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I woke up to an empty bed, a bit annoyed because I intended to have a good cuddle before breakfast. Visions of passionate coupling, edging, and kissing filled my head. It was just “great sex” for a while until I discovered he spoke some foreign language and whispered the dirtiest things in my ears. I shot a huge load, then a second and a third after long sessions of edging and knob polishing. My cockhead was still sensitive, but I felt refreshed, light as a feather even. My balls felt light as balloons. 

But where was my one-night stand? It was barely past dawn! Had he left? I bolted out bed and jogged through the house. What I saw in the kitchen stopped me in my tracks. There he was, bathed in the golden morning sun. Every skin cell in his tanned, gym sculpted body seemed to glow from the inside out. He was leaning casually against my counter, providing a beautiful silhouette of his pillowy pecs, protruding posterior, and um… wow. Tighty whities do not hide a thing, and his cock looked full and impressive tucked away safe and clean in his underwear. I was instantly jealous of the cotton. The man was an impossible ode to physical perfect and male beauty. Even his day-after scruff is flawless! I gave one of those dreamy, Disney sighs.

I began to wonder what liquid courage I drank last night that made me go up and talk to this guy. He was out of my league. BEYOND out of my league. Out of my orbit. …Shit, what was his name?

“Good morning,” I purred as I strode into the kitchen.
He turned his head and a smile crinkled his eyes. “Oh you’re up. Did I wake up?”
“I woke up cause my bed was empty.” I caressed his shoulder, then kissed it.
“I’m sorry. I was utterly gross, and I didn’t want you to see me unshowered. I was worried I’d wake you if I got back into bed.” He folded the paper and set it on the counter.
“Quite alright. You’re still here. I’m glad you stayed.”
He gave me a gentle kiss. I wished I brushed my teeth.
The stranger raised a thick eyebrow at me. “You’re not gonna kick me out? Most of my one night stands don’t like reminders of their inhibitions standing around..”
I scoffed. “Well they’re fools.” I pulled open my cabinets and my fridge, looking for things. I had no idea what I was making yet, but I was definitely cooking this man breakfast.
“Fools?” he repeated with a smile.
“Well…well yes,” I stammer. I never wanted to cook breakfast for any man before, and it wasn’t just in thanks. Something about his presence made me feel like I had to serve him, that I wanted his respect and appreciation. Maybe it was because of my low-esteem but Christ, I wanted him to validate me to eternity and back. “That was easily the best sex of my life last night,” I admitted. “I thought it was great by itself, and then you start speaking in this language and holy god that turned me on so bad. I feel so fucking energized this morning. Hell it wasn’t sex, it was some sort of cleansing ritual.”

“Oh god stop,” he groaned with a chuckle. “I’m so embarrassed. And you’re being way too kind.”
“Pft!” I replied, putting pans on the stove. “I don’t know what planet you grew up on, but when a drop-dead gorgeous man gives you the best dicking of your life, you want him to stay for breakfast. …You will stay right?”
He perked up and rubbed my hip with his hand. “You’re realy going to cook for me?”
I realized I should really have asked what this walking statue was called. “If you tell me what your name is,” I said sheepishly, “Because I don’t think it’s ‘oh god’.”
The man laughed again, a hearty, healthy sound. I was smitten. “We kind of skipped that formality hm? My name is Avid, like David without the D.”
He pronounced it, “ah-veed”. It sounded plenty exotic. “What nationality is that?”
“Persian. That was Farsi I was speaking in.”
“Farsi? Well, you are welcome to teach me some of that.”
Avid’s eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked at me. “Just might do that. And you are…?”
I set the bag of flour on the counter. “Oh! Right, sorry. Name’s Hank, which I don’t really like, so most everyone calls me Mitch, after my middle name, Michael.”
“Why not Michael?” Avid inquired.
“It’s my dad’s name. Gets confusing.”
“You Americans have so many names! Like some sort of spy.”

I chuckled, then moved onto cracking eggs into a bowl.
“Are you really making me breakfast…?” Avid asked, coming up behind me and wrapping his hands around my waist.
“Yes, I am.”
Avid reached up and began to twirl his fingers in the curls at the base of my neck. My knees felt weak. “You really know how to take care of a man.”
I sat up a little straighter at the praise. “I…like to think so.”
“I like that,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “You Americans eat dessert after breakfast?”
”
“In this household we do.”
Avid made a noise of satisfaction. He smacked my butt. I yelped. “Make a big breakfast. You’re gonna need the calories.” He said. My dick began to harden.

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Text is fictional. This is Pablo Hernandez.

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My phone rings just around noon. I push around the papers I was organizing until I find my phone. I glance at the number before answering it.

“Hello Sir, what’s going on?” I ask. Atlas doesn’t call me in the middle of the day often. Once was for because he left his lunch here, the other was because he was drunk at a holiday party and wanted to hear my voice.
“Hey boy,” Atlas said, “You know how I was feeling kinda low energy this morning?”
“Yes? Are you alright?”
“It’s gotten worse. I feel like total shit. Everything aches, I can’t stop sneezing. Jorge is sending me home before I – quote end quote – contaminate the entire office.”
“That sounds like Jorge,” I snort. “My poor baby, you need me to come get you?”
“No, I can drive…I’m just gonna pass out when I get – AACHOO!”
“Oh dear. Alright. See you soon. Wait did you eat?”
“No…don’t feel much like eating.”
“Good to know. See you soon. Drive safely.”
“Bye.”

I hang up and glance at the piles of his paperwork I was organizing and filing. New year, new folders. “Well, I guess this will have to wait.” Secretly, I am delighted though because as his houseboy, I live for moments like these.

I dust myself off and make a detour to turn on the space heater in the bedroom before I hurry into the kitchen. My man is going to be hungry, and that cold food I packed in his lunch won’t do. I take a tupperware container of broth out of the freezer and dump it into a big pot on the stove. I turn it on low, and let it defrost while I chop up carrots and the last potato. I add a few more things from cans. By the time Atlas arrives home, I’m just putting the lid on the vegetable and rice soup to simmer.

Sharky detects Atlas’s presence before I do. I rush to the door where the dog is already waiting for his Master to come home.  Atlas gives our stocky Sharky a pat on his rump, and gives me a “hey boy”. He looks like he’s going to fall over.
“Oh jesus, Atlas, look at you. You’re all flushed.” I press a hand to his head. “You’re burning up. Let’s get you into bed.”

I lead Atlas upstairs to the bedroom. I remove his tie, unbutton his shirt, and have him sit on the bed so I can remove his pants.
“I love that you undress me,” he mutters.
I smile. “I enjoy it too.” I fold his work clothes and set them on a chair to be put away later. “Now let’s get you into paja…” I hear rustling noises and turn around. He’s already curled up in the bed sheets. “No, this ish go..goo… ACHOO! ..uughh..”
I toss him the tissue box. Atlas blows his nose.

Sharky sniffs at Atlas’s hand and settles into his cushion next to the bed. He must detect his Master is sick, because normally all Sharky wants to do when Atlas comes home is play.
“My poor baby. You want something to eat?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry all of a sudden.”

I bring him a mug of soup and a glass of cool water. He eats about half of it between sneezes before his eyelids start to drop. “Is it ok if I don’t finish this? I need a nap like nobody’s business.”
“Sure, not a problem. You rest.” I tuck him into bed and kiss his temple. “I’m going to run to the pharmacy, to get you some medicine, some more tissues, and some Powerade or something.”
“K,” he says, snuggling his pillow. I sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his hair. He yawns. “You would make such a good boyfriend,” he slurs before falling asleep.

I sit there, holding the half empty mug, and stare at him. Did he really just say that? Color rises to my cheeks. I’ve heard about this from other houseboys, how easy it is for your man to fall in love with you. I never pictured Atlas as the type. He was too serious, too professional. Everything with him was divided with lines, and nothing contaminated other sections. Work was never mixed with play. His sports socks were always in a different pile than the dress ones. I had accepted I would always be “the help” and nothing more to him.

However, the way Atlas looked at me had begun to change over the last couple months. It was a softer look, as if he was really seeing me and not just acknowledging me. The touches lingered a bit more. On New Years, he kissed me – and it wasn’t a kiss of ownership, or possession, but one of passion and intimacy. It made my cock stir a little, I won’t lie.

I watch Atlas sleep and wonder if he was even aware he said that to me. I smile and stand up, pondering this. I wouldn’t mind being his boyfriend. I enjoy taking care of him, organizing his house, making his meals. He’s handsome, and had a nice sense of humor. He has a nice butt. Besides, someone had to take care of him when he was sick like this. Sharky couldn’t do it. Atlas tosses and turns. I tuck him back in, and turn the space heater down a little. “Poor baby.”

I just hope I dont get sick. The role reversal would break Atlas’s brain. I make a mental note to get facemasks and antibacterial gel on my shopping trip. I would take care of him as if he were a boyfriend. Love is good as medicine isn’t it? I make another note to add chocolate on my list.

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Text is fictional. Edited for tense issues.

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jeanbaptistehuong:

© JBH/BVD-2014 – Madrid (Spain)

Fabrice & Sylvain

When we’re out in public, or on the streets, they see a man that just doesn’t stop. He’s gregarious, extraverted, out-going. Always there with a grin and a wave and a boisterous. “Hey how have you been? How’s your mom/dog/sister/job/chastity going?” He remembers everyone. Memory like a steel trap.

At work, he’s bright eyed and bushy tailed at 7 am, cheerful and chipper and done with his work by 3 pm. He’ll top it off with a work-out and then come home to cook-dinner by humming.

At leather events, he’s almost like a puppy although he is the one holding my leash. He struts around, so eager to show me off while trying to talk to everyone and investigate everything. Pulling me aside to fuck me in a fit of lust only seems to spur him on more, and for the next hour he’ll lavish me in attention and touches until I’m desperately horny again and sucking his cock in the middle of the room. His nickname is the Energizer Bunny at these events for a reason. Four hours of spanking demonstrations? Ok! Let’s go.

What these people don’t see is that my baby needs to recharge sometimes. Sometimes those batteries do wind down, and he gets sullen and cranky. He can only get his energy back through a thermal charge, so I’ll half carry him into the bedroom for a nap. He’ll cling to me, both hands touching my skin like positive and negative terminals, seeking the current running through me. We’ll talk in low voices until he drifts off to sleep, and he charges.

I like to stroke his hair and kiss his face, and shower him with the gentlest love I can manage. I can’t do these things when he’s zooming around the house. This is my time to monopolize him, without roles or statuses. He goes from an Energizer bunny to my cuddle bunny.

And how do I know when he’s recharged? Because he does what all bunnies start doing when they get their vigor back – he begins to hump my leg.

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Text is fictional. Source is below.

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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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Taut and drawn.

carlosquezadaph:

Pitzintekutli Xochipilli / México 

Fotografía Carlos Quezada

Yes, this boy’s full name is Pitzintekutli Xochipilli Méndez Zenteno. Apparently he goes by Pitzintekutli Mendezi. I found a video of him doing an audition here and nailing it. Mexico is lucky to have this beautiful, talented creature representing them in the classical dance world.

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“Mmnngf!”
“I’m pretty sure this is going to be the last time I catch you breaking into the building. I know, I know, it’s tempting. The city’s only gay nudist-friendly condo units. But those gates exist for a reason. We gotta keep the riff-raff out somehow.”
“Nnnng mff!”
“I don’t think turning you over to the cops is gonna help. You sit there and think about what you’ve done.” I ignore his pleas and turn to leave.
“Oh I forgot one more thing.” I pull a little butterfly knife out of my pocket. His eyes go wide.
“No no you big baby, I’m not going to cut you.” I kneel between his legs, pleased the ropes are holding him place. I make a cut through his underwear and put the knife away. From my other pocket, I take out a small flat vibrator and tuck it between his cock and his balls. The cotton holds it in place.
“Mmnnhhhh!”
I hold the remote in my hand and turn it on. He groans loudly and squirms in the ropes.
“There. That should keep you busy. I tweak his nipples. I’ll be back, sweetheart to check on you briefly. Don’t go anywhere now.”

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Text is fictional.

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“I can’t sleep,” he said, messing with his toes. “I dozed off but I had this bad dream and now I can’t get back to sleep.”
I exhaled through my nose and sit down on the edge of the bed. I awoke due to his cries, which echoed through-out the entire house.
“I’m really sorry to disappoint you,” he added in that soft, delicate tone of his, sweet as treacle and fragile as the skin on top of cocoa.
“It’s quite alright, Caleb. I expected there to be a period of adjustment.”
He looked down and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t quite believe me. After a moment, he spoke again. “Everything is different here. The bed is higher, the night sounds are strange, the sheets smell different.” He sniffed. “I miss home.”
“Oh sweetheart,” I murmured. “Are you homesick?”
“Yes,” he replied, big crocodile tears sliding down his pale cheeks. “I want to sleep in my old room again. I’m so far from home!”
“Caleb…” I scooted across the bed and opened my arms. He crawled to me, sitting half in my lap, legs all over the bed. I enfolded him in my arms as he cries into my bathrobe. I rocked him, soothing him.

“I know it’s scary. But you have to be brave.”
“I don’t want to be brave!”
“I’m sure in the next couple of days you will learn a lot about my house, you’ll adjust, and discover Yellow Ridge is not a terrible place to live and I’m not a terrible person to live with.”
He sniffled again. “I’m not going to be a good husband to anyone.”
“Oh that’s not true, that’s not true. Shhh… relax. Breathe now.”

I continued to rock him, feeling more that I was rocking a little boy than the young man who was betrothed to me. It was, on paper, a good match. My family blood line is one of the upper seven or so distinct names, a historical name of wide influence in society and business. Caleb was from a lesser family line. Heterosexual marriage between blood lines is not encouraged amongst our people due to blood mixing. The only way for a family to gain a higher standing is to be lucky enough to have a gay son or daughter to offer to an upper family for their own homosexual son or daughter to marry. From the perspective of Caleb’s parents, he was a golden child. They were eager to abide by even the most conservative traditions. They had insisted Caleb be sent here to be my houseboy until the wedding, when he turned 18.

Even calling it a wedding was a broad term – it was more of a political ceremony. I had heard about wedded couples that each kept their own lovers; I however was a traditionalist, and hoped my bride and I would be true to each-other and monogamous.

I began to suspect that Caleb wasn’t going to be ready at 18 though. His parents had mollycoddled him and babied him. Freshly 16, he was still very much a sheltered child. I glanced down at the bundle in my arms. It was difficult to imagine that in two years, I was expected to consummate that marriage. Our five year difference suddenly felt wide as a chasm. His parents had likely taught him nothing about sex. I wondered if Caleb ever played with himself at all before his chastity device was affixed. He was still probably adjusting to that too. I pondered if it would be better to have it removed and let him explore.

More than anything, I felt pity for my bride. Thrust into a strange world, into strange arms, at a time when his body and its hormones were transforming in the most awkward ways. I also felt a bit of anger and disgust that the temple elders had clearly not sensed Caleb was a vulnerable creature – if I had been a man of lesser morals, I could have violated Caleb terribly. I made a note to call the Temple Counsel in the morning to file a complaint.

I would not send him back though. It would not benefit Caleb to go back into the womb at his age. As he got older, this behavior would be more difficult to correct. He was going to be a man soon. There were going to be expectations of him. I hoped keeping house and receiving home schooled lessons would keep his mind occupied. I kissed the top of his head and tried to remove Caleb but he’d worked his fingers into my bathrobe.

“Are you going to send me back?” he whispered.
I wondered if the boy could read minds. “No,” I said firmly, “You need to fledge from the nest. Every duckling and songbird falls a little when learning to fly. You’ll get used to things. You’ll find happiness in your work. Once you turn old enough, I will teach you the most wondrous pleasure your body is capable of. Are you feeling pain in your device?”
I felt the heat of his cheeks through my clothes. “No,” he says. “It’s snug, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“Ok, let me know if it does.”
He nodded.
“Will you try to sleep now?”
Caleb eyed the bed warily. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
I thought. “Just this time, duckling”
He seemed satisfied with that. I cleaned his face, made him blow his nose, and have a sip of water. I then tucked him in lovingly and then spooned up next to him, me on top of the covers. Caleb had exhausted himself and was asleep within minutes. I lingered a moment, watching his eyes move under his eyelids, marveling at how long his lashes were. His face still possessed some of its babyfat, especially in the cheeks. He was going to be stunning all grown up.

I just had to make sure he would grow up. I was sure once he got a taste of his new found freedom he would thrive. Tomorrow would be a most interesting day.
“Good night, duckling,” I murmured, as I turned off the light and went back to my room.

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Text is fictional. This is model Graeme Metz photographed by Cecilie Harris for Boys by Girls magazine issue 6, titled “The Truth About Boys”. The T-Shirt by American Apparel and Underwear by Calvin Klein. This caption is not a projection or assumption of Graeme’s personality or sexuality.