell he waxed recently. That adorable Spanish accent of his is making my heart thud too.
“Salvadore…” I coo at him, “I told you. I love men. I don’t have a standard that I use to rate boyfriends. Big cock aren’t always better. They’re harder to suck aren’t they?”
His deep brown eyes flicker up at me then back down at the towel, “You have to promise you won’t laugh.”
“I promise.” I hold up my hand in a scouts-honor.
He bites his lip as if having an internal conversation with Jesus, then emits a little sigh, “Alright. But don’t laugh.”
I smile. His sculpted arms relax and the damp terrycloth is pulled from his fingers to the floor by gravity. The back goes first revealing a luscious and pert ass just as brown and glistening as the rest. My mouth waters as I crave sinking my teeth into it. Fuck he is too gorgeous for his own good! My eyes wander to his exposed genitalia and drink in the sight as my own cock swells. Sal’s penis is small, maybe two and a half inches if you stretch it out. Just enough skin covers the tip. His balls are obscenely round and each about the size and color of a lychee with the texture of grape skins. I moan involuntarily. It’s…well, lovely in how minimal and tidy everything is hanging there. Not an excess wrinkle or hair or bump anywhere. Perfection. “Oh Sal…” I murmur, now erect myself.
“….You’re not laughing.” He looks perplexed.
I can’t help but giggle at that. His accent makes him sound a bit petulant. It’s endearing, “Sal, love…you’re beautiful.” I try not to gasp at how fast he flushes. His cheeks, his tears, even his pectorals turn a sweet shade of pink. “I must have you,” I breath. I step forward and place one hand on his sternum while my other cool hand cups his balls and cock in my palm. He gasps. It’s like wrapping my hand around a cup of freshly poured tea.
Sal exhales softly as I fondle him, eventually resting his head on my shoulder. His bangs leave a damp impression on my shirt. I massage the underside of his balls with my fingerpads while stimulating his head with the heel of my palm. Once the skin starts to react I rove my hand all over him, stroking and petting and squeezing until the glans emerges. Then, I scale back to just giving attention to the shaft of his cock with traditional up and down movements. Within moments, Sal digs his fingers into my arm, tenses, and emits a soft whimper in my ear while warm liquid fills my palm. It’s the single most erotic thing I’ve experienced with another man. My pulse is pounding, my throat dry.
I take Salvatore to bed and make love to him.
Orrin gazed at the door again and sighed, resting his cheek on the back of his hand. His boyfriend was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago. His relationship with Chad wasn’t going as he hoped lately. He forgave the slow replies to text messages. He told himself that it was ok if Chad didn’t keep his eyes to himself as long as he was monogamous. Last week Chad got so drunk that he accidentally left Orrin at the bar when he took a cab home.
Despite this, he still liked Chad though , at the heart of things. He had a fantastic body, a heart-melting smile, sharp wit, and had an opinion on everything. He was a magician on the grill, too. They even had the same major at school. Sure their relationship was a little rocky now, but Orrin was an optimist.
The young man checked his phone again. Over an hour. It was his birthday today, and Chad hadn’t given him a card or called or anything. Orrin had told himself maybe he was planning something. When the morning turned into the afternoon without any contact he’d sent Chad a text message: “Did you remember it’s my birthday today? I have a present here for you, you should come claim it.” Chad actually did respond to that one, “K. I’ll come over when I can, babe.”
Chad had been pestering Orrin for penetrative sex since day two of their relationship. Orrin thought his plan was excellent…he could get sex on his birthday, give Chad what he wanted, and perhaps afterwards they’d talk and repair their relationship. Emerge from the bedroom a better couple.
When the clock hit an hour twenty, Orrin received a new text message back: “Hey babe. Not coming. Sorry, I went home with someone last nigh and haven’t left. I can’t really afford to get you anything for your birthday tomorrow anyway. See you around.”
Orrin gaped at his phone. What? No! It wasn’t supposed to be like this! He furiously responded, “You…you can’t break up with me on my birthday!”
“Well your birthday is tomorrow isn’t it?”
“It’s TODAY.”
“Oh…Sorry it didn’t work out.”
This isn’t how it was supposed to be! Orrin threw his cell phone into a pile of laundry. He dropped his underwear he was holding, feeling stupid and embarrassed and ugly. Then, he buried his head in his arms and cried. It felt like there was no one left in the world to love him. This was the worst birthday ever.
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The model is named Den Wok.
We’ve spent twenty minutes wrestling for the dominant role in our apartment and the fight is nearing its end. I had him pinned once but he quickly flipped me over – bastard is a lot stronger than he looks. I haven’t given up protesting that I can win this thing but he’s already moved me into position to breed me. He’s using his muscular thighs and pelvis to hold my legs open and leave me vulnerable to his cock, the tip of which is dripping its hot pre-cum onto my public hair and groin
He sees his chance and pounces on me, seizing my mouth with a kiss. This declares that he’s won the right to penetrate me. One hand of his traverses up my side and gives me full body shudders. I weakly protest my loss by pushing up on his bicep but he’s already frotting against me. Oh, who am I fooling? I’ve lost. I will have to submit to his cock and let him claim his prize, not just now, but whenever and where-ever he wants until another challenge is initiated or until one of us moves out.
He hasn’t seen me yet, standing behind him with a bemused smile on my face. Normally it’s his job to greet me at the door but I actually prefer coming home to see this. I drink in the sight of him, nude and casual and lost in a book. His parents were hard-core fundies and only let him read super-Christian material growing up, so books as rewards are the best currency in this house. I’m guessing he finished all his chores early today. I feel like I should get him some padding for his elbows, but I know what he’s doing on the floor. It’s in the high 90s today and that floor is probably the coolest surface in the house.
Damn, he is a sight. The bottom half of his body is paler than the top half from his cycling hobby. That ass…that waist…those fine, sharp shoulder blades. The urge to pick him up and caress him is strong. I reprimand myself. I need to stop fawning over him before I start to fall in love. I can’t be a good Sir for him that way. Strict. Authoritarian. That’s the way. …is it really so awful to want to make love to your slave?