Making a dominant top my bitch: Part 1

bound stud


Like many people who embrace the fetish community, I favor a particular set of scenes yet am open to experiment across the board depending on my ever-changing mood. As any of you who have stumbled across one of my online profiles already know, I identify as a dominant bondage top. Lately, however, I have been leaning towards non-sexual bondage play with men who may not necessarily identify as submissive. My current Recon profile states it best:

I’m currently looking for a local muscular sub who would enjoy meeting on a regular basis for bondage play and consensual SM scenes: Someone who has worked hard to perfect his body and is tired of guys wanting to worship him. I enjoy ropeplay and various degrees of restraint, blindfolds, edging/cum-control, forced workouts, choke/submission holds, nip play, cbt, and spanking/pain administration. I can be gentle or rough, but tend to be passionate rather than mechanical. I’m not mean or degrading by nature so I’m not your man if you are looking for that.

My play does not need to be sexual and is often better when my mind is on my boy rather than my dick – I am more about the mind-play and physical contact than using a man simply to get off. I prefer making a man submit to me rather than simply finding a submissive man: If you understand that concept we will get along just fine.

I received a response last night from a random local boy stating he is a dominant top and has no interest in being fucked, yet has been fantasizing about being overpowered and rendered helpless by an older, larger Daddy. His face is blocked by his phone in all three of his photos but he is sporting a ripped, muscular body, so I sent him my mobile number and instructed him to text me if he was serious. His text came through within a minute and while I learned very little about him, he was saying all the right things such as “Sir” and “please” and “you can do anything as long as you promise not to fuck.” This sounded too good to be true but being the ridiculously reckless person I am, I had him agree to report to me today in … well, in a few minutes. Continue reading


Don’t Tell Mom, Part 3: Breaking all the rules

Step-Dad(Read part 1 here)

I know I’m insane to be doing this, but here I am jacking off and licking my step-dad’s chest while he is passed out in his bed: The bed my mother slept in up until she left Mitch and I last month for some guy in Utah. I know it’s wrong on so many levels, but I’m getting close to shootings and can’t stop.

My eyes are locked on the growing bulge in Mitch’s white boxer briefs. I move to rub his crotch when Mitch wakes with a gasp and grabs the back of my head before I know what is happening. He holds my head against his chest as his eyes slowly focus on me. I can’t bring myself to take a breath.

“Kevin?” Mitch mumbles, sounding somewhat like an accusation rather than a question. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I don’t make a sound: There’s nothing I can possibly say to make this right. I turn my head to see his green eyes trying to make sense of the situation. Mitch’s muscular body is tense but he looks more confused than angry, and I suspect he may still be drunk. Aware Mitch can easily kick my ass without even working up a sweat, I quickly weigh my options and choose the path of greatest resistance and greatest potential reward. Mitch isn’t a violent man and I figure the worst that he’ll do is knock me out of his bed.

That, and kick me out of his house.

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Don’t Tell Mom, Part 2: Crossing the Line

Step-Dad(You can read part 1 here)

It’s been two weeks since my step-dad walked into my bedroom to find my buddy giving me a blow job and he still hasn’t said a word about it. I’m not sure what to make of it, but he doesn’t seem to care.

It’s 3:00 am on a Friday night and I’m laying here in bed on top of my sheets, trying not to think of my step-dad, Mitch. Thinking about him makes my dick hard, but I can’t stop thinking about him. Mitch stayed out late with his buddies, probably at some bar, but I heard him come home over an hour ago. The house is silent and I assume he is asleep.

I wonder if Mitch sleeps naked.

My right hand slides under my sweat pants as I picture Mitch’s muscular body asleep in his bed, lying on his stomach with the covers down past his ass. I imagine sneaking into his room and sliding into his bed—the bed he used to fuck my mother in—and him wrapping his massive arm around me and pulling me into him. I stroke my dick, imagining it is his big hand rather than mine, and I picture him curling up behind me so that I can feel his hard cock throbbing against my smooth ass. I lick my middle finger push it inside my ass, wishing it was Mitch’s cock pushing into me instead.

I want it to be real so bad I swear I can smell him, can taste him. This is crazy. I need to stop jacking off and get some sleep. I force my hands away, yawn, and stretch my arms over my head. My pits stink and I need to piss.

I roll out of bed, pull on my boxers and head down the hall towards the bathroom. There’s a soft light coming from the open door of the master bedroom and I can’t stop myself from peeking inside to find Mitch, stripped down to a hot pair of white boxer briefs, asleep on his back. Continue reading

The Younger Man – Part 2

221844.55540046_500(Click here to read Part 1 of this story)

I allow Trent to continue sleeping for fifteen minutes or so until the sensation of my throbbing cock against his muscular ass begins to drive me insane. I lick the back of his neck and chew on his ear until he finally turns toward me with a smile. “You let me fall asleep.”

“Just a little bit.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

I want to tell him how much I love watching him sleep, having his young muscled body against me in my bed like this, and that I would happily lie here all night. Instead, I say “I wanted you to build up enough energy for round two.” Continue reading

The Younger Man, Part 1

younger manTrent hit me up online a few weeks ago and has been aggressively pursuing me until I finally agreed—against my better judgment—to invite him over tonight. Don’t get me wrong: I have no complaint about a sexy, muscular jock wanting to climb into my bed; but I’m a little wary about our difference in age. I just celebrated my forty-seventh birthday last week, making me 24 years older than Trent.

He shows up at my door with a hint of a smirk on his scruffy face, his hazel eyes dancing as he introduces himself. At 5’10” he is only a few inches shorter than me but his lean, athletic body makes me feel like a giant in comparison. He pats me on the arm like an old friend and glances around my living room before finally looking up at me. This boy is fucking beautiful, yet oddly masculine for someone so young. Continue reading

What happens in Vegas …

10en71yI’m wide awake at 7 am for some reason, even though my friends and I were up in the casino till 3 am. I glance at the other bed in our suite to see my buddy dead asleep. I’m a little hung over and seriously horny, so I log on to A4A Radar and find 14 other men within 300 feet and apparently in the same predicament. I love how many gay men stay here at the Cosmopolitan.

One guy catches my attention: 36 years old, bottom, decent shape, and looks like he may be Latin. I hit him up with a simple “What’s going on, handsome?” and find out that he is killing time before a 10am meeting, is horny, likes to kiss and be dominated, is 6 floors below me and needs 20 minutes to get ready. I have condoms and he has lube. I can’t remember the last time a hook up was orchestrated so efficiently and before I allow myself time to question it, I am showered and on my way down to his room.

He answers the door in gym shorts and a tight white t-shirt, looking nothing like I imagined from his photo: This boy is breathtakingly handsome with bright blue eyes, light brown hair and reddish scruff. He is 5’9” at best and is built like a gymnast on steroids. I run my hand through his wavy hair as a greeting, then close the door behind me and pull him in for a kiss. The connection is electric, and I know in an instant by his moan and the way he is clinging to me that he feels exactly the same way. I push him against the wall and kiss him hard and deep until we are both gasping for breath.

We finally pull apart long enough for me to pull his shirt off. I’m conscious that anything I say at this moment will sound completely stupid, so I just stand back and admire his defined shoulders and hard chest. He has just the right amount of light brown chest hair, which trails down his tight abs and under the waistband of his shorts.

He rubs his hands over my chest and down my arms. “Damn, you’re buff,” he says, making me laugh.

I can’t think of anything else to say other than “I want you.”

“You have me!”

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Bound Muscle

Bound_MuscleI step out to greet one of my buddies, who is here for a bondage session in my new place. I haven’t seen him in six months and as usual, am completed awed by how buff and sexy this guy is: 6’4”, 230 pounds with spiky brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. He is wearing one of those awful Coca-Cola t-shirts everyone and their mother seems to own, but it’ a size too small and shows off his tight pecs, huge shoulders and washboard abs. His cargo shorts are hiding the immense thighs and bubble-butt I’ve seen a dozen times before since we met several years ago.

The scene is always the same: Strip him down, rope him to my bed, and edge him for a few hours until he is begging to be allowed to shoot. He claims to be straight and married and while I doubt he is either, I’ve never pushed him on the subject. One: I understand how important fantasy is for some people. Two: This hot, masculine stud is allowing himself to submit to me, so why the hell should I mind playing along?

That being said, I am in the mood to change things up a bit. I figure: New house, new rules.

He’s always a little shy at first, which I use to my advantage. I walk him into my bedroom and give him 60 seconds to strip down to his underwear, warning him he will receive a paddling for every second he is late. He tears his clothes off within fifteen seconds and stands in front of me, panting a little. He is wearing powder blue Ginch Gonch briefs which look ridiculous on him, but he is tanned and has clearly been kicking ass at the gym, so I keep my opinion to myself. He has shaved what little hair he has from his chest and legs. I prefer hairy guys – I like having chest hair to pull on – but he looks amazing just the same. I tell him to drop to his knees and avert his eyes to the floor. I begin rubbing his huge shoulders, knowing it helps relax him. I confirm that I have him for two hours and remind him of his safeword, which is my name: Enzo. He knows that he can yell and scream all he wants, but that I will assume he is having a great time until he uses my name. Besides, he is well-aware that not referring to me as “Sir” will get him a swat with my paddle, or worse.

I reach into my toy chest and pull out several coils of black rope, a leather blindfold, steel handcuffs, some simple clothes pins and my weapon of choice: A wicked steel paddle encased in black leather. I carefully set each item on the table at the foot of my bed, letting him see what I plan to use. As predicted, his cock begins to swell. Also as predicted, his little briefs don’t stand a chance of containing his 8” monster. I rub my fingers lightly across his stretched briefs, causing both of us to moan. For me, there is nothing hotter than a seemingly perfect, masculine guy submitting to me. It drives me crazy, and makes it hard to stay in character.

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