#kept boy

[happyhypnoguys]

“Excellent job, boy! You’ve finally managed to greet your Master properly. Now let’s work on that tan line.”

[darlinghearted]

Desperate, needy, kept boy Dennis who quit being a doctor a while ago, content to be Robby’s sweet little housewife. When he had told Robby about what he wanted, Robby had nodded like it was obvious and just said Well of course. Puppies don’t work, do they? At least not ones with such perfect cunts. It had made Dennis dizzy with arousal, and he had quickly climbed into his Daddy’s lap and whined and mewled as he got fingered within an inch of his life.

Eventually, Dennis gets so spoiled that when the ED is slow, he begs Robby to come home and fuck him. Just for a bit! Thirty minutes at the most, he promises!! He just wants Daddy to fill up his puppyparts. Dennis will call him crying, begging to be stuffed full because his hands aren’t working and his toys aren’t as good as Daddy’s cock. Working himself up into hysterics, so upset that he can’t be fucked dumb as soon as possible.

[youngstrappinglads]

Shine_deng ig

[spiralplz]

Just drink your medicine and listen

[richtrophy]

Alphas come in all ages and always have a way to get what they want just by calming taking charge

[fafnir19]

The future in the cards

The economics student Leo, with his easy smile and sun-kissed hair, projected an athletic charm that belied his sheltered nature. He moved through the student party, a beacon of youthful idealism, searching for something more profound than the pulsing bass and clinking bottles. He dreamed of a soulmate, a woman who could debate philosophy and politics, whose laughter would fill their home, and who would one day mother his children. His quest for this ideal love led him to student parties, where he often found himself deflecting advances. He was a virgin, saving himself for the perfect connection.

He remembered Andrea, her eyes glinting with predatory amusement, cornering him at a recent student bash. “You’re cute, Leo. Come back to my place,” she purred, her finger tracing the line of his jaw. He blinked, a blush creeping up his neck. “I… I’m not really looking for that.” A scoff, sharp and dismissive, escaped her lips. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘love first’ guys.” She stepped closer, her breath warm against his ear, smelling of gin and something musky. "It’s a shame. Such a hot body, wasted on outdated moralities and naive romance. Don’t be shy. Just one night. You know you want to.” He shook his head, the rejection a well-worn path. “I’m looking for… more. Something real.” A sharp, brittle laugh escaped her lips, cutting through the din. “Real? Sweetheart, this *is* real. This body, this moment.” Her gaze raked over his athletic frame, lingered on the curve of his bicep, then dismissed him with a shrug. “Naive romance. It won’t get you anywhere but alone.” She spun on her heel, melting back into the pulsating crowd, leaving a faint scent of expensive perfume and wounded pride in her wake. The encounter left a bitter taste. He longed for true love, a love that felt increasingly elusive.

Weeks bled into months. One particularly dreary, rain-lashed evening, a profound melancholy settled upon him. The city lights blurred as he drifted aimless. He found himself in a relic of a mall, its once-gleaming facade now peeling, its vast interior a cavern of echoing silence. Leo shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, the chill seeping into his bones, mirroring the emptiness inside him. His sneakers squeaked on the stained linoleum in the hollow expanse of what once bustled with life. Now, only remained a laundry mat with tired machines, a dollar store, which offered faded plastic trinkets, and "The Velvet Veil", an esoteric shop.

"The Velvet Veil's" front, a sterile facade of frosted glass and peeling paint, promised little comfort. The shop window displayed velvet drapes, dusty crystals, and an assortment of gnarled, painted wooden figures. A sign, hand-painted in looping script, promised "Answers to the Heart's Deepest Questions." Desperation pushed him inside. He needed answers, a sign that his quest for true love wasn't a fool's errand. Inside it wasn’t the mystical haven he’d imagined; more like a public services office, sterile and unwelcoming despite the draped velvet and scattered crystals. Madame Xenia, a woman in a severe grey skirt and a floral blouse, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, looked less like a mystic and more like a disgruntled civil servant. Her eyes, however, held a sharp, assessing glint. "You seek answers, boy?" Her voice cutting through the quiet like dry leaves skittering across pavement. Leo swallowed, the word ‘lost’ echoing in his chest. “I… I want to know if I’ll ever find true love.” He felt foolish, vulnerable. A thin smile stretched Xenia’s lips, revealing teeth a shade too yellow. She slid a deck of cards across the table. They were ancient, its edges worn smooth by countless hands. "Pick a card, then. One that calls to you."

Leo’s fingers hovered over the deck. A strange pull, an almost magnetic force, drew him to a particular card. He flipped it over. His breath hitched. The image was striking, almost impossibly so. A man, tall and handsome, with sharp, aristocratic features, stared out from the card. His short black hair was sleek, framing a face of captivating intensity. His clothes, a symphony of silk and velvet, were adorned with an explosion of dark feathers that fanned out from his shoulders like a raven’s wings. An elegant, edgy ensemble that whispered of dark fantasy. The simple frame, stark against a deep, shadowed background, held a single phrase at the bottom: "DARK PRINCE."

Leo looked up at Xenia, his brow furrowed. “What does this mean? For my search… for true love?” Xenia’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of something predatory in their depths. “It means… everything. You’ll find more than love, now. Much, much more." A flash, brilliant and blinding, erupted from the card in his hand. A dizzying swirl of sensation enveloped him, a vortex of light and shadow. He felt himself stretching, twisting, compressing, followed by an impossible suction. He felt his essence drawn into the two-dimensional prison.  A final, wrenching tug, and then… nothing.

Where Leo had stood, bewildered and hopeful, now lay only the tarot card. But it was different. The figure on the card was still the Dark Prince, impossibly handsome, clad in the same opulent finery of silk, velvet, and feathers. Yet, the face was undeniably Leo’s. His own blond hair, usually a soft wave, was now slicked back, gleaming, accentuating the sharp angles of his transformed features. His eyes, once innocent, now held a depth, a knowing glint that was both intoxicating and terrifying.

Xenia picked up the card, her fingers tracing the new image. Her laughter, low and guttural, filled the space. The power emanating from the card was immense, a living thing throbbing beneath her touch. Her dark eyes fixed on the card, a possessive glint in their depths. “My dear Dark Prince,” she murmured, her voice a silken caress, “welcome to your new life.” From that moment, Leo became her oracle, her living, breathing exhibit. This wasn't merely a card; it was a living conduit, a mirror to the soul's most guarded desires.  Xenia integrated him into her repertoire with seamless precision. Now, when clients sought answers to their romantic woes, Xenia didn't just read the cards. She’d lay out the deck and Leo, trapped within his cardboard prison, would become the unwilling canvas for their unspoken longings.

The first client, a woman whose pearls gleamed against a demure cashmere sweater, clutched her handbag. “My husband, he’s such a gentle soul. We have a love that transcends the ordinary.” Xenia simply laid the Dark Prince card before her. The image on the card rippled, a shimmering distortion. Leo, clad in black leather, a whip coiled in his hand, stood over a woman, her back arched, her face a mask of exquisite pain and pleasure. The woman on the card was the client, her demure sweater torn, her pearls scattered on the floor. Her breath hitched. “You love his gentleness, yes,” Xenia’s voice dripped with mock sympathy. “But you crave the sting. The bite. The absolute surrender.” The client’s face flushed, a mottled red that crept up her neck. She snatched the card, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and a strange, nascent thrill. “How dare you? That's ... that's respulsive!” she stammered, but then licked her lips, "but also so hot, indeed!"

The next, a stern-faced family father, spoke of moral decay. “My children,” he sighed, running a hand through thinning hair. “They refuse to learn proper morality. How can I guide them?” Xenia’s eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam in their depths. Xenia’s eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam in their depths. She drew the Dark Prince card. The scene shifted. A bustling street materialized behind Leo and a blur of faces, all turned towards him. His clothing, a tailored suit, began to unravel, thread by thread, until he stood completely naked. A collective gasp rose from the crowd on the card. Every eye was on him, every face etched with a hunger that was both voyeuristic and deeply personal. His cock, sleek and slim, rose slowly, undeniably, to full mast, a testament to the raw, uninhibited exhibitionism that pulsed beneath the man’s veneer of parental concern.

The father’s eyes widened, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He averted his gaze, a sickly pallor replacing the flush on his face. “Perhaps,” Xenia purred, her voice a low thrum, “you should first guide yourself.”

Then came the jock, a hulking figure of muscle and bravado, his shoulders slumped. “My potency,” he grumbled, his voice a low growl. “It’s… failing. Can’t satisfy my girlfriend.” Xenia picked up the card, her fingers tracing the ornate border. The card shifted, revealing a locker room, steam rising from tiled floors. Leo, his athletic build honed, unbuttoned his football jersey, the fabric peeling away to reveal his smooth, sculpted chest.

He bent to untie his cleats, his back to the viewer. The jock on the card, a mirror of the client, approached him. He knelt, his face buried between Leo’s exposed ass cheeks, his tongue working its magic. Leo’s ass muscles clenched, a shiver running through him, a subtle shift in his weight. The jock’s cock, limp moments before, sprang to life, engorged and straining. He pulled Leo into the showers, the water cascading around them, their bodies pressed together. The jock, now fully erect, pushed Leo against the cool tiles, his hand guiding Leo’s sleek, slim cock into his own mouth. Leo’s head lolled back, a soft moan escaping him. The jock then spun him around, lifted him, and slammed him against the wall, their bodies intertwining, the jock’s hard cock burying itself deep inside Leo. The sounds of water and flesh slapping together filled the card. The client watched the scene playing in the card, transfixed, a tremor running through his powerful frame. His face, usually a mask of stoicism, was now a canvas of raw, undeniable desire. His jaw clenched, his eyes wide and unfocused. He was rock hard, his own erection straining against his jeans. “Ah,” Xenia hummed, a low, satisfied sound. “Perhaps your problem wasn’t potency, but the right… partner.” The jock staggered backward, his face turning pale before flushing scarlet. He flipped the card over, glancing nervously around the room, as though fearing someone might have discovered his concealed, homosexual longing. But then... he turned the card over again, his face reflecting a perplexed arousal, and began to smirk with a growing sense of self-discovery.

Xenia watched the jock leave, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. The jock, whose secret desires Leo had so vividly projected, had practically skipped out, a new spring in his step, his 'potency' apparently restored. "Such delightful progress," Xenia purred, her gaze falling to the ornate card. The Dark Prince shimmered, his form now was once again adorned with the striking feathered collar and luxurious black velvet and satin. The blond hair, now slicked back, caught the light, the sharp features of the Dark Prince imbued with Leo's youthful innocence. It was a potent combination, a paradox that made him irresistible. Leo had performed flawlessly. The locker room scene, the unbuttoned football gear, the jock’s raw, unexpected desire to rim him – it had all unfolded with a precision that bordered on terrifying. "Such a good boy," Xenia purred, her voice a low rumble, "you're shedding those inhibitions beautifully." She traced a manicured finger over the card’s surface. "Soon, very soon, my dear Leo, you will be ready." Her plan was nearing its fiery conclusion. Each forced performance, each unconfessed kink he embodied, chipped away at the sheltered economics student, replacing his naive romanticism with raw, unbridled carnal knowledge. She imagined the moment he’d finally emerge, pliable and eager, a walking testament to her power. "Andrea will be thrilled," she mused aloud, picturing her niece, whose pride still smarted from Leo's initial rejection. "To have him, stripped of all those tiresome inhibitions, a willing plaything for a single, glorious night. It will erase that stain on her reputation, proving she can have anyone." A low chuckle escaped her throat. "And the whispers will begin. 'The innocent Leo, after just one night with Andrea, became a veritable sex god.'" She savored the thought, already envisioning the bewildered whispers of her niece’s irresistible allure, would spread like wildfire. Everyone would know Andrea could have anyone she wanted, especially the ones who thought themselves above such base desires. But not yet. Not quite yet. Leo, in his current state, was too valuable. Xenia’s new clientele, drawn by Xenia's burgeoning fame, paid handsomely for revelations. The whispers started as faint tendrils, curling through the city’s hushed salons and exclusive clubs. Madame Xenia, they breathed, could see into the soul. Not just the surface, but the hidden currents, the subterranean desires. Xenia’s fame, once a murmur among the desperate and curious, now echoed through the better society. The scent of linoleum and ancient dust gave way to polished mahogany and the faint, sweet perfume of money. Her dingy mall shop vanished. The “Velvet Veil” had shed its dilapidated skin, emerging as an exclusive downtown parlor, tucked behind heavy velvet drapes in a renovated city-house.

Clients, rich and powerful, sought her out, their secrets ripe for the plucking. Each session filled her coffers, each shock of recognition on a client's face a fresh jolt of power. The card hummed faintly beneath her touch, a silent testament to the raw energy it contained. "A little longer, my Dark Prince," she whispered, her smile widening. "Just a few more willing sacrifices of your innocence. Then, you'll be ready for your grand debut." She slid the card back into its velvet-lined slot – Leo’s transformation was almost complete.

“Next!” Xenia called, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. The next client went in, a woman with a tightly coiffed bun and a nervous tremor in her hands. She spoke of her husband, a dull man, of their respectable life. “My husband… he’s so gentle. So kind. I merely wish to know if our love will remain as pure as it is now.” Xenia laid out a spread, her fingers dancing over the cards. She held up the Dark Prince card. “Look deeply, my dear. What does he show you?” Leo, from within the card, felt the familiar, electric current surge through him. He saw the woman’s true desire, a raw, unbridled yearning for a voyeuristic threesome, for the thrill of being watched, of her husband watching her with another man. The image on the card shifted, reflecting her hidden fantasy. Leo found himself embodying the third man, his form subtly altering to portray the woman’s specific type, his eyes holding the exact blend of lust and detachment she craved. He felt the shame, the thrill, the forbidden hunger, all filtered through his unwilling essence. He was forced to project the scene, the woman’s husband watching from the shadows, her body glistening, another man’s hands roaming her curves. Leo knelt, his head bowed, his tongue tracing the delicate folds of a woman’s pussy, the rhythmic *shlicking* sound almost audible. The woman, her face a mask of pure ecstasy, arched against him, her fingers tangled in his blond hair. The scene intensified, Leo rising, impaling her, the *squelching* wetness of their coupling filling the space, her moans a raw, guttural symphony. The woman stared, her mouth agape, a strange mixture of horror and fascination in her eyes. “Pure?” Xenia’s voice dripped with mock innocence. “Perhaps you define purity differently than most.”  

Later, a famous cosmetic surgeon, his face a landscape of weariness, came seeking advice on his marriage. “The spark,” he confessed, his voice a defeated whisper. “It’s gone. How do I reignite it with my wife?” Xenia placed the Dark Prince card on the table. Bridles appeared, gleaming leather and polished metal, settling onto Leo’s form. His opulent clothing vanished, replaced by skimpy leather briefs, barely covering his sleek hips.

The scene shifted again. The man, now in the card, held the reins, training Leo like a magnificent, wild horse. Leo, on all fours, muscles straining, began to mount whatever the man commanded, his body an eager, unresisting vessel for the man’s hidden desires. Xenia leaned forward, her voice conspiratorial. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “you should consider hiring an au pair. Someone you could secretly train.” The man’s eyes flickered, a nascent spark of something dark and thrilling igniting within them. He nodded slowly, a strange, hungry look on his face.

Then came Julian, a man whose tailored suit whispered of power and whose eyes held the cool calculation of a CEO. He sat opposite Xenia, his gaze steady, almost clinical.

“My girlfriend,” Julian began, his voice a low rumble, “she is formidable. Independent. We are equals, in every sense. I love that about her. We build each other up.” He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “I want to marry her. I need to know if we’ll remain in love. Until death.” Xenia’s lips curved, a sliver of crimson in the dim light. She reached for the ornate tarot deck, her fingers brushing the card at its heart. The Dark Prince. Leo’s imprisoned form shimmered within the card’s frame. "Tell me, Julian," Xenia's voice dropped, a silken whisper, "what does your heart truly desire in this… perfect partnership? Not what you *say* you desire, but what stirs in the primal depths of your being?" Julian’s gaze fixed on the card. He saw his girlfriend, proud and strong, but then the edges of her image blurred. A new vision began to form, coalescing around the card’s striking figure. His breath hitched. "I want her… on her knees. Begging me. Pleading." The words tumbled out, raw and unvarnished, a stark contradiction to his earlier pronouncements of equality. He watched the card, a strange fascination seizing him. The Dark Prince, with Leo’s face, began to shift. The opulent silks and feathers seemed to ripple, the background darkening, swirling with unspoken needs. Julian’s jaw tightened. "But… no. Not her. I want… *him*." His finger, trembling slightly, pointed at the card. "I want *him* on his knees." A blinding flash erupted from the card. The air crackled, thick with raw, unbridled erotic energy. The card, once a prison, now a portal, ripped open. Leo tumbled out, not as a flat image, but as flesh and blood, a breathtakingly handsome man. He wore a midnight-blue suit, the fabric shimmering, the unbuttoned black shirt revealing a smooth expanse of chest. Phantom shadows of feathers, glowing in an eerie blue light, flickered around him, a swift reminder of the magic that had birthed him.

Every line of his body, from the taut curve of his neck to the lean planes of his torso, radiated an undeniable, almost supernatural allure. His slicked-back blond hair gleamed, his features sharp, aristocratic, yet imbued with a shocking vulnerability. Leo breathed, a deep, shuddering gasp that felt like a lifetime of suppressed air finally released. The prison of the card, the endless, humiliating parade of others’ kinks, had shattered. Freedom. A pure, unadulterated relief washed over him. He took a step, testing the solid ground beneath his feet, the sensation of flesh and bone after an eternity of two dimensions. He was free. Finally he could continue his search for true love, for connection untainted by forced fantasy.

Xenia stared, her mouth agape. Her eyes, wide with shock, fixed on the man who stood where her most prized possession once lay. This wasn’t part of the plan. Her most potent tool, her living oracle, her source of wealth and power, had ripped himself from his prison. A surge of fury, cold and sharp, pierced her shock. But then, a new thought, dark and possessive, began to bloom. This was not a setback; it was an opportunity. He was no longer just a card; he was a living, breathing fetish, a customizable vessel for the most exclusive, the most depraved desires. She would bend him to her will, re-ensnare him, not just as her oracle, but as a pliable puppet, magically moldable to turn into every desired kink. His power was hers, and she would stop at nothing to reclaim him. He was too exquisite to simply walk away.

Julian, however, saw only the manifestation of his deepest desire. His eyes devoured Leo, lingering on the silk, the exposed skin, the arrogant tilt of his head. He saw Leo, not as a man, but as the ultimate prize, the living embodiment of his darkest fantasy. A primal urge surged through him, an imperative to claim this exquisite creature. “Kneel,” Julian commanded. The single word, sharp and undeniable, bypassed Leo’s conscious thought. His knees buckled, a strange, involuntary obedience seizing him.

His old self recoiled but the echoes of a thousand kinky fantasies ricocheted through his mind, a cacophony of perverse whispers. He felt a profound sense of cognitive dissonance, his old self wrestling with this new, overtly sexual identity. All the while his body moved without his will like a puppet on invisible strings. Leo reached out, his fingers brushing against Julian’s pants, then unzipping. Julian’s erection sprang free, hard and engorged. Leo leaned forward, his mouth opening, a silent invitation. He took Julian’s cock, slick and hot, into his mouth. Leo sucked, his tongue tracing the ridged head, then sweeping down the shaft. Each stroke was an echo of a thousand secret acts, a thousand hidden hungers he had been forced to witness, to embody. The pleasure, sharp and unfamiliar, ripped through him. He wanted to stop. He yearned for the pure, unmanipulated connection, the intellectual discourse, the shared laughter. But his body, now a vessel for raw desire, refused to obey. He couldn't pull back. The urge to consume, to please, to be consumed, was too powerful. Julian’s fingers tangled in Leo’s hair, holding him firm. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Good boy.” A drop of pre-cum, thick and creamy, landed on Leo’s tongue. It wasn’t just a taste; it was a revelation. A shift, subtle but profound, rippled through Leo’s core. The yearning for true love, for intellectual partnership, for the mother of his children, receded, replaced by a strange, unsettling clarity. Control. He craved control. Not to give it, but to *relinquish* it. To let someone else make the decisions. To be decoration, not narration. Julian’s  fingers caressed Leo’s slicked-back hair and he pulled Leo’s head back gently, just enough to look into his eyes. "You like that, don't you?" Julian’s voice was a low rumble. Leo stared up at him, a flush creeping across his cheekbones. He couldn't speak, not with his mouth full. He nodded, a small, involuntary movement. Julian’s hand reached down, his fingers circling Leo’s wrist. A cold, heavy object clicked into place. Leo pulled back, his eyes meeting Julian’s, a question forming on his lips. “What is this?” Leo asked, his voice a low, husky rasp, unfamiliar to his own ears. Julian’s thumb stroked the gleaming metal of the watch. “A Breitling. It’s yours.” Leo stared at the intricate timepiece, then back at Julian. "This… this says I’m a trophy." The words came out, small, unsure. Julian’s smile widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "No, Leo. This says you belong to me. It says I choose, and you follow. Doesn’t that feel good?" A tremor ran through Leo. He wanted to argue, to deny it, to cling to the last vestiges of his independent spirit. But the raw, undeniable truth of Julian’s words resonated deep within him. It *did* feel good. Incredibly good. The weight of decision, the burden of choice, lifted from his shoulders. A strange, blissful emptiness began to bloom where his anxieties once resided. "It… it feels incredible," Leo whispered, his gaze fixed on Julian’s face.

Julian ran a hand through his own perfectly coiffed hair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "My girlfriend… she’s brilliant, you know. An absolute intellectual powerhouse. But… it’s exhausting, sometimes. All that equality." He looked at Leo, a new hunger in his eyes, one that bypassed intellect entirely. "I don’t want an equal. I want to be adored. I want to be worshipped." He paused, then his gaze sharpened, a cruel edge entering his voice. "Let’s lower your IQ, shall we? I want my boy dumb." Leo flinched. His old self, the economics student who cherished his intellect, resurfaced, albeit weakly. His intellect. That was the core of him, the part he cherished, the part that sought philosophical debates and political discourse. But the echoes of his time in the card, the forced embodiment of every client’s deepest, most submissive kinks, had already paved the way. He was already subdued, already pliable. He couldn’t fight it. The urge to please, to comply, was overwhelming. The demand to be dumb, to worship, resonated deep within the newly formed chasms of his being. An empty, slightly foolish, chuckle slipped from Leo’s lips. "Dumber, yeah!" The words were light, airy, almost playful. But in his eyes, a flicker of something vital, something sharp and analytical, dimmed, then vanished. His intellect began to unravel, slipping away like sand through his fingers, … to dissolve into a hazy, agreeable fog. He was becoming the object, not the subject.

Across the room, Xenia watched, her lips a thin line. Her gaze drifted from the two men to the ornate tarot card, the "Dark Prince" from which Leo had so recently burst forth. As she watched, the image on the card began to shift, shimmering like heat haze over asphalt. The severe black and feathers melted away. In their place, a new figure materialized, startlingly familiar yet utterly transformed. It was Leo, undeniably, but a Leo rendered in an entirely different aesthetic. He wore a royal blue Gucci silk shirt, unbuttoned to reveal the smooth curve of his chest, tucked into off-white leather pants. His slicked-back golden hair gleamed under an invisible spotlight. At the bottom of the card, the elegant script now read: 'Kept Boy'.

Then, an unnatural heat radiated from the card. Smoke curled from its edges, a faint, acrid scent filling the air. The card ignited, not with a fierce blaze, but with an internal, consuming fire, turning silently to ash. The 'Kept Boy' image, Leo’s new identity, dissolved into nothingness. Xenia’s eyes widened, a flash of genuine fury crossing her face. The card, her primary tool for controlling him, was gone. Her means of re-ensnaring him had shattered. A low growl rumbled in her throat. Julian’s hunger, Leo’s surrender—it had sealed the deal.

Then, a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips while realization washed over her with a wave of perverse satisfaction. A laugh, low and guttural, bubbled from her throat. It was not the outcome she intended, but it was, in its own twisted way, even better. Her plans to reclaim him, to force him into Andrea’s bed, were shattered. But this… this was so much better. Leo, the innocent, the romantic, the virgin who yearned for true love, was now irrevocably Julian’s. He was a kept boy, gay by accident, stripped of his intellect, his agency, his very self. “Oh, Leo,” Xenia purred, the sound dripping with malicious satisfaction. “What a delicious twist.” His virgin cock, once destined for a loving wife, would never touch a pussy. He would never father children, never secure his heritage, never find that equal partner he so desperately sought. His cock, once a symbol of potential lineage, was no longer a baby maker. It was a toy. No,… not just his cock, the whole boy had become a toy. Julian’s toy - a beautiful, compliant object. The irony was exquisite. It was the ultimate, exquisite punishment.

inspired by @spiralplz

Post by @spiralplz · 1 video

💬 0  🔁 4  ❤️ 31 · Dumb trophy series pt 12 Let’s lower your iq

[rellaredacted]

ughhh i need to be a pretty girl's himbo ken doll. it's not even a want anymore bro like i need it or im gonna die. need to carry all her shopping bags for her cuz im strong af and i want her to buy all the fancy shit she wants cuz she deserves it. wanna wash her car in tight shorts and a flimsy tank top and make her watch while i work for her and get all hot in the sun and cool myself down with a gatorade after. wanna run off the field into her arms after my football game where i scored the winning touchdown nd spin her around and kiss her with eye black smudged on my face nd hardly able to land on her lips from how hard im smiling. wanna be so in love that porn doesnt even get me off anymore and i touch myself to every part of her instead. have her put kt tape on my sore muscles after i worked out all day to bulk up for her. worship her body at night, in my bed, in hers, under the bleachers, between classes, anywhere either of us feel like it cuz she's so perfect i can't keep it in my pants around her. just a stupid empty headed himbo jock bf who only knows work out and make gf happy. everything's easy when u have a hella sick body and the prettiest girl in the goddamn universe.

[mrqjack]

The Warden - At work

The secret alcove behind the old storage wing had no cameras and almost no foot traffic. The boss stood with his back to the wall while the new guy, still green to the prison, passed him a small packet with quick, steady hands.

Footsteps approached.

The Warden rounded the corner on what looked like a routine walk-through. He stopped when he saw them. The newbie went white and scrambled half a step back, packet still in his fingers.

“Shit— Warden, I—”

The Warden raised a hand, voice even. “Relax. I’m not gonna do shit. I’m the boss’s bitch.”

The newbie stared, mouth open. The boss let out a short chuckle at the look on his face.

“You startled our little friend here,” the boss said mildly. “Shouldn’t you offer your ass as an apology?”

The Warden’s reply came without hesitation. “How rude of me. Of course.”

He unbuttoned his shirt first, peeled it off, and set it aside. Smooth chest, smooth groin, smooth armpits, not a single hair anywhere. Then the pants and underwear. His cock sat locked in a heavy cage, the head visibly pink, the skin around it just as bare as the rest of him. He reached back and pushed two fingers into himself, working them open while the newbie watched, already hard and staring.

When he judged it enough, the Warden turned, braced his hands on the low ledge, and spread his cheeks. The ass he presented was round and full, almost twink-plush despite the rest of his solid frame. The pink hole flexed once, open and eager.

The boss tipped his chin. The newbie stepped in, still half in disbelief, and pushed into that ready heat. The Warden’s ass took him smoothly, hot and tight in a way that made the younger man suck in a sharp breath.

A moment later the Warden looked up at the boss, polite even with a cock already in him. “May I have yours as well?”

The boss nodded and moved in front of him. The Warden opened his mouth and took him down without fuss, settling into the rhythm of serving both ends at once.

“Work that ass harder,” the boss said. “Show him you mean the apology.”

“Yes,” the Warden answered around the cock in his mouth, voice a little muffled. “I’ll do my best to earn forgiveness.”

He did. The muscles of his hole flexed and milked with deliberate skill, squeezing and releasing in a practiced rhythm that pulled the newbie deeper. It was too good and too sudden. The newbie’s hips stuttered, he grabbed the Warden’s waist and came hard, flooding him in thick pulses.

The sudden heat inside pushed the Warden over the edge with him. His body shivered, hole clenching rhythmically around the spent cock, and for a brief second his eyes rolled back. A loose, fucked-silly smile spread across his face before it faded into the usual flush.

The boss watched it happen and gave a low, approving sound. “How cute.” He finished a moment later, holding the Warden’s head in place as he came down his throat.

When both men pulled free, the boss glanced at the Warden. “Leave now. I’m not finished with him yet.”

The Warden straightened, still pink-cheeked and soft inside the cage. He dressed quickly, tucking the mess he’d been told to keep inside him under the uniform. The boss spoke while he was still settling the last buttons.

“Your office tonight. Same as usual.”

The Warden nodded once, meekly, and walked out the way he had come, leaving the boss and the still-breathing-hard newbie alone in the blind spot.