Tag: not wearing pants

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gayboykink:

What do you mean, this is not a chew toy? *tilts head*

“Pup I just washed that give it back.”
Michael was not amused, but his pup sure was. He clearly thought this was a game, bouncing back on his paws and pulling the jockstrap out of reach.
“Puppy that’s my favorite one. Don’t get it dirty again with your pup slobber! Don’t be bad now. Come on, give it. Giiive.“
Michael snagged it with his fingers, but his pup thought this was a game too and pulled it back. Michael was forced to get it go or else he was going to wear out the elastic.
“Puppy!” he complained. This was what he got for leaving his pup cooped up in the house these last couple days. Between the rain and work, there just hadn’t been a lot of time for walks. His pup ‘woofed’ at him and put his head down with his butt in the air, tail wagging. Michael rubbed his temples. 

Just then, the doorbell rang. His pup was off like a lightning bolt. “Pup, no! Waaaaiit no.” But when he got to the front door, his pup was sitting there in front of the screen door wearing only a T-shirt, his plug, and the mask, with the jockstrap in his mouth. Michael turned bright red. Of course, he had left the front door open cause it was such a nice day out. On the other side of the screen door, the mail carrier was holding his package from Amazon and looking embarrassed. Michael felt his face turn red. He was sure the post office guy knew there was a dildo in that box. 

Michael tugged his pup aside, then gave him a firm swat on the pup accompanied by strict words to sit. Mercifully, the pup obeyed him. Michael received his package and apologized to the mail clerk. Michael shut the main door behind him after he left, and groaned. He was probably going to get black listed from the USPS for this. Michael turned to face his pup. 

His boy still had that jockstrap in his mouth. Michael looked at the box. Well, now he had a weapon. Eventually, Michael was able to negotiate with the pup to trade the jockstrap for the dildo. His pup began chewing on it, and Michael sighed. He put the box in the recycle bin and went to look up pup training in his area. Negotiating with a dog was not a good sign, and Michael knew he was weak against his pup’s cute face. It was time to hire a professional.

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Text is fictional. I <3 gayboykink’s pictures.

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I strolled into the kitchen, bright-eyed and busy-tailed, whistling the latest pop-tune. I always slept well at Cyrus’s house. His guest room mattress was really comfy. He had called me last night and begged me to sleep over. because he’d just had another break up another other hot guy. I didn’t need a second excuse. It was that, or stay and listen to my roommate have sex with her boyfriend. She was a screamer.

“Mornin, Benji.”
“Mooor~ning,” I replied. My eyes lingered on the outline of his cock in his tighty whities. I always thought it was adorable that he still wore them at his age. He needed to get on my level – jock strap undies. My gaze roved up his bare chest to…“Are you eating ice cream for breakfast?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.’
“Cyrus,” I clucked. “You can’t eat ice cream for breakfast.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s unhealthy. It has no nutritional value. It’ll make you pudgy.” I pried it out of his hands. He pouted, and hung up his head while twiddling his fingers in his lap.
“Aww baby,” I cooed.
”"Why did Mark break up with me? I really liked him.“
I put the ice cream back in the fridge. "He wasn’t good for you. I’m sorry he left you sweetheart, but you and I know he would have driven you crazy with his obsessive cleanliness.”
Cyrus thought. “I’m going back to bed and having a pity wank.”
“No you’re not. I’m making you breakfast, then we’re going on a hike.”
He blinked. “Why?”
“Because sulking and masturbation are short-term fixes. You need to get out, get some fresh air. Move on. You won’t feel any better wrapped in soiled-sheets with dairy curdling in your stomach.”
Cyrus screwed up his face and shrugged.

I dug around in his fridge. I pulled out some ham, his last eggs, and some spinach. I found half a box of waffles shoved in the back of the freezer. Cyrus sat there watching me make breakfast. Once in a while I’d hear an occasional sigh. I poured him a glass of iced tea from the fridge, and he sipped it mournfully. table.

When I was all done, I plated his meal and handed it to him with both hand. “Here you go. Scrambled eggs with spinach and ham, plus waffles and syrup. I put Sriracha on your eggs just like how you like it.”

Cyrus stared at the offering. He took it and smelled it. “Wow,  it looks delicious, thanks.” He suddenly sat up straight. “…Jesus.”
“What?” I asked, plating my own food and taking it to the table.
“I just realized something, Benji. I’ve been totally oblivious. Through-out all my break-ups, you’ve been the only constant thing in my life. You’ve been my best friend since day one of college, and even then you’ve always taken
care of me, just like you’re doing now. Mark said I was ‘distracted’,
and I didn’t know what that meant, but now I get it. I was distracted
because of you. Even when I’m dating other guys, I’m thinking of you. I
want you to come with me, to go out with me… At clubs or bars, I look for you,
hoping you’ll show up. I did it last night too!”
“Cyrus, don’t tease me.” My heart began to flutter. 

“You know, out
of all my boyfriends, not a single one of them made me breakfast like
this. Jake made me eggs once, but they were terrible, and they didn’t
have Sriracha. I’m sitting here whining and pouting, while you made me a big beautiful breakfast
with your butt half-hanging out of your underwear, like you’re god’s
gift to twinks, and Jesus, I never told you what a cute butt you have.”
I bit my lip. I could feel it quivering. "Cyrus, what are you saying?.”

“What I’m saying is…” Cyrus hopped off the counter, then set his plate and glass down on the table. He then walked over and put his hands on my shoulders.
“I’ve had this good thing this entire time, I was just too dumb to realize it. We should have been a couple a long time ago, Benji. Would you go out with me?”
I gave him my most radiant smile through wet eyes. “Absolutely yes. I never thought you
would ask me, and I would have to settle for unrequited love forever.”
“I’m
so sorry Benji,” Cyrus said, pulling me into his arms. “I’ve been ignoring
you, taking advantage of you. I’ve been such a jerk. And a dense one at
that.”
I wrapped my arms around his chest and buried my face in the crook of his neck. “No, it’s alright, Cyrus. Just because we’re both gay, doesn’t mean
that you should automatically fall for me, just because I did for you. I
just hoped some man would make you happy one day. It was killing me though,
watching them break your heart.”
“Christ, I’m sorry, Benji.”

We held each-other for a while, rocking back and forth. I was crying a little. Eventually, Cyrus dried my eyes with his thumb, then he lifted his head and kissed me. My knees went weak, just as I always hoped they would.
Cyrus tasted me again and then said, “Why don’t we go eat our food before it gets cold? And um, when we go on our hike together, you think we could call it a first date?”
“I’d like that, Cryus.”
“Me too.”

He squeezed my hand. I squeezed back. We sat down at the kitchen table together and began our future together. It was long over-due.

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Text is fictional. I wrote this entire story and then I accidentally lost it, so I had to rewrite in a hurry. Sucks. Lemme know if you find typos.

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Joseph came home from his job as a broker to find discipline needing to be issued. Blake had greeted him kneeling at the door, offering up the broken pieces of a nice Pyrex ceramic baking dish. Joseph hated to see the shame on his face. He gave Blake a kiss hello, then instructed him to remove his pants and bend over his knee as he sat down on the sofa. Blake was older than Joseph, but he absolutely worshiped Joseph as the more alpha male of the household. He did exactly as he told, eager to prove he was strong enough to handle it. Blake had been working on hard on being a stoic boy during spankings. He was usually so embarrassed by how silly he sounded whining and squeaking with every swat, kicking his legs like a kid learning how to swim.

Blake put one hand behind his back as a symbol of submission, but Joseph interpreted it another way. He grasped his boy’s hand. Blake was surprised to feel his Master’s touch, but seized it up with a big squeeze back. Even though Blake couldn’t see it, Joseph smiled.

“Twenty,” Joseph said gently. He felt his boy sigh under him.
“I’ll take them.”
“I know.” Joseph raised an open hand and delivered twenty, evenly spaced and relentless swats to his boy’s soft rump. What a nice way to unwind from work.

By 10, Blake was gripping Joseph’s hand hard; by 12 he was tensing and quivering with every swat, punctuated by tiny yelps. By 17, he was sucking air through his teeth and he was kicking a little. By 20, he was staring at the floor through teary eyes and trying so hard to fight the urge to squirm away.

“There we go,” Joseph said, “All done. You took your punishment well, boy.” He pulled Blake up. “Your bottom is a nice shade of red. Looks fitting on you.”
Blake sniffled and raised his arms, Joseph pulled his boy towards him, let him wrap those arms around his neck. It turned Joseph on immensely feeling that hot skin pressed upon his thighs through the thin fabric of his slacks. Now wasn’t the time for sex though. Joseph embraced his boy and rocked him, nuzzling him, until most of the discomfort had ebbed away.

“I’m sorry I broke your baking dish,” Blake said, his eyelashes still damp.
Joseph kissed him on the lips. “It’s alright. It was an accident, and it’s replaceable.”
Blake look relieved. “I’ll be more careful in the future. I was rushing to put the dishes away when they were still a bit wet.”
“Haste makes waste.” Joseph said.
Blake thought about it, then nodded, impressed by Joseph’s wisdom. “That’s a good lesson Sir. If…if I’m forgiven, may I take off your shoes, kiss your feet perhaps?”
Joseph raised an eyebrow. “How about you bring me my cotton pants and a loose T-shirt, and you can undress all of me and kiss my feet?”

Blake’s face lit up. “I’d love to Sir. Permission to fetch those items?”
“Permission given.”
Joseph watched him bounce off, admiring his glowing ass. He was really such a good boy. He wondered how he got so lucky as to find him. Joseph might be an underling at the office, but at home he lived like a King. He imagined some real Kings would probably be jealous.

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Text is fictional.

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He sighed, “But Daddy-”
“The only ‘but’ I want to see is the one facing me. Go sit in the corner for your time-out, or I will double it.”
He pouted but shuffled over on his knees and did it anyway. I watch his cock jiggle between his legs as he lowered himself to the floor. Such a big dick on that boy!
I cleared my throat. “Tell me what you’re being punished for.”
“For staying up late, falling asleep with the TV on, and not turning on the dishwasher.”
“Yes. You broke your bed time curfew, and your TV curfew, and we had no clean dishes for breakfast this morning, so you are going to sit there for an hour and think about how you can improve for next time. …Don’t pout at me, it won’t work.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more responsible Daddy.”
“Good. You will learn. 32 is too old to not have any discipline. You will be under my supervision until you are at least 35.
He sighed again. "I appreciate your investment in me, Daddy. Still sucks sitting in time out though.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer a spanking?”
“No!”
I gave him a slightly evil-sounding chuckle. I loved spanking him, because he absolutely hated being treated like a child. I got a thrill out of him flailing helplessly, feeling his cock harden and leak against my leg as his cheeks turned redder and redder. I saved that for big punishments though, as they were very effective. “That’s what I thought. I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

“…Am I still going to be allowed to play paint ball tomorrow with the guys?”
“Maybe. If you’re well-behaved today and give proper service to my cock.”
“I’ll be good I promise! I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue on your balls.”
You know exactly how to make me go weak, I thought. “Actions are louder than words, boy. You can show me later. Now you sit there, and think about why I put you there.”
“Yes Daddy.” He hung his head.
“ Good boy. I’m proud of you for understanding that I know what’s best for you.”

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Text is fictional.

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“Look what I made,” Avery said again, bursting with pride. “I made these.”
“They’re beautiful. Made with love,” Graham confirmed, wrapping his arms around his partner.
“They are.” Avery took deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh-baked pies. “You think they’re beautiful? They’re kinda messy. The filling spilled out everywhere.”
Graham nuzzled their noses together and placed a chaste kiss to Avery’s lips. “I think they will still taste delicious.”
“The batter was plenty good.”
Graham chuffed through his nose. “That it was.”

Avery set the tray down on the counter, unable to tear his eyes off the final product. He made these! He couldn’t remember the last time felt pride in his work. “I made these,” he said again. “I can bake. I’m going to be a good houseboy.”
“Yes. See, it’s not so hard. You just follow the instructions, take your time, make sure you have good ingredients.”
Avery tucked his chin; his gaze drifted to the floor. “It sounds simple. Dan used to tell me I screwed up every. single. time. The recipes were confusing, the ingredients cheap. He liked to pinch pennies. He would eat one, then throw it into the sink, then make me bend over and he’d cane me.”

Graham embraced Avery even tighter, hoping a reassuring hug from behind would chase away bad memories. He was there at Avery’s physical, so they’d have evidence to process a case of abuse against Dan. Some of those cane stripes were now scars. Avery’s beautiful butt had been faintly marked forever. Graham hated that. It made him mad as hell, but Graham told himself if he thought of Dan, Dan would win. He had to let Avery’s past go if he was to have a future with Avery. Still, it was going to be difficult.

“Graham?” Avery asked softly. “You’re breathing hard. Are you ok? Did – did I do something?”
Graham opened his eyes. “No. Not at all. I was just …stewing. I am still mad at myself for letting you go the first time, when you were cleaning for me part time. I was so stupid, letting you go because I was scared how fast I was falling for you. And Dan happened. You shouldn’t have been punished for me.”
Avery half-turned so he could look at Graham over his shoulder. “Is that what you think happened?”
Graham nodded miserably.
“No,” the slimmer man insisted, his voice firm. “Absence makes the heart fonder. It was only because I moved out that you were able to see clearly how much you love me.”
“I do,” Graham groaned.
“You were able to see what you really wanted. You chased after me so hard to get me back. What happened with Dan was just an ugly fact of life. You were there for me after, and that’s what I wanted. You have atoned.”
"Wow,” Graham breathed.
Avery glanced again at the pretty little pies. “Can I put these on the cooling rack now?” he asked, excited.
“Yes. Go on. Use the spatula. Gentle now.” Graham watched Avery work, and he began to rock him. “I can’t believe you still let me love you.”

“I am really happy you love me. I just want to be a good houseboy. You sent me away. Dan hurt me. I felt like such a failure. I am on cloud nine that you gave me a second chance and are teaching me how to be a great houseboy.” Avery swallowed hard and sniffled.
“Aww, there, there. It’s ok.” Graham kissed his neck and his ear-lobe. “You’re safe now, and you’re mine.”
“I love you Graham.”
“I love you more Avery.”

Avery slid off the oven-mitts, then turned around into Graham’s embrace. They kissed passionately, Avery losing himself in the soft yet firm texture of Graham’s lips. He tasted a bit like blueberries, from when they had licked the falling off each-other’s fingers earlier. After a long tender moment, the kisses trailed off to little nips here and there. They both had to catch their breath. Avery felt something hard poking against his hip.
“I had no idea baking could be so …so sexy,” Avery gasped.
“Is it really the baking?” Graham joked.“
"Well…” Avery puckered his lips in thought. “I think it’s the idea that I’m doing something for my man that he likes. It’s sexy to know he likes me doing it for him. Can happiness be sexy?”
“Oh absolutely,” Graham replied instantly. “I am turned on right now by the sign of your butt in your apron, yes, but I think more than that, it’s how much you are glowing with pride at your accomplishment.”
“I made those,” Avery repeated, gesturing to the pies. “…Wait, what if they don’t taste good?”

Graham traced Avery’s lower lip with his thumb. “There, there, don’t fret. How about we have a nice afternoon tea session? Baked goods, tea, the nice china. I um, bought that tea you like. Remember – the floral kind from France?”
The young man gasped. “You remembered that?”
“Of course! I hadn’t found anyone else that likes that stuff. I bought a big ol’ thing of it.”

Avery bounced on this toes. “Can you um, watch me to make sure I make the tea properly? I don’t want to burn it. I don’t know which forks to use at tea either…”
Graham smiled. “Of course. I will teach you everything you will need to know to be the perfect houseboy.”
”Your perfect houseboy.”
”My perfect houseboy. Mmnn not just that. My Avery.”
Avery felt a lump in his throat form. “Oh, Graham~ I could listen to you say that forever.”
“You better get used to it, love, because I plan to.”

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Text is fictional. The source is an utterly fantastic blog called Piefolk, in where gay guys get together on “SunDATES” and bake. The relevant post is here. This post isn’t intended to assume their personalities. The guys in the photo I think had an intimate moment, but it didn’t work out as boyfriends, according to the blogpost. The photography was done by Tri Vo Studios.

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obedienceisgolden:

I try to be Daddy’s sexy little wife as much as I can. Making him happy and horny is what I live for.

I hear his soft footfalls as he enters the kitchen. “Hello Jackson,” I say, busy prepping supper.
“God, I could listen to you say my name forever,” he admits. “I love your accent.”
“Jack-son?” I repeat.
“Yeah,” he exhales, like that “You’re cooking nude again. In that pristine white apron…” Jackson presses himself up behind me and his palm slides over my ass. “My Russian beauty.”

He’s necking me now, so I lean back against him and offer my lips. He dips his head and our mouths lock. It’s sweet, tender kisses that make my knees weak. For a moment I forget supper and just hope he wants to take it to the bedroom. I reach back and grab his thigh. I feel his package bum against me.
“Horny?” I purr.
“I don’t even have a word for it. I just am totally obsessed with you. Your thick body, those muscles in your arms. Your butt is – god, I just love your butt. I love your python thighs, your uncut cock, and your big low set of balls…” he runs his hands over me, caressing me as if exploring me for the first time. The hand drifts under my apron and cups me between the legs. I inhale sharply.
“You know what I think it is?”
“Hm?” I ask, distracted, as I stir the pot.
“I think it’s me thinking about what life be like if I hadn’t met you.”
“You?!” I exclaim. “What about me? I’d still be in that tiny little town in Russia, drinking myself to death like my papa did.”
“But you aren’t there,” Jackson says, reassuring me. “You’re here. In Canada. Safe, with me, in my home. I just …jesus, Oskar, I just never imagined I’d be this happy. I sometimes wonder if it’s all a dream.”
“Isn’t that what you imagined when you put up the ad?”
“I was scared to dream I’d be this happy. Honestly, I imagined I’d be taken advantage of for sex and money and abandoned once my new partner got here.”
“But you got me.”
“I almost didn’t,” he corrects, still touching me. It’s making me really hot and bothered. I almost wish I wasn’t so deep into dinner or I would just throw himself at him.
“The agency matched you with that guy, Carlos. He was such a creep. He just wanted a sex toy.”
“Honey, I know, I was there,” I chuckle, not really wanting to think about that right now. Jackson was lost in his thoughts though.
“I was wait listed for you, on this off-chance…I just knew, you were the one. When I got the news he hurt you, oh my god, I almost went to his house and beat the shit out of him!” Jackson growls in my ear, his fingers digging a little deeper into me.
“Honey,” I plead again. “Please…that wasn’t a good time for me. Let’s not talk about Carlos. Put your hand on my cock again.”
“Mmm,” Jackson said, perking up. He wormed his way around to my front again and stroked me under the apron. I sigh. “Did I mention I love that you’re uncut?”
I blush as he tugs on my foreskin. “No.”
“Well I do. Dammit Oskar…I can still remember exactly how I felt, the moment you stepped off the plane at the airport. We had only met during the mixer in Russia the agency set up, but I recognized you immediately.”
I’m quiet for a moment. I move to drain the raviolis in the sink and Jackson trails me, still petting me. It is getting immensely difficult to think. My head is clouded with hormones and lust. I want my man to wrap me in his arms, kissing away any thoughts of the violence I experienced with Carlos. Sometimes I think about damn lucky I am, and I feel nearly sick with relief. The world rarely works out so perfectly. We were two men, seeking love, one looking for escape, the other looking for a taste of the years his diplomatic father stationed them in Moscow. The first time I made Jackson blinchiki – or as they call them here, blintzes – he actually cried.

“Honey?” I moan, my cock now achingly hard. The ravioli are cooling in the strainer.
“Yeah?” he says, distracted.
I say to him, exasperated, “Can we please go have a fuck before dinner? I am so fucking horny!”
Jackson laughs.
I feel a bit wounded. “Did I say something wrong? Is it my English? Did I not say it right?”
“No, I’m sorry love, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing with bliss. Just when I think my life is more perfect, you say the best damn things and remind me that I still have many more amazing years with you.”
“Then let’s get living them,” I insist. I turn around and pull Jackson against me. I push my crotch against his hip. Jackson grabs my ass hard until I shout, then he reaches back and unties my apron. I pull it over my head and toss it on the counter. Our lips meet and collide, desperately drawn here and to. I flick my tongue at him, and it makes Jackson ravenous. Before I know it, he’s reaching for the olive oil and I got my legs around his waist. He pushes me up onto the counter, hisses at me to “hold on”. I grab onto the cabinet. My dick is throbbing and it’s starting to ache.
“Jackson hurry!” I whimper.
He fumbles with the olive oil. One hand is still slippery when he grabs my thighs and pushes into me. I bellow out a moan as he fills me in one push. I stroke myself while he devours my mouth again. Jackson notices me pleasuring myself and pulls away a little to watch. “Yeah, that’s it Oskar, good boy” He snaps his hips like a whip, thrusting his fat cock up inside of me. I push my thighs against him. “Yes! Yes!” I cry, momentarily lost in the satisfaction of getting what I need.

Jackson is slipping on the olive oil on the floor, so he leans against me and uses his hips to fuck me. I arch my back, ignoring the counter digging into my butt.
“More! Harder!” I love these English sex words he taught me. I feel naughty when I use them. Luckily, I use the right ones and Jackson ruts until his chest is heaving with effort. Suddenly, his glans hits my prostate in just the right way and we explode together. I scream and Jackson digs his teeth into my shoulder. I am jerking myself furiously. Cum splatters up on my stomach and coats where we’re joined. I groan as I feel Jackson’s load flood in me.

Our foreheads touch as he catch our breath.
“I needed that,” I say, matter of factly.
“That was a great idea,” Jackson agrees, nibbling my jaw. Our tongues duel for a moment before he slides out. I whimper at the emptiness behind. “Christ look at this mess,” he chuckles, setting me down. “Cum and oil everywhere.”
I grin, flustered and happy. “But that is a good problem to have. You need to change your pants too.”
“What?” Jackson glances down and sees our cum has soaked the front of his jeans. “Oh damn.”
“Why don’t we eat dinner naked in the bathtub?” I offer.
“Dinner, in the bathtub?”
“Well, we won’t have to worry about getting tomato sauce on our clothes.”
“Such a smart husband,” he coos. He kisses me again. I wish he would stop that, because I want more when he does. I had a feeling we weren’t going to be getting any cleaner in that bath, and turns out, I was right. We made an even bigger mess too.

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Text is fictional. Tommy Defendi and Alex Adams. This is from Man Royale. Couldn’t find the video on their website, but it’s called Cookin’ By The Book. Here’s stills. Here’s the video bootlegged and uploaded.

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“Why do YOU get a bigger, cooler wooden sword?”
“Because I’m a bottom. I need to protect myself from lustful men,” Bobby says, swinging it around.
“But I’m the top! I’m in charge here!”
“Your sword is in your pants. That’s why you get the skinny one, cause it looks like you’re dick”
“My dick isn’t skinny! It’s bigger than yours! Da~~~dddy~~ why does he get a big sword?”

Sigh. “…We are never going to get this Christmas play together in time. You are both two old for time-outs. Bobby, stop teasing Max. Max, stop whining. You get the wooden sword in the next act.”
“Yes Daddy,” they said simultaneously.

“Alright, now let’s try this again from the top. And action! Good.. Good. Move over there good. Wait – Max stop trying to take the sword away from him! Arg, cut!”

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Text is fictional. Edit – just noticed the other guy actually does have a sword so I had to rewrite it…

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“See? Look at this huge boner I got. Are you gonna come over now and fix it or what? And while you’re here, can you clean my apartment? I’m fucking hopeless without you.”
“…Yeah you are. Your roommates must be out for the day.”
“Yeah they’re gone for the weekend, as is my girlfriend. No one will know. I’ll sneak you in.”
I stare at my phone. I don’t get it. He’s so in denial he’s not even acknowledging the closet exists. As long as he gets his blowjobs, he doesn’t see it as cheating or whatever. I sigh. I already know I’m going over there. He has a perfect cock and a damn amazing body. What do I get out of it? Frustrating him. Making him horny and needy, making him think about sex, and dangling my hot ass right in front him. He’s gonna snap one of these days, jump my bones, and fuck my brains out. Once he does, he’ll be addicted and I’ll be able to manipulate him however I want.
“Alright, give me a minute to clean up and I’ll come over.”
“Yr amazing.”
Yeah yeah. I set down my phone and dig through my underwear drawer for my best pair of underwear. I’m going to need something sexy to clean in. He’s gonna pay dearly if he thinks he can dismiss me as just a hot mouth. I want him to be unable to keep his eyes off of me. I want to fill his dreams with naked boys and make him wake up confused with sticky sheets. I won’t be happy until I’ve made him break up with his girlfriend. Sometimes I dream about locking up his cock and making him beg me for release. That seems only fitting. It would be a good way to correct his entitled behavior. I hum to myself as I slide on my best pair of Aussiebums. It’s gonna be a fun afternoon.

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Text is fictional.

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captionstojerkby:

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

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

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