Regular readers may have seen this photo of my boy already.

However he is now on show at Male Submission Art (ETA: Unfortunately this site is no more :(), so I wanted to give you a little encouragement to go over there if you aren’t familiar with the site.

Male Submission Art aims to focus on “art and visual erotica that depicts masculine submission”, and it does so very well, with many many beautiful images of submissive men that are far superior to those we more commonly see in stereotypical scenarios.

As for my boy, well… pretty pretty… *swoon*… Continue Reading

I push him down to his knees and pull his mouth against me. He shoves his face into my cunt and licks at me, eager, desperate. I let him thrust his tongue into me, hold him hard against me, shove my hips towards him, his movements insistent and rhythmic, I close my eyes and relax into him. I push-pull at his head, moving it away from me, turning it. He fights me, kisses whatever part of my body he can reach, his lips and tongue caressing my skin. I feel him angling to get back to my cunt.

“I’m going … Continue Reading

He feels it more deeply now, everything cuts to the core of him. She hurts and scares and thrills him. He is so beautiful, still shy and afraid, but he discards the pretence, that thin veneer. He reaches to open himself even further to her, the slide into oblivion so close, always right there. He knows she loves his vulnerability: he steps bravely into the void and shows it to her, offered up with trust. He knows now that she will not stop when he is hurt beyond hurt, when he bleeds, or when he hovers on that edge, so … Continue Reading

I am straddling his chest, he is writhing underneath me, his body in constant motion, seeking something more, reaching, searching, his movements limited by my weight on him, by the cuffs joining his hands above his head. He is not fighting me, but he can’t keep still, he makes small sounds into the room.

I reach down to position his head and I slap him, hard, across his cheek, the sting of it tight and harsh.

All of his movement stops in the aftermath of the strike. Suddenly he is still, like a switch has been flicked. He is shocked. … Continue Reading

We are watching television. He sits on the ground beside the couch, at my feet, a cushion I bought for ten cents at the school fete under his arse to keep him off the cold tiles. The ‘butt cushion’ I have dubbed it. I can feel his energy as he sits there quietly, it emanates from him in waves, invisible threads drawing me in. I feel the pull in my fingertips, in the pit of my stomach and I know if I reach out and touch him, he will lean into it and silently vibrate with pleasure, not asking for … Continue Reading