Small Dom - Tumblr Posts

Ricky had absolutely no idea why he'd stripped completely and totally naked when his roommate Ian had told him to. Normally, he would have told the fruitcake he reluctantly shared an apartment with to fuck off with his faggy fantasies unless he wanted to be eating a knuckle sandwich for his next meal.

Something had changed, though. Ever since Ian had shown him that strange video -- what had that even been, anyway? what were all those odd colours, shapes, and sounds? -- there was something about Ian's voice that made it impossible for Ricky to do anything other than exactly whatever the scrawny little poof told him to.

Just stripping down in front of him was humiliating enough on its own. Ian -- dressed like he had somewhere important to be -- had regarded Ricky with an almost clinical gaze as the beefy bodybuilder had peeled off each article of clothing, making him feel significantly more vulnerable and exposed than he did when undressing in the locker room or getting naked with a sexual partner.

But that was far from the end of what Ian was going to order his homophobic roommate to do for him. Before the bare-ass beefcake had even had a second to process what he'd just done, Ian handed Ricky a bottle and issued a simple command: "oil up."

"Heh, okay, come on, bro, you've had your fun," Ricky said nervously, trying to act like this was not freaking him out as much as it was. Despite his profound desire to escape this situation, he was nevertheless doing exactly as he was told, starting by rubbing the baby oil all over his meaty pectorals as Ian looked on hungrily.

"Don't stop there," Ian said, ignoring Ricky's words, openly objectifying him by paying attention only to his body. "Make sure to get plenty on your abs and biceps, too."

"Right... cool, but... uh, this is probably enough of this shit now, right?" Ricky asked with the same nervousness in his voice as -- despite himself -- he applied more baby oil to his well-muscled flesh.

"Dick too," Ian said plainly, gesturing to the nether regions where he wanted Ricky to continue oiling himself up.

"Fuck, come on, Ian," Ricky pleaded as he applied the slick substance to his crotch. "I know I was a jerk, but don't you think whatever you're doing has gone far enough now?"

"Arms above your head," Ian stated, again ignoring Ricky's words in favour of his body alone. As the burly bodybuilder lifted his arms, Ian circled around him, evaluating him like a piece of meat for purchase instead of a person he shared an apartment with.

When the slender, smaller man had finished his walk around the Greek god currently displaying himself like a cheap whore for sale, he finally looked Ricky in the face. The beefy meathead's hope for a response to his plaintiff pleas for mercy were dashed when Ian's next command came: "No more talking, got it?"

While not an order that came with a physical action like the others had, Ricky felt his body obeying, his tongue choosing a position to rest in and his jaw clenching shut ever-so-slightly.

"And to answer your question," Ian began, studying Ricky's oiled-up physique as he spoke. "I've barely gotten started."

Ricky swallowed hard as a vindictive expression came over Ian's face.

"You think I don't know the shit you get up to?" he said, contempt in his voice. "Date-raping all those girls you bring home?!" Ian spat. "Acting like a goddamn neo-Nazi at all those fucking far right rallies?!" he continued. His eyes narrowed and his voice went ice cold as he concluded: "Beating the shit out of my best friend and his boyfriend for holding hands in public?"

Ricky felt his stomach drop. Ian knew. Ian knew all of it. And, thanks to whatever impossible trick he had used to put Ricky into his current state, Ian was going to make sure that this malicious macho man learned an important lesson: karma's a bitch.

Ricky jumped when a knock came suddenly at the door to their apartment.

Ian glanced at his wristwatch, a sly grin forming on his face. "Looks like some of my guests must be early," he said simply.

Ricky, unable to speak, pleaded with his eyes, knowing he deserved no mercy but still praying that he might receive it.

"Not to worry, though. It won't take me long to set things up for the party..." Ian said, reaching down to start pulling items out of a sack that had been sitting at his feet. Calmly and methodically, he set the first few items down on the table in front of him: a leather flogger, shark-tooth nipple clamps, a full-sized wooden frat paddle, and a spiked chastity cage.

Ricky didn't know what mortified him more: the torture devices Ian had just spread out on the table, or the fact that the bag that these BDSM nightmares had come from still appeared to be three-quarters full.

A knock came at the door once more, this time louder and more insistent.

"Well, don't just stand there," Ian said to the white-as-a-sheet Ricky as he began to dig in the sack once more. "Be a good boy and let our guests in."

Dreading what would come next (answering the door -- naked, oiled up, and on full display -- to a couple of fags who loved his muscles and hated his guts) and what would come after (a night -- or more -- of sadistic sexual torment from every last homo Ian knew), Ricky still had to do as he was commanded.

As he turned the handle to let the first of Ian's guests inside, he heard his new master call out with words that told him things were only going to get worse from here on out: "Come on in, guys! The party's just getting started..."

Bring Your Kid to Work Day

Not only was Timmy’s image of his father totally destroyed in the moment the announcer had welcomed "Dirk the DILF" to the stage, but something else dawned on him in the same instant: if word got out among his classmates of what his dad did for work, he knew that the “Tough Guy Tim” image he’d worked so hard to cultivate would be shattered.

Almost as though someone had heard that thought passing through Timmy’s head, it only took a second for a familiar voice to let him know how quickly that his new fear of irreparable reputational damage could become a reality: “Tim? That you?”

Timmy froze, hoping that, if he didn't turn around, then he could just slip out the back before whoever thought they recognized him could confirm it.

"Tim, hey! It's me, Freddy," the familiar voice continued, reaching out and grabbing hold of Timmy's shoulder to make sure he couldn't ignore him anymore.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Of course it had to be "Freddy the Fairy" who spotted him here. Given how frequently Timmy had bullied this limp-wristed faggot, he had a strong suspicion that Freddy wouldn't hesitate to spread some reputation-destroying information among everyone at their high school.

"Uh, hey, Freddy..." Timmy said hesitantly, still not looking his classmate in the face as he tried to think of a way to explain his presence here without letting it slip that his own father was the one who'd just been shaking his ass in a skimpy little g-string on stage.

"So, I guess we have some common interests," Freddy said, clearly thinking that Timmy had come here to enjoy the show. That would explain why Freddy seemed pleased to see someone he normally recoiled in fear from: he evidently thought that he'd just discovered that Timmy was secretly as gay as he was.

While Timmy could have -- and probably should have -- used that as a cover story, he didn't think through his instinctive response: "Oh, fuck off! I'm not a fruitcake like you are you little --"

Timmy was cut off by another familiar voice coming from behind him. While not speaking to him this time, just hearing what it said was enough to knock him off-kilter.

"Hey there, hot stuff," his dad said, apparently speaking to Freddy. Noticing Timmy standing next to his #1 fan, Dirk added, "Oh, great, I see you've already met my son."

Timmy went bright red, a reaction caused in equal parts by humiliation and by rage.

"What the fuck, Dad?!" Timmy spat. "What is all this?!" he continued, gesturing at the sleazy male strip club around him. "And why the fuck are you calling Freddy the Fairy 'hot stuff'?!"

Dirk's face made an expression Timmy was familiar with: it was the one he'd worn when he'd told Timmy he and his mother were getting a divorce, when he'd told Timmy they couldn't take a summer vacation, and when he'd told Timmy he couldn't afford to send him to college next year. Normally, it was a gentle, fatherly look that helped to put his son at ease -- although, given that his dad was still wearing a g-strip with dollar bills sticking out of it, it was hard for Timmy to feel "reassured" by someone who looked like a cheap man-whore.

"Oh, wow, Timmy... I'm sorry," he started, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's just, well... I thought you knew this is what I did for work."

Timmy's mind played back all the things his dad had said and done since getting a "job at the club" on the outskirts of town. The clues were all there, he realized now -- he'd just chosen to ignore the obvious because of what it would mean.

"And, well, I don't want to drop too many bombshells on you at once, but..." Dirk looked to Freddy and then back to his son. "Well... Freddy here is my boyfriend, son."

Timmy's jaw dropped. This was too much. It was bad enough to think that his dad would let all of those men grab and grope at his body for money, but this?! He'd just revealed to his son that he was DATING the weak twerp Timmy had terrorized for years.

"Listen, I'll give you some time to process that," Dirk said, looking to see where his fellow stripper was in his own routine on stage. "I gotta get back up there in a minute, so we can talk afterwards."

Stepping over to Freddy, Dirk continued (now in a sultry, seductive tone), "And I'll see you afterwards too."

It would have been hard for Timmy to see his father kissing another man -- but what actually happened was even worse than that. Freddy took Dirk's head in one hand and pressed the DILF's mouth forcefully into his own, his tongue obviously invading the older man's orifice as soon as they connected. Dirk eagerly allowed it happen, obviously enjoying submitting to whatever Freddy wanted to do to him. As though that weren't enough, Freddy's other hand reached around and gropingly manhandled Dirk's bare butt all the while.

The body language spoke volumes: twinky little Freddy was "the man" here, while Timmy's dad was nothing more than a fucktoy himbo.

Freddy gave Dirk's ass a firm slap as the older man turned to start walking away, his eyes then glued to those two beefy globes until he turned the corner to go backstage.

"So, uh, 'Timmy'," Freddy said, dropping the "Tim" moniker that his bully had used to make himself seem more manly than his given name of "Timmy" suggested. "I have a feeling things are gonna be different from now on."

Timmy felt sick. He'd just learned that the faggy kid he'd been pummelling with his fists was now going to be pummelling his own butt-slut father with his twink cock from here on out. How was he supposed to handle any of this?

"But, uh, hey, how about this," Freddy said, putting a sympathetic hand on Timmy's shoulder in an imitation of the fatherly gesture his dad had used on him only a moment ago. "I've been getting pretty sick of Dirk telling me we have to 'keep it down' when I'm plowing into his muscle-cunt on the other side of your bedroom wall. So, I'll keep quiet about all of this," he said, gesturing around him, "if you let me and your dad make all the noise we want at your place, hmm?"

As Dirk the DILF returned to the stage, Timmy swallowed hard and nodded in agreement to the conditions Freddy had just set. His reputation was all he had and he'd do anything to preserve it.

"Sure, Freddy," Timmy said sullenly to the dom top twink who'd be slam-fucking his own father with total abandon later that night. "Whatever you say..."