Tag: Master/houseboy

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“Boy?” Ray asked. “Where are you?”
Sen came back in from the garage. “Here, Sir. How may I serve you?”
Ray smiled. “Wash your hands. I have a late Christmas present for you.”
Sen perked up. For a boy that had given up a large part of life to serve the man he loved, he sure did love receiving presents. Christmas was one of his favorite days of the year, right up those with days he got released from his chastity cage. Usually, that was also Christmas too. Sen was extremely curious about the present he would receive, since the the last holiday season had been very fruitful.

Sen obediently washed his hands and kneeled at his place in the living room. Ray told him to sit on the sofa. Sen sat, hands neatly folded in his lap. He was wearing his cream service out, leggings and an oatmeal colored henley to ward off the chill.

Ray sat down next to him.
Ray cupped Sen’s cheek and traced the curved of his jaw with the back of his hand. “Do you remember what you told me when I first hired you? Back before we fell in love, before we got married, before we had our collaring ceremony, back when I was a cranky business man who was annoyed his boyfriends kept breaking up with him?”
Sen couldn’t suppress a smile. “May I speak candidly?”
“Yes boy.”
“Yes, I do, Sir. You’re still a bit cranky, but far less so.”
“I was cranky because I couldn’t figure out why I, a handsome bachelor with lots to offer, was still single and frustrated and horny all the time.”
Sen was still smiling. He loved knowing he’d tamed such a narcissistic man. “I remember we had so much sex for the first month that nothing got done in your house and you nearly fired me for something that wasn’t my fault.”
Ray laughed. “I was not a very good Master then was I?”
“Well, no, but I was serving you, was I not?”
“Mmnn you were, but as a siren not a houseboy.”
Sen ran his fingers over the back of Ray’s hand. “I don’t know if I would have stuck around if the relationship was just sex, you know. I’m glad you pushed to have me stick around as your houseboy. You really needed one.”
Ren straightened his back, surprised. “Really? You would have left?”
“As you said, you were a narcissist back then. I would have been another boyfriend that left you.”
Ren was momentarily dumbfounded. “Wow, that never occurred to me.”
“We are a good match,” Sen said. “You really needed a houseboy.”
“Yes. Yes we are, and yes I did.” It was Ray’s turn to smile. “Do you remember what you said though, in the beginning? I asked you what the most important thing was in a relationship. I thought you would say money or a good job or good looks or a big dick or something but you said…”
“Compromise! The ability to compromise.”
“Yes!” Ray patted Sen on the thigh. “Good boy.”
Sen beamed.
“I’m very pleased you remembered that. Compromise. I was astonished you said that. I turned that over my head for weeks after. You said something about how a relationship can’t be defined by one person insisting they’re right every time an argument breaks out. The other person isn’t going to magically agree with them at some magical point in the future.”
Sen nodded. “You had a habit of telling your exes – my way or the highway, and they all picked the highway.”
“Yes,” Ray sighed. “I was an idiot. But that was the beginning of correcting my behavior.” He paused.“You’re probably wondering why we’re talking about this.”
“Yes Sir, I am.”
“Well. There’s one thing you have been asking for, for Christmas or birthdays, for about…three years now.”
Sen furrowed his brow.
“I saw the merit of it, but there was one thing that stopped me from getting it for you. Hair. I just did not want all that hair in my house.”
Sen’s eyebrows went up. He knew what Ray was saying, but hesitanted to get his hopes up that he’d gotten it after wishing for so long.
“Sir did you….?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to – cause you know, hair – and then…well. You’ll see.” Roy smiled, and got up. He went into the other room, and came back cradling a towel. “She fell asleep in the laundry basket.”

When Sen saw her, he gasped and his hands flew to his mouth. “Oh my god. Oh my god Sir! You got me a cat??” he squealed. “Oh my gosh look at her, she’s so precious and tiny and oh my god can I hold her?” Sen flailed.
Ray sat on the sofa and set the towel on Sen’s lap. He picked up the small kitten who mewled at him, but seemed to accept being distruped when she felt Sen’s warm hands around her. Sen cuddled her to his chest. “Oh my god,” he sniffled. “She’s perfect. She’s beautiful. She’s… she’s…”
“Yours,” Ray finished, blinking away tears. “I saw her on a bulletin, she’d been rescued with a bunch of other hoarded cats. Rebecca, the lady at the shelter, said she was not handling stress well and would do best in a quiet home with not a lot of other cats. Some people expressed interest in her for breeding, but since her line couldn’t be confirmed or whatever, they fell through.”
Sen was half listening. He was captivating by the small black thing purring in his hands. He couldn’t remember feeling such strong love. It was a different love than the kind he felt for Ray. It was a protective, soft love.
“She’s mine,” Sen murmured, pushing tears away with the palm of his hand. “Thank you so much, Ray.”
Ray leaned over to kiss his partner, overjoyed by the reaction. “You’re welcome. See? Compromise. She hardly has any hair.”
Sen half laughed, half snorted. “Yes, you did compromise. And I’m very proud of you.”
They kissed again. Sen’s gaze went to his new pet. “I think it makes her cuter. Does she have a name yet?”
Ray rubbed the kitten behind her ears. “They were calling her Blackie at the shelter but I feel like she needs a name with more personality.”
Sen scoffed. “Blackie? That won’t do at all.” He cupped her by the rump and held her up high. “I think I’ll call her Little Empress until her personality shows through.”
Ray beamed. “I love it. She’ll be treated as such in this house. Merry Christmas, boy.”
Sen chuckled. “Merry Christmas Ray.” He paused, then smiled again. “Ahh, I can’t believe it, I have a kitty!”

Ray felt himself feeding off the joy rolling in waves off of his boy, and knew now more than ever before how wonderful it could be to put to make someone else happy.

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Captions are fictional.

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“How’s the chili coming?” Gabriel asked.
“Doing alright. On hour three. It needs more time in the crockpot. Are the green beans done?”
“Mmnn. Just about to put them in the freezer. We’re running out of room in there though.”
“Yeah we won’t have much room soon,” Benji agreed. “The lasagna took up a ton.” He shifted his weight, “God, my feet hurt. I can’t believe we’re almost done with the weekly cooking. Such a big list of recipes this week cause of that holiday party at the firm.”
“Mmn, yeah I’m burnt out on cooking. My hands are so dry from washing them.”
“Me too,” Benji agreed.
We still have to start on dinner though. It’s nearly 6.” Gabriel sighed. “Ugh, I don’t even want to touch food right now. I’m so done with handling raw fish. It’s a shame fried catfish just isn’t as good any other time then fresh.”
“Yeah seriously. I mean you can put it in the broiler but it’s just not the same,” Benji agreed. He shifted his weight again. “I think I’m going to ask Stephen for a mat to stand on or something.”
“Mmmn. That’s a good idea. Pass the pepper.”

Normally, both boys wouldn’t be so dour about serving the men they both loved and preparing food which would nourish them through-out the week. Gabriel worked for Porter, an esteemed lawyer, as a personal assistant and houseboy, and Benji, worked part time both for Porter’s paralegal Stephen, and went to school. Once a week, Gabriel and Benji got together and prepared meals for the week, dividing it at the end of the day to take to their respective homes. It was easier with two, and the company was better. But today wasn’t a normal day. It was a day they both wanted to be somewhere else, especially as the hours ticked on.

Then, the door bell rang.

Gabriel looked up. “Must be a courier.” That wasn’t entirely unusual. Legal documents sometimes had to be signed the same day they were written, and once in a while a courier knocked at odd hours to have Porter sign something important. Gabriel washed his hands real fast and dried them on a towel. “Coming!”

He jogged toward the door, and checked the peep hole. Yep, courier. Gabriel hoped it wasn’t urgent. Porter was still at the office. “One moment please.” Gabriel opened the door and went through the proper motions of politely accepting the envelope and signing for it. He was confused when the courier said it was for him – not for Porter.
“For me?” Gabriel repeated, confused.
“Yes Sir. That’s what it says.”
“Huh?”
“Turn it over.”
Gabriel flipped the envelope over. In Porter’s black scrawl it said, “Gabriel – open immediately.”
Gabriel was immediately curious. Christmas was still a week away. An early present maybe?

He tipped Joshua, closed the door, and went back to the kitchen.
“Courier?” Benji asked, setting corn flour on the counter.
“Yeah but it’s address to me.”
“Huh?”
Gabriel held up the envelope. 
“Oh weird! Porter sent you an delivery from his office? How mysterious. Open it open it!” 
Gabriel grinned and tour open the perforated tab. Benji bounced on his feet. Inside, was an envelope and a note. 
“Dear Gabriel and Benjij – thank you for your hard work today. Stephen and I know we have the best houseboys and boyfriends ever.-”
“Awww,” Benji cooed, putting a hand over his heart.
“-..Please enjoy the night off?” 
“What?” 
Gabriel furrowed his brow. “That’s what it says. To enjoy the night off.”
Benji’s face lit up. “Oh maaan. Is that what I think it is? Tell me what’s in that envelope is what I think it is!”
Gabriel tore it open and pulled out two tickets to a 8:30 showing of the new Star Wars movie. He gasped. “BENJI look!”
Benji whooped and jumped around in a circle.
“Holy shit, Porter got us tickets!” Gabriel gaped at them, touching them excessively to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating this.
“We’re going on premiere night!” Benji cried out, suddenly feeling much more rejuvenated. “Oh this is awesome! No chance of having it spoiled online then!”
“Dude there’s something else in here,” Gabriel said, feeling the envelope
“What what?”
“It’s two twenty dollar bills.”
“What for?” Benji asked.
Gabriel unfolded them and read the post it note stuck to one. “Order yourselves a pizza, get showered, and go.”
“Aw sweet pizza!”
Gabriel shared the sentiment. Porter disapproved of unhealthy carb-bombs and greasy plates. Pizza and a movie was going to be a blast, like when they were teenagers again. Not having to make dinner was such a relief.

Gabriel texted Porter immediately, so wired he could barely type straight: Thank you thank you thank you Sir!! So excited that we get to go to Star Wars!
Porter replied: You’re welcome. You and Benji have fun. Don’t worry about dinner.
Then: Oh, Stephen is sleeping over tonight, so please make sure both you boys are prepared when we come home. We will want both of you.
Gabriel gave Benji a lopsided grin and showed him the message. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Benji chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, our men. So insatiable.”
Gabriel giggled. “Come on! Help me find a place to order take out from. We should order it and go shower to save time. The movie starts at 8:30 and I am NOT missing the trailers.”
“Did you hear there’s a new Independence Day 2 trailer?”
“Benji! No spoilers!”
“Sorry.”
“I’m going to make sure Stephen spanks you for that!”
“I said I’m sorry!”

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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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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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As he put away my coat, a bing came from the kitchen. “Ohhh the roast is ready.”
Before I could say anything my houseboy jogged back to the kitchen, his pert butt bouncing behind him. I followed him there. “Henry, what is that smell?”
“Roast chicken,” he replied, matter of factly. “I put a lot of butter on the potatoes this time cause I know you like that.” He pulled out an impressive looking dinner and set it on the stove.
“Damn, that looks amazing. But no I mean, the other smell. It smells like a candle factory exploded.”
My boy pulls off his oven mitts and blinks at me. “Ohhh that.” He moves to the cabinet and begins to make me a vodka cranberry. “It’s spices. I thought since we live in a climate where we actually get seasons now that it would be appropriate to get into the mood of things.”

“Things…?” I repeat.
“You know, fall! Autumn! Pumpkins. Pies. Cinnamon. Apples. The leaves outside are turning colors! Here’s your drink Sir.”
I accept it, and sip it. “Thank you, boy.” I enjoy watching him move about the kitchen, fussing over the chicken and setting the table. “So you lit a candle?”
“No Sir, I had to change the air filters so I rubbed a mix of cinnamon and allspice and cloves on them.”
“How did you come up with that?”
“Well they were at the grocery store, but they were expensive, so I just decided to do it myself.”
I stare at him. “Well that’s quite intelligent.”
“Is it? Thank you Sir.” Henry frumps around with making gravy. “You know, I was thinking, why don’t we have a little house warming party?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Boy, I don’t think that’s a great idea. People are avoiding me at work because I was upfront that I was gay. I just moved here, I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.”

Henry pauses and tilts his head. “Forgive me for saying this Sir, but I think having a housewarming party would be even more useful this way. Perhaps the people you work with aren’t used to ‘homosexuals’, or whatever they call us. It’s a perfect opportunity to show them that you’re a normal person, you live in a normal house, have a normal life. We don’t have a dungeon in the basement… well, yet. Plus, I’m a damn good cook.”
I smile. “That you are. You know, you might be right.”
“Ooo that means I can decorate the house. I could carve a pumpkin. Make that cinnamon apple cake I like… god I love parties.”

I set the drink down on the kitchen table and sink into a chair. “Come here for a moment, Henry.”
He sets a serving spoon down on the counter, wipes his hands on a towel, and walks over to me. “Yes sir?”
“Sit on my lap, boy.”
He lifts up the apron and straddles my thighs. I give him a kiss on the lips and squeeze his ass with my hands.
“God I love it when you’re domestic,” I admit, low and husky in his ear.
“Do you Sir?”
“I have no idea why, but it makes me want you. You just get this glow about you when you get into one of your moods…”
“Well, I am happy when serving the man I love.”
I capture his mouth with another kiss. My right hand moves forward, under his apron. I give his locked cock a proper tug, then cup his balls in his hand and massage them as I kiss him. Henry moans against me and grinds into my hand.
“You must really like buttered potatoes,” he breathes.
“Mmnn…I think I just really like autumn,” I say. “Are you prepared?”
“Yes Sir. I always lube up right before you get home, just in case you want to relieve some stress.”
“That’s a good boy,” I murmur. “Stand up a minute.”
He does so, so I can unzip my pants and extract my cock. I groan when the wet tip touches cool air. Henry takes over and strokes me with his hand, his eyes fixated on me. He’s flushed, but I can’t tell if it’s from cooking or from stimulation. When I’m breathing slow and properly stiff, Henry crawls back into my lap. He holds onto my shoulders so he can raise his ass up and position my cock in the right spot. I bite off a cry when I feel his body envelope me, a slow, tight heat around me, down to the hilt. I plunder his mouth again and push his waist downward so he’s sitting on my lap once more.

“God that’s it, Henry,” I murmur. He rides me, without even asking. I watch in fascination as his pelvis and hips roll while his shoulders stay mostly still. His eyes are glazed over now. I notice there’s a wet spot flourishing on the apron. Soon, I cannot stay still any longer and drive up into him. Henry cries out, begging me to keep moving. We collide over and over until he’s squeezing my shaft so hard I can’t even breathe.

I shout and explode inside of him. Henry whines, a loud needy noise, and then I feel something hot and wet pool through my work pants. I realized I haven’t breathed in what seems like forever and so I inhale, sharply. The world spins around me, and I cling to my houseboy. He is staring me with love all over his face, looking completely blissed out. I bless him with a few more kisses, then we slide apart. He looks upset at the loss, but enjoys playing with my softening cock after settling back down without it inside of him. My seed drips out of his hole and back onto my legs too. Instead of feeling filthy, I feel deeply possessive and horny again.

“That – that was a wonderful surprise Sir,” he says, his sternum heaving.
“Mnnnh…you were divine. Did I trigger something? You made a mess on my leg.”
Henry lifts up the apron corner. “I think you triggered a small anal orgasm, Sir…I felt like someone was blowing up a balloon in me and it popped and then it just felt wonderful. I feel so light.”
I smirk. “That is how it should be. That is the joy I give you.” I plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.
“Thank you Sir, for that gift then.” Henry nuzzles my cheek. “I am afraid I have soiled your pants Sir.”
“You can scrub the semen stains out after dinner. I don’t think I can get up right now Henry, fetch me a clear pair of slacks would you?”

I watch in great amusement as a pouting Henry dismounts me and wobbles off like a baby deer, one hand pressed between those round ass cheeks. I sip my cranberry vodka and look over at the chicken roast. I must be the luckiest man in the world. 

As I sip, my thoughts drift back to that idea of a housewarming party. I like the idea more and more. I want every homophobe in that office to be jealous of what I have with Henry. I want them to see our chemistry, our happiness. I also want them to see hickeys. I swirl the ice in my glass. Yes, yes, for sure. I can hear Henry approaching with my pants. After dinner, after he’s scrubbed my pants and done the dishes, I will fuck him silly and give him those lovebites for the week.

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Text is fictional. I pulled this image from this post.

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I step into the library to return my completed book and replace it with a new one for my beach-side reading. I hear a sigh and walk toward the back of the crisp, modern styled library, seeking the owner of the sound. I find the houseboy back there, glancing forlornly out the window. He doesn’t notice me at first; my leather soled shoes make little noise on the floor. The natural sunlight illuminates his skin, basking his attractive form in a healthy glow. He is a sight – a slender neck emerging from the sharp lines of his collar bone, gently rolling pecs float above the valley of his lined abs. His skin is so taut, his health and vigor so evident, that there is hardly an ounce of fat on him from hard work and I can see grand veins running under his flesh.

His balls are generous and full, and his cock is soft and hidden but the perfect length for his form. He’s as if a painting come to life. I make the usual noises of putting a book away and he twists his head to look at me. He seems a bit surprised to see me. 

“Are you waiting for your Master to return, lad?”
“Yes sir,” he says, his voice wistful. “I miss him.”
“He shall return from visiting his sister within the hour, do not fret.”
The houseboy nods, but not satisfied. “I hope you have enjoyed your stay here, Sir, and weren’t inconvenienced by his sudden departure two days ago.”
“How could I not enjoy my stay here? I got a week off from that stuffy law office to stay with an old, dear friend at his manor by the beach and be attended to by the most beautiful nude boys. There is nary an inconvenience there. Babies come when they want to come, it isn’t your Master’s fault your sister delivered this weekend.”

The houseboy looks a bit relieved. “Thank you Sir for saying so. Yes, the baby was due last week, but they don’t mind anyone’s schedule but their own.”
“Indeed.” I rifle through the bookcases. “Oh Yukio Mishima…an eccentric, but a great author.” I select The Sound of the Sea and flip through it. When I glance up, I see the houseboy has returned to staring out the window once more.

“Lad,” I say gently, “Perhaps you need a distraction? Come to the beach with me.”
“I …” he begins. “I would like to, but if I am not here to greet my Master upon his return he will be cross with me.”
“Mm, well perhaps we can go there after lunch. Would you like me to suck you? Perhaps it’ll help you relax?”
The boy thought a moment. “Master said I am to please his guest while he is gone. It would please you?”
“Yes, you in any fashion would.”
The houseboy lowers his gaze to the bulge in my trousers, then to the floor. “My Master will also been in need of proper release after two days away too Sir, and I want to offer him a hole that has not been spoiled in his absence.”
“Then just a suck then,” I say with a reassuring smile. The houseboy looks content with our compromise.

The boy turns around and put his palms on the windowsill. I set my book on a shelf and kneel between his legs. His cock is soft, but warm and clean-scented. I take him between my lips – a perfect mouthful – and he gasps softly at the sensation of my tongue on him. I make a suction lock and bob my head, encouraging it to stiffen. Through my lips, I feel the throb of his awakened veins as blood rushes to his sex organs. I cup his pouch below and roll them between my fingers. His cock swells, filling my mouth from cheek to cheek and challenging my jaw.

The pink knob soon pushes out of his foreskin and strains, dripping seed against my tongue. Each little taste of the houseboy’s salty fluid makes my own cock ache in my trousers. I reach down with one hand to massage it until I fear I will spend in my pants; I unbutton myself and let the erect thing spring up into the air. I moan and began to stroke myself as I nurse the houseboy’s upright cock. His lids are half-closed, his lower lip quivers. The houseboy’s testicles are full and low. He is in much need of a proper fuck, but that is not part of my role as a guest in this house. I wonder if I would be allowed to watch that.

I sense his body spasming and the boy whimpers. “I feel I will cum soon, you are too skilled with your tongue!”
I answer him by pushing the tip of it into the slit and swirling it about; the houseboy’s knees buckle and I catch him by pushing upwards on his shins. He regains his posture and tosses back his head. I suck deeply and quickly, one hand on myself, the other making a circular path with my fingertips around his shaft, down to his balls, then back around to stroke any skin I can find.

The houseboy keens and his thighs tense; he cries out an ‘Oh sweet fuck!“ and his balls hitch high. I consume all his seed, feasting on his modest cock as he shoots against my throat. He is pent up. I do not fuss that I have spoiled his appetite for when his Master calls; in fact, I am even more sure now that I have taken off the edge and so he will be virile and patient for longer service when taken into bed.

When his organ begins to soften, I suckle and clean it with patience. It is no chore, and it would be disrespectful to leave another man’s property sullied. As he vocalizes and twitches in my grip, I dedicate a moment to pump my own aching organ. The climax swells over me in an instant and my hot seed splashes on the floor and on the house boy’s feet. I groan around his organ, lost in the pinnacle of masturbation. He grows too sensitive and begins to squirm; I nuzzle his balls and tug on myself, allowing the afterglow to settle and evaporate. There is no sound but for the houseboy’s soft panting.

After a moment, I pull away from the houseboy completely. I can almost see the the tension and anticipation melt off his shoulders. I leave my flaccid cock out, then signal for "one moment” before leaving the library to find a bathroom. When I return with a damp cloth, I find the houseboy perched halfway on the windowsill, head titled back against the window glass. His eyes are closed. When he hears my footfalls, he opens his eyes.

He motions to take the cloth away from me, but I give him a “tut” and hold it out of reach. This is my fun. I wrap his genitals in the warm terry cloth and clean them. He seems to enjoy this as much as I do. After I clean my own, I fold the towel anew and gently wipe his feet. It is a bit scandalous to be cleaning a houseboy’s feet, but I find the act a bit erotic. After the task is done, I give him a little kiss, tuck my book under my arm, and hold the towel at a distance. “Thank you for the suck, boy. You are most enjoyable. I hope to see you on the beach later.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hartman. It was immensely pleasurable.” He is still flushed. I must walk away or I will lose my will to resist fucking him. I nod, but as I turn away, the houseboy makes a sharp turn toward the window.

“It’s him! My Master is home! Oh I must go greet him at once. Thank you Mr. Hartman, the distraction did the trick. Please excuse me." 
I nod, dismissing him.
He flashes me a happy smile and jogs off, and I’m momentarily struck still by his bliss. It’s always wonderful and heart-warming to see a boy in service so enamored with his keeper.

I do not bother them. I return to my room and pick up my bag, then go to the beach a short walk from the manor. I lay out a towel and enjoy my book. About an hour later, Master Dunn and his houseboy come and join me, carrying a picnic basket and pale ale. The houseboy has fresh lovebites and there are red marks on his hips. I’m sure if I parted the globes of his ass, I would find a hole pink and wet and open from being fucked. The ocean will wash him clean. 

We dine and snack. Master Dunn discusses in length his new nephew and his status as an uncle. The topic soon changes to more domestic matters. We tidy up the spread and prepare for a swim. Just as I am removing my clothes, Master Dunn speaks up. "Glen, I have an inquiry for you.”
“Yes?” I ask.
“After dinner tonight, would you be interested in coming to my room? My houseboy says you were a wonderful companion while I was gone, and I feel as if I must reward you. I hate to know my boy is lonely. You must join us, or at least watch as I take him. It would be rude other wise.”
Glen felt a stir in his loins. “I did not do anything unique, but make sure the houseboy had a guest to serve and work to do. He is a fine boy and so easy on the eyes. I would hate to insert my horny self between your intimate relationship, but I will certainty watch. Not often does one receive an invitation to watch a houseboy writhe under his Master. I would find it to be most exciting.”
A dark look of lust and satisfaction shows on Master Dunn’s face. “Oh, he excites me a good deal.”
The houseboy blushes.
Master Dunn clears his throat and reveals a bit of a smirk. “That will be for later, though. I must take a swim first or my cock will harden even more.”
I grin. “Oh, I do feel the same way. I want to save my seed for when I can watch. I want to last for hours.”

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Text is fictional. Model is Dominick Juneau, photographed by Adam Webster.

===delete below if reblogging====

I hadn’t meant to post this when I did – I never post between 4-5 am PST. However, somehow when I went to reblog this hours ago, I somehow managed to highlight a different frame and the reblog button was inaccessible. I was dicking around with deselect keyboard shortcuts and it magically reblogged! It took me seven hours to fix this, so yaaaay. I was reading this rather bizarrely-worded collection of Victorian-themed short stories involving gay sex, and they inspired this. Nice that it got saved.