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gayboykink:

The tender moments of submission.

Andrew gazes fondly over his prize, stroking the boy’s chestnut hair. Oliver’s not yet awake, as the drugs haven’t worn off. Andrew knows when Oliver comes to, he might be scared and flail so he keeps the ropes on for the boy’s own safety. Andrew knows once Oliver sees his face, everything will be alright. He smiles, satisfied. The deep hit to his bank account was worth it. Every penny as valuable as gold to him. He knew he was taking a huge risk hiring that shady man to kidnap his boy and steal him away, but Andrew could not bear another day knowing his boy was out of his grasp.

They had been lovers once, but when they were in college. But Oliver’s father had crippling gambling debts, and jealous of his beautiful face, sold his own son to pay off his loansharks. Andrew could not afford the cost, and could only watch helplessly as his lover was ripped from his arms and taken away. The private investigator he hired tracked Oliver to a slave work farm in upstate New York

Andrew saved for two years to acquire enough money to afford the kidnapper. It was only after Andrew received a small inheritance after the death of a grandparent was he able to hire the man. He was nearly broke now, but he would live in a barn with Oliver if he had to. The debt had been paid by the slavetraders. Andrew made a silent promise to Oliver that he would always be free, and he would always be safe. He would always be protected, and loved, because Oliver had always been – and would forever be – his beloved boy. No one would take what belonged to him ever again.

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Text is fictional.

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Johnny pauses in reflection before the next client arrives. He’s still sore from morning yoga, and his first client really liked to spank him while riding him. Three more to go. Today’s busy. Johnny knows he’s gonna have to use the Viagra later. He doesn’t really want to, but his clients like when he’s horny. Johnny suspects it makes them feel less dirty, less perverted, to be fucking a boy who is turned on. He’s sure that all his clients believe him to be a horny slut that badly needs to be fucked by several guys in order to feel sane. He also has an inkling it goes hand in hand with his “bad boy” image, with the tattoos and piercings and cocky attitude. Johnny still loves it when a man stops dead in their tracks when he drops the towel. He designed his body to be a piece of art. Hell, Johnny advertised his services by “inviting” potential buyers to an “interactive art exhibit” on m4m backpages. His inbox is never empty.

Johnny checks his bank account balance on his phone. He almost has enough. Being so close to his goal has been making him kind of crazy. He’d been selling himself for over a year now for quick money, watching in frustration as his balance went up and down with rent and bills. So close. Johnny drifts off for a moment, fantasizing about the moment when he breaks the news to his best friend Saul that he can now afford reconstructive surgery to fix his burned face and hands. Insurance didn’t cover cosmetic procedures, and university bills drained Saul dry. Johnny missed going out with his friend, who didn’t leave the house except to go to class. He lived off disability, like a hermit. Johnny felt so helpless after his friend was injured in that apartment fire, so angry at his neighbor for smoking next to an oxygen tank. This was his way of righting a wrong.

Maybe it was also something else, for Johnny had a crush on Saul since he was 16. He has a feeling Saul wouldn’t want him, not after he’d whored himself out like this, but for Johnny it would be enough just to make Saul smile. He’s a selfless boy. Well, not entirely. After he got Saul taken care of, Johnny plans to get right back to whoring. He wants to take a trip to Bali and hit the waves. Maybe Saul would come with him. Yeah, that’d be great.

A knock on the door brings Johnny back to present. He grabs a bathrobe off the chair. “Coming~” he calls as he rises off the bed. One more client, one step closer. Hey, this one is hot at least.

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Text is fictional. This is Stephen James.

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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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“Alright, cat. Talk.”
“Mraow.”
“Don’t be coy with me. Where is it.”
“Mraaaoow.”
“I know you know where it is. It was sitting right here. My ring, I wear it all the time. You know, on the hand I pet you with? Where is it.”
“Mraow.”
“What did you do with it? What do you want? Money? Catnip? Power? Well, you won’t get a lick of it without my ring back!” Ethan insists.
Mrs. Fluffington licks hers paws.
“Don’t you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!”

I watch from the recess of the hallway, smothering my giggles behind one hand while filming the scene with my phone in the other. Ethan smacks the table with his palm. “Where is it! Talk damn you, or I will make you talk.”
The cat jerks her head up at the noise, looks at Ethan, then stands up and headbutts him. Ethan sighs and begins to scritch her behind the ears. “Yeah, yeah you like that huh? Feels good huh? Right in that spot. Weellllllll now you won’t get anymore until you tell me where the ring is!”
“Mraaaaow.”
Ethan growls in frustration as Mrs. Fluffington rolls to her side to show off her belly. He narrows his eyes
“They taught you well in cute school. You won’t break easily. Crafty cat. Wait…did you eat it? Did you eat my ring?”
“Mew.”

I know I should really just step in and give Ethan the ring back, but this is far too entertaining. I had taken the ring to measure so I would know what size band to get for his engagement ring. It’s going to be the big surprise for Christmas. Thing was though, Ethan never takes his father’s high school ring off, which made it difficult to measure. When I saw that Ethan had left the ring on the table before he went outside to clean out the gutters after last night’s storm, I made my move. I hadn’t expected him to come back in so soon though, and now I had inadvertently framed my cat.

“Purring are we? That’s a bold move, Mrs. Fluffington. If that even is your real name. You aren’t even married. I know this, I have your file. Talk, kitty, it’s for the best. If you talk, I won’t have to take you into the medical room. Mwuahah. Is that what you want? You have ten seconds to talk. Your adorableness won’t save you this time.” Ethan said in a cartoon-villain sort-of-voice.

I can’t contain myself and my laughter catches his attention.
Ethan swivels his head around until he spots me. “How long have you been standing there?” he asks, sheepish.
“Long enough,” I reply with a smile, tucking my phone into my pocket. “You’re good at that, I think she was about to crack.”

Ethan picks up the cat and snuggles her like a baby. “I seriously think she ate my ring though.”
I make a show of sauntering into the living room holding up his ring in one hand. “I have your ring. I took it to polish it. She was sniffing at it, didn’t want her to eat it or knock it on the floor.”
Ethan’s face melts in relief. “Thank god. Scared me there. I always get so nervous when I take it off.”
“Sorry love.” I kiss his cheek. “I didn’t expect you to come back in so soon. Are you done already?”
“Nah, I had to use the bathroom.”
“Aah. Do you forgive me?”
“I think I can,” Ethan says with a smile, kissing me on the lips. I show him the ring I polished. It only looks marginally shinier.

“Man, I’d go insane if I lost it. I still feel the hole he left behind.”
I cup his bearded cheek. “Your dad would be so proud of you, all your accomplishments. Your weight loss. He’d be pleased that you grew up into such a handsome man.”
Ethan lets the cat down so he can pluck the ring from me and turn it in his fingers. “I would hope so. I often wonder how he would feel if he knew I was in a relationship with a man.”
“Hm. I think he would be a bit freaked out at first, maybe a bit hostile, but once he got to realize you were the same son, I think he’d be ok with it. Besides, I like football, I think we would have bonded.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Your mom likes me doesn’t she?.”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah she does. Joel?”
“Mm?”
“You know…” he slides the class ring on and off his finger, distractedly. “I wouldn’t mind wearing your ring next to this one day.”

I smile, my heart aching for how much I love this man. He’s making it very hard to keep my secret, well, a secret. I almost crack and propose right there and then. I take his hands into my own.
“I think we are moving in that direction for sure, Ethan,” I say slowly. “That’s something we can absolutely discuss more after Christmas, when we can look at our budget and see just how much we spent spoiling your nieces.”
He makes an exaggerated wince. “Yeah I think we bought the whole toy store…”
I chuckle, and nuzzle him. Ethan returns my affection and kisses me. I volley it back. He smells kinda nice, all outdoors-y. One kiss turns into two, two into four, four into… well.

After some time of standing there, with our hands roving over each-other’s torso’s, Ethan breaks the connection.
He sounds breathy. “Hey uh…you know, I really need to go finish cleaning the gutters before it rains again tonight…”
“…but?” I pry.
“But I was thinking, I would much rather have sex with you right now,” he admits, looking sheepish.
I suppress a groan. I love it when Ethan announces his intentions so bluntly like that. It didn’t use to be this way. His history was mostly with women, and it took him a long time to come around to his lust for me.
“Jesus Ethan,” I sigh. “I would love that. We’ll just do a quick one, alright? So you can get back to those all important gutters.”
“Juuust a quick one,” he agrees.
“Maow.”
We both look down at the black and white fuzzball weaving around our legs.
“And that means keeping the door closed so you can’t get in.”
“Man it’s so weird the way she likes to watch us,” Ethan says. I laugh, and then I take his hand and escort him upstairs.

I can barely wait for Christmas. He’s going to be so surprised.

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Text is fictional. Sequel is here!

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We nuzzle, intoxicated by the warmth of eachother’s cheeks. We kiss. We’re on a public street, a little sidewalk cafe, but it feels like we’re the only ones in Paris, like the world revolves around us. My fingers are so intertwined with his own that I cannot even pull my hand away to pick up my glass. So I keep grasping, and kiss him again.

He’s wearing this cologne – just a dab – made of flowers grown specifically in France. He’s so French, so painfully French, and so fashionable in turquoise and leather slippers. I feel worthless and uninteresting in a grey suit, another American businessman bumbling through Paris trying to make a name for himself. I know I only have value to my company because no one else wanted to get on that plane for this three week assignment.

Yet, I am not angry that I got pushed into this trip. It’s been the best three weeks of my life. My head is still full of images and scenes from yesterday when I spent the night.

“Please don’t go back,” he begs, his voice full of so much hope and pain. I was so shocked that he would say those words to me. What does a Parisian boy need with an American lover? Aren’t we on a lower rung, in the ladder of accomplishment? Isn’t it usually the other way around, the boring American pining for a romantic European heartthrob? We kissed more, our ice melting in our glasses.
When I dodn’t answer, his voice grows tight with need. “Please…stay here. I cannot put you on that plane to Washington DC. I cannot, now that I know you exist.”
“Jean Luc…” I breath, weakened by his accent which was heavy during his confession. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” he whimpers, looking oh-so vulnerable. “You would crash with me. We’ll get some place bigger. Some place with a better view. Your French is getting better every day. You said your company wants to extend your visit right? Offering you a job here right? For gods sake, please, take it, or my heart is going to break.”

I think for a moment about what this all means. It is not a deep, philosophical event. I had already weighed these options in the shower this morning, because I suspected I would reach that state of lunacy by lunch. I had been right. It would mean packing everything up in my apartment and sending it overseas. It meant not seeing my family as often, but they would likely visit. It meant starting over. New cafes. New barber. New doctor, new optometrist. It meant breakfasts with fresh pastries and tiny coffees. It meant learning all the dirty French words first. It meant holidays around Europe and trips to the country-side where we would spend most of our time screwing in lavender fields, no doubt. It meant a life with Jean-Luc. I had known him for three weeks. He rescued me after I got lost after taking the wrong train, and he’d been by my side ever sense.

Oui,” I say with a smile. “Yes.”
Jean-Luc gasps. “You really mean it?”
“Well, I have to talk to my office and tell them I accept their offer to extend my temporary assignment into a permanent post. Then, there’s visa issues to work out.”
He kisses me hard and squeezes my hand so hard I fear it might break. “We’ll work them out!”
“Jean Luc, just remember – I’ll have to go back to DC to pack. I have to give 30 days at my apartment. What if you fall out of love with me then? What if, after a week of not having me here, that you come back to reality and our chemistry is gone?”
“That will not happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I am going to come back to DC with you.”
Now it is my turn to gasp. “Can you?”
“I have time off work, and I can telecommute for a bit. I want to see your American life before I steal you away.”
I gawk at him, my heart throbbing. It is true, what people say about the French being romantics.
“Yes,” I repeat. “A million times, yes.”

I am a lunatic. Maybe that is the American way, to confuse passion with irrationality. Maybe so, but right now, I am so happy I can’t even speak for fear of crying. Because it is the right answer. I am moving to Paris. I will be his.

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Text is fictional. From photographer Braden Summers’ All Love is Equal Project.

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I wake up quite suddenly to screaming. I flail in my bed, gasping, suddenly awake and confused. My heart is jackhammering from the surprise. The screaming deteriorates to raw shouts, and the sheets are moving around me like turbulent waters. The shouting turns into words, “Neil! Neil! No don’t go! Neil! NEIL! Wait! Don’t go!” The fog clears from my head as I awaken, although my pulse will not calm. It’s my boyfriend. He’s waking from a nightmare.

“Grady! Grady! Grady, wake up!” I bark at him. I reach over and grab his flailing wrists, trying to calm him. “Grady, wake up!”
He’s still fighting me, begging for Neil. I give him a gentle smack across the face.“GRADY.”
His eyes shoot open. His chest is heaving; he’s covered in sweat. Grady stares at me, trying to process what was happening. “…Rowen…?” he says, sounding entirely baffled.
“Yes, it’s me. It’s Rowen. You were having a nightmare,” I said firmly.
“Rowen….” he says, his voice cracking. “I- I saw Neil. He – he spoke to me – and-” Grady’s throat closes and be begins to cry.
I bite my lip to prevent from getting emotional. Grady needs a rock. I pull him into my arms; he squeezes me tight and buries his face in my neck. I can feel his tears running down my shoulder. I lean backwards and we fall back onto the pillows. “Shhh…it’s ok…deep breaths. Deep breaths, in…out…in…out…very good,” I murmur trying to keep him from hyperventilating. He is soon hysterical, sobbing loudly in my arms. I rock Grady and let him vent.

“Grady you need to breathe. Come back to me, honey.”
He groans against me, then hiccups loudly. “Rowen, I saw him. I saw Neil! He smiled at me, he spoke to me.”
“What did he say sweetheart?”
“He said that I looked happy. He said…he said that he missed me, and he was sorry he left me.” Grady sniffled, “and he said, he was relieved I’d met someone.”
“He mentioned me?” I repeated, intrigued.
“Yes,” Grady sighed, “He liked you. He said it was going to be ok. He just wanted to check on me. Oh god, Rowen, he looked just like the last day I saw him before – before…”
I kiss the back of Grady’s head. “Today is the 8th anniversary of his death isn’t it?”
He nods and sniffs again. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, but …gawd, Neil, I miss him.” Grady goes still against me, exhausted.
“Oh honey, I’m not upset. You and Neil were married; his death left a big hole in your heart, love. No one is expecting you to "get over” that. Certainty not me. There is a place for Neil in our lives, but don’t forget I am here and I love you.“
My shoulder feels wet again. It’s a moment before Grady speaks again. "Neil was right. About you, I mean, Rowen. I am really lucky, to be loved by two fantastic men in my life. I need to…I need to let Neil go and move on. He was ready to go. I need to move on.”
I kissed him again. “Whatever you do, I’ll support you.”
He sighed. “I’m sleepy.”
“Go back to bed, love. I’ll hold you. I’ll be here when you wake up.

Grady lifts his head and kisses me on the lips. "I love you, Rowen.”
“I love you too.”

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Text is fictional.

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Corbin dusted his hands off as he jogged up the stairs. He was already up and had gone through his morning routine. He fetched the paper, made sure Fabian’s shoes were polished, and laid out his clothes over a chair. It was 7:30, time to wake him up. He gently placed a hand on his Master’s shoulder. “Good Morning, Sir, it’s time to get up,” he said gently.
“Mmphhh,” Fabian protested, rolling onto his side. “Sleepy.”
“Sir, it’s 7:32. You need to get up,” Corbin said gently.

They worked together like a well oiled machine; Fabian would wash up and do a brief session of yoga while Corbin made breakfast. Sometimes he swapped the yoga for more intimate activities. While Fabian would eat breakfast, Corbin would pack his lunch. After a good-bye kiss, his Master would go off to work; Corbin would eat the leftovers then begin his daily chores and errands around college classes. However, this was all hinged around them both getting up at the right time.

Master Fabian groaned, “I’m so tired from last night. I’m going to skip yoga this morning.”
This was understandable. They’d been uplate trying out the new sling. Master Fabian had a lot of fun connecting Corbin’s nipples to the tip of his locked cock and listening to him moan with every thrust. Corbin had slept like a rock that night, totally depleted of energy. It seemed the session drained his Master too.

At the declaration that he was skipping yoga, Corbin waited for Fabian to throw back the blankets and expose his proud erection for care, but Fabian just snuggled deeper into the sheets. He rolled over onto his other side and held up the comforter on the empty side of the bed. “You, get in here. I want to hold you.”
“But – but Sir, breakfast and-”
“Now.” Even half asleep he could use that bossy tone that gave Corbin goosebumps.
Corbin glanced at the clock. Well they had about fifteen minutes. He walked around to the side of the bed and crawled in. The second he settled, strong arms wrapped around his upper body. A content sigh came from behind Corbin as he felt a scratchy jaw nuzzling his shoulder. “You’re so warm…”
“Do you want me to do anything to please you Sir?”
“Just stay still boy.”
Corbin did. He was pleased to be in his Master’s bed and folded in his strong arms. The mattress was comfy – softer than Corbin’s own futon in the walk in closet. The pillows carried Fabian’s scent, and the comforter trapped all the warmth until they were both snuggled up like in a cocoon. Although he’d felt awake enough a minute ago, Corbin’s eyelid began to droop and he yawned. He could hear his Master’s slow shallow breathing behind him. Corbin began to worry he was going to fall asleep. He considered that they should probably set an alarm or something but –

He was roused when a phone rang. He sat up, blinking blearily, listening to Fabian answer and talk on the phone. When Corbin glanced at the clock, his heart sank – it was 10:34. Judging by the conversation, it was Fabien’s work place, wondering why their boss hadn’t show up today. Corbin could hear the conversation. They’d both overslept, and terribly at that. Not only had none of the morning chores gotten done, his Master was late to work. Corbin’s mind went from deep pleasure to instant fear of punishment.

When Fabian hung up the phone, he looked at Corbin who was all wide eyed and terrified.
“Sir I’m sorry – I should have set the al-
"Boy.”
“Yes sir…?” he asked meekly.
Fabian stretched. “When I told you to get into bed, I was aware of the potential consequences. What I wanted was to snuggle with you for a bit, work be damned. I feel so incredibly well rested. I really needed those extra hours especially after last night.”
Corbin blushed a little. “You wanted to snuggle with me Sir?”
“Mnn. It was nice to have some time with my houseboy. You’re very thermal.”
“T..thank you Sir. I enjoyed it too. Shall I go prepare breakfast?”

Master Fabian smiled and tossed off the comforter exposing his throbbing erection. “Nope. I’m going to be even later today. Now get the lube.”

Corbin’s eyes lit up. Getting to sleep in his Master’s bed and getting to receive his Master’s cock? It wasn’t even his birthday today. “Yes sir!”

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Text is fictional.

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bzork:

But it’s such a nice day!

You just mean it’s sunny.  Remember when there was that thunderstorm and you stayed in bed with us all day?  That was a nice day.

Exactly!  So I’ll save you for a rainy day!

All of us?  But we are so many!  Anyway, why get hot and tired and sweaty?  Stay in!  We’ll look after you.

But I want to go places.

We can take you places.  Middle Earth, Earthsea, Anarres, Flatland, Wonderland, Utopia.

Real places!

You mean like Alaska or Shanghai or Glastonbury or Constantinople or the Sea of Tranquility?  Because you won’t actually go to those places if you go outside, if you’re being honest with us.

I suppose not.

But we can give it all to you.  Just trust us.  Don’t leave us.

OK.  I guess.  I’ll stay in and read today.

You know it’s what you want.

I suppose.  Maybe I’ll go out tomorrow.  Did you — did you say Constantinople?

We did: come, let us tell you of illustrious Belisarius, the last true Roman.

I realized I’d been illustrating for nearly three hours and decided to take a break before my back cramped. I leaned back in my chair and stretched. I cleaned my paintbrush and tucked away my beloved watercolors. My client would be happy with this piece. I tilted my head and I listened for the sounds of Clark around the house. Silence. I wondered where he was.

I push away from my desk and stood up, seeking Clark. I check the kitchen, pausing for a glass of sweet tea, before inspecting the living room. I check our bedroom and found him there. He was so immersed in his books, he didn’t even hear me enter.
“Clark,” I say softly.
He glances over his shoulder, “Oh hi,” he said, with a smile, “You done with work?”
“Taking a break. You been reading?”
“Yep,” he says, matter of factly.
“Are any of em good?”
“Two in particular, I’ll leave them on your night stand later.”

I nod and lean against the door frame, watching him in passive wonder. There have to be at least a dozen books floating in mid air, all suspended in an open position. After a moment, all the pages turn at the same time. When you date a telekenetic, you have to adjust to fantastical sights and behavior because your boyfriend needs to have a place he feels normal and safe, where he doesn’t look like a freak. Clark’s brain requires insane amounts of stimulation. When bored for long periods of time, he can feel physically ill.

The library system in our town gave Clark a limitless library card so he can check out massive amount of books at the same time. He goes through about a hundred books a week. Two is a particularly low return rate for this bunch. He gives his favorites to me, so I can make a list of the authors and to read them for myself. 

“Is it still raining Clark?”
He pauses reading to lift the blinds and peer out. “A little. Wanna go for a rain walk when it’s over?” Clark loves the scent and sight of our rural neighborhood after it rains.

“I’d love to, babe,” I say, and set my glass on a coaster on the nightstand. Clark nods and turns his attention back to his task.
I walk over to him and sit down behind him with my legs crossed, and wrap my arms around his warm torso. He sighs in contentment as I rest my head against the back of his neck. For a moment, I’m content to listen to his heart beat and feel the heat radiating under his skin. Then, my hands start to wander over his abs and his thighs.
Clark mutters a half-hearted protest, “Benjamin,” as if scolding a misbehaving child. I ignore it and continue on, pushing up his shirt with one hand. My fingers find a nipple and thumb it; Clark gasps and one of the books falls to the floor with a bang.
I snicker and rub the crease between his thigh and his crotch with my fingertips, enjoying feeling him shudder and squirm under me..
Ben,” he protests again, a bit more breathy this time. Another book slowly descends and rests on the floor.
“mm what?”
“You’re very distracting.”
“I love the way you smell,” I say instead. “You smell like warm mint tea. And a hint of sandalwood, and your own scent. It makes me horny.” I oh-so-gently cup his unrestrained bulge in his shorts.
Thud.
Ben!” he gasps.
I chuckle and begin to kiss his neck and nibble on his ear. “How about you save your books for bedtime and we kill some time before the rain ends hm?”
“Goddamn,” Clark whispers, closing his eyes as he enjoys me fondling him between the legs. After a moment, he says, “Ben?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if i ever told you this, but you know when you touch me – like how you are now – I can’t multitask anymore. It’s like you shut that part of me off. It’s so strange and liberating. Hey, maybe that’s your super power.”
I scoff. It’s be a long-running inside joke that I had an undiscovered superpower too, we just hadn’t found it yet. “I don’t think so, Clark. I think it’s just being a good boyfriend.”
“Mmnnf it feels good,” he admits.
I watch as the other books begin to sink toward the floor. I press my fingers on either side of his cock still tucked in his shorts and stroke until a wet strain starts to flourish. Clark leans back in my arms and I slide my hand into the leghole of his shorts and cup his balls.

Two of the books crash to ground, one bouncing off the bed. Clark’s eyes fly open at the noise. He curses. “Shit, Ben. Hold on.” He closes the literature and organizes the books in a neat pile on the floor. When the last book is in place, I feel the tension in his body melt away and that barely audible hum stops as well. I liken it to the sound of leaving the cable box on when the TV is off, only the off button for Clark is between his legs.

Clark lifts his legs and shimmies out of his shorts; his half hard cock bounces upward and I catch it in my hand. He groans and reclines against me, allowing me free reign to explore. I unfurl my legs and scoot up so he’s pressed flushed against my front so it’s less strain on my back and arms. His skin is so hot, especially his testicles, and despite that it almost feels uncomfortable to be in contact with such high temperatures, I can’t resist the heft of them. I roll them between my fingers between gentle tugs while holding the base of his cock in my other hand. I press kisses up the side of his jaw.

Soon, Clark is begging me to stroke him. A bead of sweat forms on his temple, and there’s a soon a sheen to his hairline. I begin to work his cock slowly, waiting for it to full harden and push out the ridges of veins hiding under silky skin. He whines in impatience until I start to piston my hand. He arches up into my fist, begging for me not to stop. I swipe my thumb over the slit to wipe away the seed leaking and he moans loudly.

My own erection is pushing into his back but I don’t stop. I continue to seduce him and draw out his pleasure until he’s panting ragged breaths and his cock begins to twitch.
“This – this was a good idea,” he hisses.
“You’re going to cum soon,” I reply.
“Yeah I am.” He chuffs through his nose. “Don’t stop, Ben, please. I wanna cum.”
I don’t answer and instead nibble on his earlobe. I rub his glans between my fingers while stroking his shaft with my cramped fist fixed around it, faster and faster until Clark’s body vibrates and he erupts. I watch in fascination of the cords of muscle twitch and tense; his balls rise high and taut in their sac and his cock jumps in my hand. Milky fluid shoots out of him and splatters onto the wooden floor.
“Ben!” he exclaims through gritted teeth as the orgasm courses through him. “Don’t stop!”
And I don’t, even as he begins to descend. I push up from the base of his cock to wring the last drops out of the tip. He gasps and mewls as it becomes more sensitive, but I don’t stop touching him until Clark puts his hands on top of mine and begs me to abate. I let my hands retreat to his thighs and he rests against me, trying to catch his breath.
“Good?” I ask.
“Feel wonderful,” he replies. “You’re still hard.”
“Mmhmm.”
Clark reaches behind himself until he finds my cock still in my pants. He gives it a few squeezes; I hear that hum again. The pressure feels fantastic, and I gasp as cum floods my underwear.
“Oh wow, Clark! Oh!” I feel a bead of sweat drip down my back. We both sit there a moment, recovering. The hum stops again.

“I think the rain’s stopped,” Clark says after a moment. I watch the blinds raise themselves and the scene outside confirms he’s right.
“Why don’t we go clean up and go for that walk you wanted?”
“Sounds wonderful,” he replies, nuzzling me. “I love you Ben.”

I freeze, not exactly sure I heard him right. “You…you do?” It’s the first time he’s ever said it to me. It’s hard for Clark to trust people and I’ve had to learn to be patient being in a relationship with him.
“Yes, I do. You make me feel human.”
“You are human,” I remind him. “My human. I love you too Ben.”
“Not as much as I love you.”
I wrap my arms around him and give him a hug.

After a moment he says: “….Will you be weirded out if I telekinetically move the cum off the floor into the trash?”
“Yes!” I laugh, “Don’t be gross. Go get the shower ready, I’ll be in there a minute after I clean up.”
Clark laughs too, relieved that I understand his sense of humor. He twists around and kisses me, and I can see the love in his eyes.

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Text is fictional. Source NA.

Gallery

Kirk had lost track of how many times they’d had sex. This wasn’t like those countless times other mornings they spent together in bed, naked and intimate. Something was different. The air was thicker, headier. Kirk swept his hand over the knot of Ben’s shoulder muscle, over his collarbone and up his neck to cup his jaw. He gazed deeply into the eyes of the sweet man that captivated his attention and time. Ben looked up at him inquisitively, his own hand massaging Kirk’s bulging pectoral. Kirk moved in to kiss him, and Ben submitted to his lips. Kirk took a deep breath and nuzzled his boyfriend’s jaw. He knew right then of something that he’d been unsure of for a long time – that there would be nobody else.

“I love you, Ben Miller,” he murmured, jostling the words loose from his tight throat.
Ben paused exploration of Kirk’s body at the declaration. His mouth fell open, then closed tight. He swallowed. His lower lip trembled and he began to weep.

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Text is fictional. I think this is from Sean Cody.