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Jewell donned his gear hesitantly.
A red blush spread across his face. He felt awkward and uncertain under the eye of his owner. But at the same time, his throbbing arousal gave voice to just how much he enjoyed this.
First the ears went over his...

Jewell donned his gear hesitantly.

A red blush spread across his face. He felt awkward and uncertain under the eye of his owner. But at the same time, his throbbing arousal gave voice to just how much he enjoyed this.

First the ears went over his hair. Throb.

Then the wrist cuffs over each narrow wrist. Throb. Throb.

And collar, fastened in the front with a lock. Throb.

Lastly, the tail. His face was now a burning red as he turned his bum towards his master and bent over slightly, party his cheeks and pressing the plug against his rosebud. He gasped lewdly as he pushed it inward. Throb.

Still aroused. Still humiliated, he looked up expectantly at his owner and raised a coy eyebrow.

***

I appear to be on an ears and tail streak lately. I don’t feel bad about it. :p

Flash of inspiration in the wee hours of the morning last night. 

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impioussaint-deactivated2018120
impioussaint:
“ misterchristianx
”
He was a good boy!
Master had told him so on several occasions. It had made him so blissfully happy to know that he had done something right and that his Owner would actually give him praise for it. But it was a...
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misterchristianx

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He was a good boy!

Master had told him so on several occasions. It had made him so blissfully happy to know that he had done something right and that his Owner would actually give him praise for it. But it was a double edged sword - it made him try ever so much harder to please.

At his Master’s command the boy had taken all of the heavy luggage in hand and scrambled up the stairs to the hotel room where his Master would be staying. He was not allowed to use elevators like real people; so he made quite the comical sight half-dragging, half-carrying the collection of his Owner’s belongings up flight after flight of stairs.

All the while his privates wagged like a dog’s tail between his legs in the chastity harness his Master had placed on him, drawing more than one curious glance from the hotel’s other denizens. Every movement stimulated his stretched organ which in turn caused him to whimper more than once in frustration and pain. But he was a good boy and endured it.

In the massive suite he worked frantically to unpack everything and put it in its rightful place. Master had said to meet him in the smoking lounge downstairs in fifteen minutes. The boy did not know how long had passed but he knew it wasn’t enough time.

Satisfied he turned and locked the door before sprinting back down the hall and down the stairs. In spite of his haste others still managed to swat him on his lean bottom or stroke the sensitive crown of his privates. It was a dripping, panting mess of a youth that finally staggered into the smoking lounge and took his place by his Master’s side.

“Thirteen minutes.” Came the smooth, sensuous sound of his Owner’s voice. Then, like music to his ears, “That’s a good boy. Now put this out, will you?”

It was not a request. Tears welled in the teen’s eyes, muscles tensed and he fidgeted wildly with his hands as the man ground his cigarette butt in to his delicate skin. But still the faint hint of a smile was about his mouth.

He was a good boy!

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The only light in the room was the yellow incandescence of a single, naked light bulb swaying overhead. No windows. Cold concrete floor. The occasional sound of footsteps overhead. Only a single heavy door on the opposite wall.
What time of day was...

The only light in the room was the yellow incandescence of a single, naked light bulb swaying overhead. No windows. Cold concrete floor. The occasional sound of footsteps overhead. Only a single heavy door on the opposite wall.

What time of day was it? Fuck. How long had he even been here? There was no real way of knowing. Time had a strange way of being fluid - fast and slow - all at once.

The chain attached to his heavy PA was only long enough for him to get up onto his knees. Even then, he had to do so gingerly so not to tug uncomfortably on his sensitive bits. It lived up to its purpose of keeping him immobile.

Dinner still sat nearby. It looked as unpleasant as it had the day before when they first brought it down. Dog food? Cat food? It definitely wasn’t people food. Chaz had gotten as far as licking a bit before pulling away. It was so degrading, so wrong.

How much longer was he going to be here? Hadn’t he learned his lesson? He was only a few hours past curfew. He’d said as much when they last came down - sassing them and talking back in the process. Man, his parents had thrown a cow.

Grounded for a week…

***

Chaz’s real name is Charlie Temple (cuz he looks like a male Shirley Temple).

This pic is based on a idea I came up with for Danaume for a female victim. However, being me, I hand to steal the idea back and put it to some kind of gay use.

I love the hair. And the face. I am absolutely in love with his appearance XD I drew that hair over a year ago and have been looking for an excuse to use it ever since. His tummy pudge didn’t come out as cute as I wanted, but I guess I’m still not perfect ;)

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His knees quaked and his arms strained. Sweat glistened on bare skin as Prescott drew panicky, shallow breaths. Every few minutes for the last hour the rope had winched a little higher, forcing the youth up off of the chair.
How long had it been?...

His knees quaked and his arms strained. Sweat glistened on bare skin as Prescott drew panicky, shallow breaths. Every few minutes for the last hour the rope had winched a little higher, forcing the youth up off of the chair.

How long had it been? Prescott was almost glad he couldn’t see a clock. To watch each minute go by agonizingly, with no certainty of his future here. It was almost better to not know. Almost.

By holding himself awkwardly aloft he diminished the substantial agony in his nethers, which had turned an angry purple some time ago. Unfortunately, raising himself thus also push him against a rope deviously wound about his neck, making each breath feel labored and exhausting.

Mister Gutreich left the room some time ago, which terrified Prescott all the more. What if he lost his footing and fell? Would he just dangle there by his family jewels or would their be a sickening pop and then … nothing?

Prescott didn’t want to think about it but, at that very moment, there was nothing more pressing on his mind.

***

Well I’m getting shit for sleep tonight. I hope you all appreciate the pains I take to post my work for you ;)

Technically this is part 3 of the adventures of Prescott. Part 2 is still a work in progress… But I was never one for linear storytelling. Be happy I managed to revisit him at all.

His proportions seem a little smaller than the first drawing but - hey - you can at least tell he’s the same person (I hope). The story is not the best but I’m falling asleep at the keyboard. I’ll touch it up tomorrow.

Also, y!gallery, please don’t be broken again :p

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