Tag: Master/sub

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Hughes held onto Aiden’s collar firm, making eye contact the whole time he was pounding his body. He pushed up on his toes and with a grunt, filled Aiden with three days of seed. He remained there for longer than Aiden was expecting, pumping out an endless amount of cum. “Nnng! Fuck, that feels good!” With a sigh of contentment, he pulled out and stripped off the condom. He tied it off. “Hate we have to wear these. Would love to put my load up in you. You’re a good fuck.” He threw it in the trash.
“Thank you, Sir,” Aiden said.
“If I see your Master around, I’ll let him know what a good lay you are.” Hughes gave Aiden’s flank two pats of appreciation and then left.

As he exited, someone else Aiden didn’t know that well caught the door and came in.
“God, thought he would never finish,” the new man grumbled. He unzipped his leather pants, rolled on a condom, grabbed the lube, and pushed up Aiden’s thighs. Aiden sucked in air through his teeth as he was penetrated – this man had a wide mushroom head and it stretched him until it popped in.
“That’s a good boy,” the man murmured as he sank into Aiden. He didn’t take long – he jack rabbited it for an intense minute and suddenly exploded into the condom.
Aiden could feel the heat of it and he gasped. “Woah.”
“Yeah, I told you I needed that,” the man sneered. He pulled out slowly and Aiden hissed when that thick head slid out of his hole again.
He didn’t leave the room right away. Instead, he cupped and fondled Aiden’s balls. Aiden whimpered; they were so sensitive and full. Sensing his squirming, the man switched to handling and inspecting his chastity cage. “Fuck, this so hot. Someone is lucky they got to collar and lock you first.”
“I am lucky Sir,” Aiden said in a breathless voice. “Thank you for using my hole Sir.”
“I can tell you like it. Look at you leaking now. Hot. I’ll be back for sure.” He threw the condom in the trash and left.

To Aiden’s surprise, another hand caught the door when the man left.
“Oh hi Master,” Aiden said as a familiar form came into the room.
Master Newman was eating fries out of a fast food bag. “Hello boy. You know, someone stopped me in the hallway right now to give your praises.”
“Oh they did Sir?” Aiden asked. He was looking at his Master from between his spread knees.
“They did. Very nice to hear that. You earned yourself this bison burger that’s for sure. Sit up and go wash your hands. After you eat, I’ll clean you up and inspect you.”
Aiden groaned as he sat up. “Thank you Sir, I am really hungry.”
“How many did you take?” Master Newman peered into the trashcan. “Oh quite a few.” Master cupped the back of Aiden’s head and gave him a salty kiss. “Good boy. Go wash up.”
Aiden smiled. “Yes Sir, thank you Sir. Will I get your load later Sir? It’s so frustrating feeling the heat of cum without feeling the wetness of it…”
“You will. Need to milk you a bit and edge you, and you’ll get my cock at the end of it.”
“Will I get to cum?”
“Nope,” Master Newman smirked.
Aiden groaned. “Fuck Sir, to be honest, I want your cock more than I want this burger or to have an orgasm Actually, I think I could cum just from you fucking me.”
Master Newman raised an eyebrow. He looked pleased. “Good. You should always want your Master’s cock. But before you get it, you need nutrition first. I won’t have you passing out on me when I have you strung up on the ceiling. Go. Wash.”
It was hard to argue with that. “Yes Sir.” Aiden’s stomach grumbled in agreement.

_______________
Captions are fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Amir! Amir!” The press gather around him as he exits the Theatre, peppering him with dozens of questions:
“How does it feel to win your first Academy Award?”
“Amir, how do you feel about taking the win over Tom Cruise?”
“Amir, what comes next?”
“How will you celebrate?”

Amir freezes, trapped on all sides by journalists, unable to move. The lights are bright and dizzying. For a moment, his anxiety flourishes. He’s still high from his unexpected win and everything is just so over-whelming. However, Amir prevails because he remembers his training. He remembers that the approval of the public and the film industry and his fans comes second to his Dom. Caïn was there first, and Caïn taught him resilience and courage and patience Amir needed to go from a struggling actor to a household name. Caïn also taught Amir that someone would always love him, even if he failed. Amir momentarily closes his eyes and takes a few deep breathes. His fingers drift up to his neck without them even meaning to. He presses his fingertips against the starched white linen and feels for the metal circlet underneath. Amir is aware he is on camera, and that his Dom is probably watching. 

A lot of people were probably watching.

Amir thinks about his collar, and the still healing stripes on his back from their session last night. He thinks about how proud Caïn might be of him.

The press falls quiet. Someone asks if he is alright. Amir turns a little pink and opens his eyes. “Sorry everyone. I just – this is a very overwhelming night for me. I am still in a stupor. Mostly, I feel unworthy because as a young actor, I don’t feel like I deserve it. Well, yet, maybe. I’m still learning, every day. I hope Tom Cruise isn’t mad at me. I really respect him as an actor.”
Light laughter floats up.
“I have two more films in production right now, so I am going to focus on being a better actor and a roll-model for gay men in the film world. And mostly, I am going to celebrate by being not a good Muslim and getting very very drunk tonight.”
More laughter. Amir waves at them and makes his hasty exit to the awaiting car. Inside the privacy of the car, Amir is able to finally check his phone, which has exploded. He scrolls through the text messages until he finds the ones from Caïn:
There’s a few, but a new one pops up at that moment: “So very proud of you, boy. You handled yourself beautifully on TV. I know you are super nervous about live work. Also – when I saw you reach for your collar, it made me very horny. I cannot wait until you come home. Love you, and congrats again.”
Amir smiles and texts back: “I must be the only person depressed that I have to go to an Oscar party instead of being home.”
“Stay out all night if you have to, as I will tie you down tomorrow. I will be here, oiling my leather strap…waiting for you…I think champagne goes well with leather, don’t you think?”
Amir moans and adjusts his chastity device he wore tonight to control his boners, which have a mind of their own. “Thank you for permission to stay out Sir. I think champagne and leather is a great combination.”
“You’re a good boy Amir. You still locked?”
“Thank you Sir. I am, Sir. Happy you locked me Sir, as I am very excited right now.”
Caïn responds again: “So proud of the boy you’ve become Amir. It pleases me very much to know that everyone will want a piece of you tonight, but your cock still belongs to me.”
Amir groans. “I’m going to be thinking of that all night now, Sir!”
“Good. Now go celebrate. That’s an order.”
“Sir, yes Sir!”

_______________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. This is Zayn Malik of the band One Direction apparently? Or ex-One Direction member? This caption is not fan-fiction and in no way attempts to personify him or assume his sexuality.

The Best Chastity Letter… Ever

The Best Chastity Letter… Ever

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

lockedguynyc:

Check out this AMAZING Chastity Letter from a Master to a Boy posted on metalbondnyc’s website. Fuck it makes me fill my cage more than the rest…. ( metalbondnyc is my hero)…

Find the link to this awesome website here: http://www.metalbondnyc.com/

“By Unknown

Rob:

You’ve long had a desire to explore Chastity, and although I’ve indulged you at times over the years, we’ve only played at the edges of your desires.  That, Boy, is about to change.

I’ve carefully thought through how best to make sure you have the opportunity to explore your desires and explore a period of Chastity while keeping in mind that your fantasy may be more than you’d bargain for.

I’ve also considered our schedules, lifestyle and your high need for sexual release and believe I’ve found the perfect solution to meet your desires.   This may not be what you’d choose if it were you making the decision, but the decision will not be yours.

I know you far better than you know yourself, and I understand that an exploration into your desires and fetish won’t work while we remain equal partners, so I’m making you my Chastity Boy.  Understand that Boys don’t have cocks (those are for men); Boys don’t have erections; Boys can’t be trusted to stand and pee (you will sit to urinate); Boys don’t have pubes;  Boys have chores with ramifications and/or punishment if they don’t perform them to my satisfaction; Boys don’t have orgasms.

I have no interest in your being a boy in any other area of our relationship, but until I decide otherwise, you will be a boy when it comes to your dick and exploring your chastity fantasy.

As my Chastity Boy:

  • You will be shaved from the neck down..   Chest, Ass, Crotch, Arms, Legs, Armpits will be completely smooth. You will shave yourself and present yourself for my inspection.
  • We will have sex one more time before you’re locked in the cock cage. Enjoy this sexual release, because it’s the last one I’m guaranteeing for awhile.
  • To ensure that this is a consensual agreement, you will beg and plead with me to lock up your cock as you’re approaching orgasm. You will beg me to take complete control of your cock and orgasms. You will beg me to make you my Chastity Boy.
  • Immediately upon achieving orgasm, the cock cage will be locked on your cock. I want it locked on while the last of your cum is dribbling out of your dick and before you even clean up.
  • The instant the lock snaps shut, you give up all control of your penis and orgasms to me. I will decide the next time you touch your penis as well as the next time you have an orgasm.

I demand the following as owner of your penis:

  • You will learn the benefits of chastity, the enjoyment of orgasm control and the pleasure of handing over all rights to your penis.
  • You will learn how to gain sexual fulfillment though bringing ME to orgasm and learn how your ass, mouth and other areas of your body can provide enjoyment despite not being able to cum.
  • You will not speak of your penis or your orgasms. The penis belongs to me, and you simply don’t have orgasms until I choose otherwise. When asked, you will respond with how MY penis is doing while locked in the cage.
  • You will learn to embrace your interest in chastity without complaint. You will not ask for release, or ask when you will be released.  You will not like what happens if you complain or beg.

Since there are times when wearing the cock cage will cause undue discomfort or not be appropriate, I will allow it to be removed in the following conditions: Doctor Visits, Social Situations, Travelling or other situations as I deem appropriate. Unless otherwise instructed, you will not touch yourself or seek sexual gratification when out of the cage.  On demand, you will put it back on and surrender the keys.

Your period of chastity will not impact my sexual needs. You will ensure that my sexual needs are met in any way that I choose. You will learn how satisfying it is to provide total pleasure to me without regard to your own sexual release.

Get used to this. I know you have a strong desire to be a chastised boy, but lack the initiative to do it on your own.

I WILL control your cock and you WILL become the boy you and I both know you want to be.”

Holy hell, that is one of the sexiest things ever posted on Tumblr. Every chaste boy dreams of a Man this loving and dedicated to his boy’s exploration of chastity. *fans self*

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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?”

_____________
Text is fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“God that was off the hook!” Josh exclaimed for the sixtieth time that night.
“I’m so glad we got tickets,” Morgan agreed.
“Nice of you to come out with us, Morg, we don’t see you much anymore.”
“Sorry dudes, I’m just so busy with my job ‘n school ‘n all. I’ll try and make an effort to get out more.”
“I think we’re gonna try and scrap together a beach volleyball game if you want in on that,” Rob notes.
“Sounds great, sure,”
“Hey,” Rob speaks up again, “Why do you keep rubbing your neck? Did you get new ink or something?”
Morgan is glad no one can see him blush in the dark car. “Oh um, my boyfriend got me this silver necklace that I’ve been wearing a lot and it feels weird to not have it on. I didn’t want to lose it at the show.”
Rob makes a ‘huh’ noise.
“Ah,” says Josh, “Was wondering that too. Well, we’re here.”
“Awesome. Thanks for driving, Josh.”
“No problem. Bye Morgan, see you ‘around.”

Morgan exchanged farewells and fistbumps with his friends and then got out of the car. He looked fondly at the house in front of him, with its neat lawn and well kept gardens, then turned and waved the car off.

Morgan went inside and shut the door quietly. He turned on the overhead light and sat down on the landing to take off his shoes. As he worked the laces, Morgan noticed that the kitchen light was on. He smiled. Out of the humid summer air and into the cool place, Morgan was suddenly aware of how sweaty and gross his shirt was and so he peeled it off with great relief. The clicking of toenails announced their little French bulldog waddling into the room.
“Hey Porridge. Aw, you’re a sweet girl. Hello, did you miss me?” He gave the dog a few pets, amused at her excited snuffling.

After removing his shoes, Morgan stuffed his socks into his balled up shirt and left it on the landing. He stood up and reached for his collar on the table by the door. When his fingers touched the cool metal accents on the leather, he felt the nagging sense of loss he had carried all night melt away. It was satisfying to hold it in his hands again, to know he was close to returning to his proper place.

“Boy, are you home?” said the voice from the kitchen. Morgan felt an additional sense of peace at the low, velvety voice. He knew that the kitchen light had not been left on by accident.
“Yes Sir, I’m home.”
“Did you put your collar on yet?”
“No, Sir.”
“Bring it here, after you take off your shoes.”
“Yes sir.”

Morgan clutched it with both hands and strolled into the kitchen. He could see the scene before he even stepped foot in the dimly lit kitchen – his Master in his old, worn blue bathrobe, hunched over the kitchen table drinking tea out of a mug emblazoned with fading letters spelling out “Oingo Boingo”. He’d had that mug since he was a teenager, and Morgan lived in mild fear of dropping it.

In one swift motion, Morgan knelt at his Master’s feet and offered his collar with both hands up above his bowed head. Internally, he was begging for his Master to hurry up and just put it back on him already so he could feel right again. He heard the sound of the mug being set down on the table and the swish of the bathrobe fabric as Master Buford turned in his chair.

“Did you enjoy the concert?”
“Yes Master, thank you very much. I cannot …I cannot even put into words how incredible it was. The production, the sound, their stage presence! So much energy. Franz Ferdinand’s bass player is very talented.”
“I’m pleased to hear you enjoyed your reward.” Master Buford said, without a hint of displeasure. He yawned. Morgan tried hard not to smile at that yawn. 
He knew if he ever brought this up, he’d likely be spanked for it, but it didn’t make it any less true. The blogs and industry mags called Master Buford ‘the Bull of BDSM’ for his broad figure and gruff nature, but the fierce exterior hid a deeply sentimental man who hated to sleep alone. Buford loved to cuddle and hold his boy close in his thick arms as he slept. Bucroft scoffed at the old-fashioned idea of having your slave or sub sleep on a cot in a disused part of the house. God, did he love waking up horny and being able to have Morgan in arms length.
It wasn’t just a preference, it was engineering at this point. There’d be no sleep for Master Buford without his slave in his rightful place. Morgan loved knowing his Master had been waiting all night for his safe return.

The boy realized he’d been waiting for the familiar sensation of the soft leather and metal band to be strapped around the neck, but nothing happened. Instead a hand caressed his check. “Stand up. Go sit in the chair across from me. Get yourself a mug.”

The boy was confused and slightly alarmed. My collar! he thought. Still, he rose and found himself a less important mug and joined his Master at the table. It felt odd to be sitting across from him as an equal. To offset this, Morgan refilled his Master’s mug from the teapot before his own. He sipped at the hot liquid filling half his mug.
“Look at me, boy.”
Morgan raised his head. “Sir?” He didn’t understand the expression on Buford’s face. He seemed a tad perplexed, lost in thought.
“God, how bizarre,” Buford said after a long moment of reflection.

Morgan looked down at himself.
“What’s wrong Sir?”
Buford kept talking as if Morgan hadn’t said a thing. “It’s amazing to me how different you look without your collar. It frightens me a little to see you like this, to see you looking so …normal. I know we signed a little contract together, and you live here, but when I see you sitting there like a normal person, in your shorts and all, it scares me a great deal, because you could just be any normal person. You could decide you never want to put the collar back on again and walk away, and there isn’t a damn thing I could do. I would never again lay eyes on your tattooed form in all its naked beauty.”
Morgan stared at his beloved Master wide-eyed, feeling deeply privileged to be hearing his inner thoughts. “I would never–!”
“But you could,” he interrupted. “I mean, when I gave you permission to go to this concert tonight, you were just a normal guy hanging out with your friends. You went not as my boy, my sub, but as Morgan, a normal young man who has a job and a boyfriend like any other person. It’s bizarre to think there’s almost two of you.”
“I don’t – I don’t understand Sir, I’m …I’m just me.”
“Yes, you are you,” Master Buford agreed, sipping tea. “It’s like a magic spell. Don’t you agree there’s some magic in your collar? Like it’s enchanted or something?”
Morgan leaned over the table and put his hand on it. “Yes. I absolutely feel that. I miss it when it is apart from me. I feel that it connects me to you when you’re not here.”
“And if we broke the spell, then what? You’d be gone from me forever,” Master Buford said mournfully.
Morgan felt a bit caught off guard. Plus, the adrenaline from the concert had crashed, leaving him tired and blurry headed. “Sir, what inspired this? I am not leaving. I couldn’t wait to get back here and put the collar back on. Rob mentioned, in the car, why I kept rubbing my neck.”
“That…pleases me, a great deal actually. But I don’t understand why a boy of your age would choose this life over his friends.”

Morgan suppressed a yawn and took a big sip of tea. “I can have both, in proper doses. I like winning your attention and approval. The discipline and patience I’ve learned here has helped me so much in life. You’ve taught me how to respect other men, older men, and it’s improved my relationships with my teachers, bosses, even my father.”
Master Buford eyed Morgan over his cup. “Really? I did all of that?”
“Yes,” Morgan insisted, wondering if he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming this. “And you have more to teach me, I just know it.”

Master Buford was quiet. He then yawned so hard his eyes watered. “You flatter this old man. I think it’s time for bed.”
“You’re not o- …Yes sir,” Morgan replied, quickly drinking the rest of his tea. “I’m exhausted. I need a shower too.”
“Take one in the morning after I’ve fucked you.”
“Mnn yes Sir.”
Buford stood up, holding his boy’s collar. Morgan fixed his eyes on it as his Master walked toward him, polishing it on the hem of his bathrobe sleeve. He abated behind Morgan and strapped the collar around his boy’s thick neck. Morgan exhaled in relief. “I missed this so much.”
Buford cupped Morgan’s chin, then ran his hand down his boy’s neck, over the collar.
“Yes. It belongs here. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Good boy. Come on, it’s bed time. You can tell me more about the concert tomorrow and what reward you want to work toward next.”

Morgan nodded. He rinsed the empty pot and cups, carefully handling his Master’s mug with two hands until it was safe in the drainage rack. He then dried his hands on a towel. He detoured to the entryway to pick up his damp shirt bundle, then followed his Master upstairs, turning off the lights as he went. Porridge trailed behind, and the family of three went to bed.

_________________________________
Text is fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I had gone to the dungeon as a last resort. Years of psychological damage from childhood and poor self esteem had left me fragmented and hollow, and therapy could not touch it. I wanted release. I wanted to break through. I wanted to crumple and die and be reborn on the other side.

I was terrified when they tied me to the A frame with ropes and cuffs and chains, spread eagle and naked for a handful of naked and leather-clad spectators. I wanted to use the safe word. It was on the tip of my tongue. Instead I used “yellow”, over and over and over again, until I was sure the man in the mask would frustrated with me and tell me to get out. He did not.

Instead, he listened. He went slow. He spanked me and whipped me until I screamed and my muscles shuddered after each strike. I saw nothing but stars. Over and over until I lost track of them all. I could hear the others murmuring but could not make out what they were saying. I could hear him heaving from the effort. Then, he said, “Good boy,"  and gave one final strike. At that moment, I felt myself come apart. I ejaculated all over the floor. That gross, ugly, dirty shadow of shame that had clung to me ripped away and left me fresh and new and exposed on the frame.

"Stop” crossed my lips as I burst into tears. It hurt to cry – my face ached, my throat hurt. It felt as if my body had sweated out all its liquid and was pulling water from deep inside of me. The masked man and his assistant immediately untied me. The masked man set aside the whip and brought me to the floor and wrapped me into his strong arms. I did not care about his scent, or that his biceps were damp from sweat. I clung to him like a buoy as if I were deep out in dark waters. He rocked me and shh’ed me. His assistant brought me water; I drank it so fast I got hiccups.

The masked man chuckled and soothed me through my hysteria, cleaning my nose and my eyes with a handkerchief.
“There there…it’s alright. Come down now. That was very intense for your first session. I was impressed by your stamina. Alright, breathe for me. Yes, that’s a good boy now.”
“Am – Am I really – good?” I stammered.
He blinked down at me. ‘Yes. You’re a good boy,“ he said, petting my hair.

At that moment, I fell in love with him. I didn’t know his name. I hadn’t seen his face. But I loved him. I curled up against his broad chest and just breathed. No one had ever called me a ‘good boy’ before. No one had ever told me they’d loved me and meant it. No one had held me like this in my life.

I heard a new voice at that moment and realized it was the voice of his assistant. "Master Beaumont, I must say, I think he’s yours.” I looked up at him through swollen eyes, but I did not understand the expression on his face or the sentence he just said. I didn’t care. I fell asleep.

I woke up in the nurse’s office in the dungeon, under a blanket. My back felt hot, but numb. They must have put something on it. I was on my side. I tried to sit up. The noise of the blanket gave me away and a man came into the room.
“You’re up,” he said, relieved.
When I heard his voice, I realized it was Master Beaumont. His face was like a charcoal sketch, angles and lines with a sweeping jaw and bright curious eyes. My love for him did not weaken.
“No – no don’t sit,” Master Beaumont instructed. “Your bottom is still quite tender.”
I reclined back down to the pillow. “Yes sir.”
“Good boy,” he said, almost on reflex.

I tried not to weep more. I was completely dry. He gave me more water with a straw in it and had me drink. I felt better.
Master Beaumont said down on a chair next to me. “Peter said to me – that he’s never seen a session like that before. When I was rocking you at the end, he also said you the same expression his dog had when he adopted her from the pound.”
I gazde up at him, smitten, although I didn’t know what to say exactly. “Keep me,” I said.
He let out a slow breath. I knew he wanted to say something, but instead he said nothing and just thought.

I live in his house now. I serve his needs. I serve his body. I care not for my clothing or the importance of a career or some resemblance of identity. All I seek is for him to seek me. Even an offer of his warm hand stretching forward to cup my cheek makes me melt away. I love these simple moments, these delicate caresses when he shows me the same love I feel for him. And if he wants to make me the happiest person in the world, he will add “Good boy” for a job well done. It’s all I’ll need for the rest of my life.

I have broken through, and here, on this side, there is peace.

_________________________________
Text is fictional. Still looking for source.

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Jonathan arrived home promptly at 6:45. He came through the front door, took off his shoes, then went to find his Master. Master Kipling was in the bedroom, so there Jonathan kneeled and greeted him. Kipling acknowledged his greeting, then took out his cock to be serviced. Jonathan obediently sucked him until he climaxed, then cleaned his Master’s cock appropriately. Kipling enjoyed every second of it. He then commanded his boy to strip and dress in his proper pup attire for the evening. Jonathan was relieved to hear this, and with a sigh of contentment, removed his pants and restricting underwear. It felt nice to let his chaste cock have some air.

As he was about to unbutton his shirt, Jonathan heard a noise. His Master watched as his pup scrambled up into the chair to see better out the window. He was admiring his pup’s long feet and even toes when his pup began to whimper. Jonathan craned his neck and wiggled his butt, forgetting the tail plug wasn’t in. The whimpers intensified. His Master was about to ask what was going on when he heard it – the distinct jingle of an ice cream truck.

The whimpering grew to a loud, insisting volume and Jonathan looked at his Master with big pleading eyes. It was a warm summer today, just perfect for ice cream. His Master stared at his pup with an eyebrow raised, watching him become more and more agitated as the truck drew closer. Well, his pup had been behaving lately. He couldn’t think of a single reason to deny him his request. The blowjob had been deeply satisfying too.

“Ohhh alright boy,” he said, trying to hide a smile in his beard. “I’ll give you some change.”
Jonathan made a happy bark. “Thank you Sir!”
“Put on some shorts first.”
Jonathan quickly unbuttoned his shirt and tie, removing them and throwing them over the chair. He went to the chest where he kept his pup clothes and found a pair of white shorts he wore when in service. The ice cream truck was nearly on them now. Kipling dug into his pocket and found a five dollar bill. Jonathan kissed the back of his Master’s hand in thanks before bolting out of the bedroom.

He returned a short while later, looking incredibly pleased with himself, flushed from his sprint. He was licking a creamsicle and holding a fudgesicle in his other hand.
“Two…?” His Master asked.
Jonathan nodded. “For you, Sir. I know you like chocolate.”
Kipling blinked at him. “What a considerate puppy, thank you boy.”
Jonathan beamed and handed it over, along with the change. His Master patted the bed and Jonathan hopped up, snuggling up to his owner as they enjoyed their ice cream together.

When their treat break dissolved into a kissing session, his Master was glad he gave in to Jonathan’s begging. Kissing a creamsicle flavored puppy was like having dessert after dessert.

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Text is fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

His balls were soft and squishy like pink marshmallows warm from being close to a fire. His ass felt like silk wrapped over two loaves of leavened bread dough – round and risen, puffy and thick. Every inch of Sacha was as virgin and innocent as fresh snow; even his nipples colored his chest like new rosebuds in spring. Kelley was enamored by his ethereal face and wisps of blond hair. He was best displayed on white shag and feather mattresses, ass up, his chubby cock tucked under him. It was too much to take in his seductive form at once. Kelley found it most erotic to simply caress the boy, gently ghosting his fingers over the most intimate curves and swells until Sacha was thoroughly hot and bothered and his balls were swollen as choux pastries fresh out of the oven. Then, Kelley would coax out the boy’s raspberry red erection from under him and watch it drip white pearls.

At times, sexing Sacha felt like a violation, like he’d crossed the red rope in front of a fine art piece, or like he had been forced to eat a dessert that had been gorgeously plated. Yet, Kelley always gave in to the temptation. He only had to put a hand anywhere near Sacha’s entrance and it would relax and open to receive Kelley. He’d never directly ask or beg for sex, but the soft mews of need from Sacha told Kelley all he needed to know. Once Kelley slid his cock into the velvet walls to the hilt and nestled it in the confines of the boy’s bottom, the lingering guilt slid away. Kelley would lose himself, become detached from time itself and float away as he rocked and thrust. Sacha needed the stimulus, he needed the release; masturbation was too rough a game for a tender boy as him. He could only empty those plump balls through internal stimulation, of which Kelley was now the sole provider.

It had been like this for almost a year.

Kelley found Sacha at a high-end adult club for gay men. While trying to find the bathroom in the VIP section, he heard a boy crying. He wandered into the “employee only” area and found Sacha crying in a ball on the floor after accidentally having caught his fingers in a closing door. Kelly soothed him and iced his fingers, then inquired as to why he was not on stage with the other boys. He was beautiful enough. Through his tears, Sacha explained that he was too nervous around the customers and became emotional when handled too aggressively; the house mistress had banished him to the dressing rooms to clean up after the more successful performers and to sew shut the holes in the boys’ costumes. Yet, she was still deducting money from his non-existent paychecks for room and board.
Kelley had been furious; he paid the debt and whisked Sacha off to his yacht in the Mediterranean as a gift to his beloved slave and houseboy, Jules. Jules had a lot of chores – especially when tending to the villa Kelley shared with his brother and socialite wife. He was often times, lonely, so Kelley had brought him a pet to keep him company during the day. The boys had become best of friends.

Jules was not a delicate flower. He was the son of Slavic farmers, meaty and substantial. He was a voyeur and terribly slutty. He could take a lot of cock and plenty of strikes from a whip, and he was quite proud of his own endurance. Jules liked leather. He liked humiliation; he liked it rough and sudden. Yet, Jules was delighted by his new pet; he enjoyed spoiling him greatly, sneaking him pastries from the kitchen or washing him by hand in the bath. Sacha’s milk tasted like the sea and they would pass the time together when their Master was away. His Master approved of their play, knowing a chastity cage kept Sacha safe from Jules’s rough lust.

As Master Kelley rode Sacha to his orgasm, he was more convinced than ever heaven existed right here on Earth. Forget collecting fine art or vases or whatever rich people did – he had all he could every want right here in his bed for any mood or whim: one angel and one devil.

Under him, Sacha moaned and his bones trembled as his nervous system overloaded from the sensitive tip rubbing against the sheets. He never dreamed intimacy could feel this wonderful. He loved being full of Master Kelley, to know the Master he worshiped and adored was was fully using his body and exploring all its potential. Master Kelley’s cock never hurt him, it only drove him to sweet madness and divine bliss. Sacha pushed back against the man dividing him and gasped as the blunt tip pushed into his gland. He whimpered, close to peaking. Master Kelley often left him horny and needing, choosing to spill his boy’s seed when he deemed it fit. By the time he reached the exact second of penetration, Sacha was often near delirious with heat.

Just as he felt as if he would burn up from the inside out, Master Kelley pushed him over the edge and the fever broke. Sacha wailed like gale winds and his spine and thighs cramped from holding a tight arch. He gasped and a cascade of his seed gushed out onto the bed. Master Kelley grunted, dripping with sweat; he pulled Sacha’s hips up and held him in place as he delivered a few intense thrusts and spilled. Besides them, Jules moaned and continued to masturbate with a large rubber toy.

Master Kelley dropped his weight onto Sacha and flexed his ass, nudging his cock up as far as he could go as the orgasm crested and began to fade. Sounds of three men panting filled the small bedroom on the yacht. Master Kelley remained buried in Sacha for as long as he could, making sure every tiny little drop of seed was out of his pet. When he withdrew, Sacha cried a little at the loss. Master Kelley instantly swept him into his arms and cuddled him, kissing his cherubic cheeks and rubbing circles onto his hip with his palm.

Once the hormones and emotions dispersed, Sacha was left exhausted and drained and wet. The ache of the loss not so great now, and in truth he was quite happy. Jules however, was angry and frustrated, so Master Kelley took a moment to clean his cock, relubed, and then pounded Jules into the mattress until he triggered an anal orgasm and gave his locked boy some relief. Sacha didn’t mind watching; he found it all fascinating how so much cum could come out of such a trapped little penis. Jules, of course, loved it when Sacha watched. He’d thank him by parting his legs and licking him clean under his Master’s approving gaze.

Afterwards, the three would have a rest, talking and giggling. When it got chilly, there would be a hot bath together, with sparkling water and finger foods. Master Kelley would normally pinch himself at least once to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Then he would draw the bath and the yacht named Paradise would sail off in the night toward the Almafi Coast.

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Text is fictional. One source says the name of this owner’s ass is Brandon from Sean Cody but he’s in too many videos to pin down a specific one. Goddamn, that ass though.