I love this. Being a submissive does not mean that you give up your dreams, professional goals, and future. It simply means that you know what you want from life and you have the courage to seek it out.
Just because you are submissive, it doesn’t mean you are weak either. Only the strongest submissive can override societal taboos to give in to their true nature.
Good Boy. You know what to do……..
A well-trained cock-sucker. No gagging, no complaints, just performance and worship.
Happy New Year! Hopefully this pup will have a 6-pack (and a Master) by the end of this one. Here’s some new pics, thanks for following!
How does this pup not have a Master yet? He’s adorable, kinky, and eager! Someone needs to lock up his cock though, I bet he’s quite a sight when he’s needy.
#boysshouldbelocked
My boyfriend says all good submissive boys should be locked boys. He says full balls and perpetual horniness is doing my part so we can focus on the best kind of love and sex. He was right! On days he works all the time though, it frustrates me nearly to tears because I just want to be fucked so badly but I have to wait for him to come home. As a good boy, I know masturbation is forbidden and I could easily get carried away with all my toys so it’s best wait for my boyfriend. He always knows what’s best for me.
Still – I get super impatient when he works late, so sometimes I record video messages to show him what he’s missing. I make sure that nothing gets cut out, that my pussy and my balls are easily on display and tempting. I also make sure to turn around and show him how much I’m swollen in my cage. Even if he’s super focused on work, my boyfriend won’t be able to think of anything else but fucking my eager body after seeing the videos and he’ll just have to come home. Sure, it’s devious, but half of his responsibility in dating a chaste boy is making sure I’m content and milked too.
Still, I get hornier the more I wait though! I wish I could hump the bed like I used before he locked me up. I have to do something to keep my mind busy until I hear the key in the lock. Now I just look at porn and work myself up more until I’m forced to greet him at the door dripping pre-cum. If you ask me, I think he prefers it that way. :3
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Post is fictional – this boy is so cute!
He didn’t know I was awake yet. I hadn’t moved, still curled up with mt sheets and my pillow. From my vantage point, I had an excellent view of my boy dressed in his minimal uniform. He was so lovely all back-lit from the morning light, clutching the muslin curtains as he murmured his daily affirmation under his breath: “I am a good boy. I will serve today with respect and dignity. I will uphold Sir’s rules and orders and maintain his household. He has chosen me for this position and he loves me. I will not disappoint him.” He punctuated his little speech with a slow exhale.
I was smiling like an idiot into my pillow. He really makes me so happy, how seriously he takes this. I couldn’t wait to kiss him good morning.
He had the nerve to ask YOU, his pussyboi princess, to do manual labor, because “one of the cars is really dirty and what does that say about us [he has a point there] and no one can come do it because it’s a holiday weekend and blah blah blah. Excuses.
You figure: if you’re going to have to be on all fours with him for the better part of an hour without getting cock, you might as well make him pay for it. So you wear your favorite slutty jockstrap panties. And just that.
Poor Stud is so distracted. Washing the car’s gonna take way longer than you thought, but you’re enjoying this — making him suffer — too much.
He even tries to rub and finger your pussy a few times while you’re bending over to scrub the tires. You slap his hand, look back coyly, and admonish him, “We have to focus on the work at hand, baby, because the car’s very dirty, and what does that say about us?”
By the time you’re done he’s practically salivating. Without saying a word, you sultrily walk back into the house, paying close attention to the movement of your cheeks, now glistening with sweat.
Three steps into the house and you can hear him running, panting towards you like a wild animal coming after its prey..
Three minutes after and you’re pinned under him, moaning and calling out to the heavens for the way he’s taking you.
Making him wait, and just a little angry, never ever fails to make him ravage you.
Hell hath no fury like a power bottom scorned.
fag at work
A good, obedient boy. Love the mark between his shoulder blades, hope it’s a sign of ownership.
Magnus was a tough motherfucker. He drank Everclear straight, with a little maraschino cherry. He preferred the rest of his liquor on fire. Over half his wardrobe was made from hides of animals or raw denim. He favorite band was Die Toten Hosen and he listened to Rob Zombie to calm down. He was also hairy as a bear, built like a brick shithouse, and prickly as a cactus due to casual shaving habits. For a profession, he worked as a welder. Of course, at the time I didn’t know any of this. I just knew him as the resident loner at the bar.
His hyper-masculine presence repelled even the bikers as they all thought Magnus was trying to over-compensate for insecurities in his sexuality. No one wants to offer their asses to someone with baggage included. The giggly fags and twinks avoided Magnus because of the asshole-destroying bulge in his pants.
When I got up my courage to sit next to him, I was surprised to find him making an origami frog out of receipt paper. He didn’t acknowledge my presence until he finished it and made it ‘hop’ toward me. I couldn’t help but laugh at how clever it was! I compelled it in circles with much amusement.
It was on. I ordered one shot for myself of the rubbing alcohol Magnus was drinking and held up a finger to him to suggest he wait a moment for the explanation. I paid and folded the receipt in a very simple cup. I proudly poured the shot into the paper creation and served it to him. He clapped his hands together with this ear to ear grin, even pausing to take a photo with his phone before throwing the drink back.
I bought a beer and asked my new friend for the pretzels on his far left side. He paused in thought, then asked the bartender for a piece of printer paper. She had to run to the office to get it but she got a tip out of it. Magnus turned his back to me so I couldn’t see what he was doing. After a couple minutes, he swiveled the chair around and presented my pretzels in their own little paper box container. I was completely smitten with him. He was harmless as a teddy bear!
There was no way I could compete with his advanced origami skills though so I pulled out my trump card, which was something I learned from an old lady on an airplane to Florida: the ol’ napkin rose. I even got one of the lesbians sitting next to us to spray it with her travel sized perfume. I presented it to Magnus in an over-exaggerated gesture and he played along, pretending to be overly flattered to receive it while tucking it into the pocket of his leather jacket. Out of another pocket came a pen and he wrote something on the back of the frog and made it hop over to me again. It was his phone number.
I called him the next day. Our first date was at the roller-derby. The second was a football game viewing party at his sister’s house. The third we went to an amusement park; I got a kiss that night. The fourth I suggested we pick up lunch from a BBQ joint and take it to our local botanical garden as they were having a special touring exhibit with live frogs. That was a hit too. By the evening, neither of us wanted to leave so I invited him back to my place. After one glass of wine, the simmering intimacy hit a flash point.
Clothes went flying. Shoes landed yards away. The corked bottle tumbled to the rug under the coffee table and rolled under the TV stand. I barely had time to find a condom and lube before Magnus was on me and smothering me with his full lips. I couldn’t help but reach between his legs to stroke that monster of a cock. Mine was pretty boring at four inches. I had no idea if I could take such the girthy, veiny thing but hell I was going to try for his sake.
We stumbled our way over to the sofa. There, I knelt backwards on the cushion and tugged on his arm suggesting that he fall on top of me. Magnus hesitated for a moment then pinned me to the cushions with his weight. He was wearing a musky, vanilla cologne that drove me into a frenzy. We rocked our slick members against eachother, French kissing furiously, until both of us were horny enough to ride this climax to the top. I handed him the condom left on the arm of the sofa. He accepted it warily, turning it between his fingers, contemplating it. That wasn’t normal. I furrowed my brow. What was wrong? Did I misinterpret the signs?
“Do you not want to do penetration?” I asked, my voice neutral but breathless.
“I do! I do..you’re incredibly hot but…I just…”
I noticed his massive erection was wilting, “Communicate with me Magnus,” I pleaded.
The bear of a man darted his eyes to the floor and then handed me the condom back. The frustration was maddening, working out his non-verbal cues through a fog of arousal. I set it down on the coffee table, watching to see what he’d do.
“No no …shit I’m …” he stammered, cheeks red. He picked up the condom and lube and handed them to me, his eyes pleading with me to understand what he was too shy to say.
I looked at the supplies in my hands, then back up at him. It dawned on me in a flash. He wanted to bottom. Foolish me, I had just assumed that because of his bulky body mass and machismo that he was a top! Guilt flooded in my chest when I saw the hopelessness in his eyes. Poor baby, he expected me to say no. How many times had he been rejected by men caught off guard, more interested in sleeping with a stereotype instead of the man?
Hell, this was awesome! No one ever wanted me to top cause of my cock size. I ripped open the condom in one motion and Magnus’s eyes went wide at my reaction. “Get on your back,” I demanded, shoving him backwards onto the sofa cushions. The power gave me an incredible sexual surge. I aggressively smacked and squeezed his balls, “Get that big, gorgeous erection back up for me, I want to us to cum together.” It hardened immediately under a few good strokes. The expression on his face was one I will always remember – gratitude, mixed with anticipation and bliss.
Since Magnus rarely got what he needed, his ass was virgin tight. It took me close to twenty minutes to stretch him enough to get my sticky head in his hole. God, is that I looked like under my partners? Helpless, horny, a mewling mess of sweat and skin and pre-cum? There was so much blood in my cock at this point that I felt light-headed.
I fucked Magnus in a crescendo fashion, patiently at first so he could adjust then faster and faster. His body just ate me up! I was almost regretting spending so much time on foreplay, there was no way I was going to last long and I never wanted to pull out. The orgasm arrived out of nowhere to knock us off our axises. Magnus bellowed out this guttural roar and ejaculated so hard it hit his ear. I buried my cock inside that perfect ass and filled the condom to capacity. We rode out the rest tangling tongues and exploring with our hands. When we parted, I was alarmed to see streaks of tears down his cheeks.
“…Magnus?” I whispered.
He gave me an exhausted little smile, “It’s been four years since anyone fucked me like that.”
I rocked against his prostate and made him gasp. “Tell me, Magnus, can you fold us another condom out of receipt paper?”
La position est parfaite.
Perfect posture.
Missing a chastity device and a metal band around the balls.
He’s thinking “someone come play with me!”
Oh man this is hitting my Dom feels! I’ll cuddlefuck you to happiness, promise.
This has been upgraded from a like to a reblog just for use of the word “cuddlefuck”.