I am a healthy European man who enjoys using fit submissive males. Along the way I enjoy helping submissive males and the men they serve better understand each other. Re-posted images deleted upon request.
“Boy, I don’t understand what the problem is. The suit fits you perfectly.”
“But, sir. I'm not wearing a shirt, I don’t have any underwear on, there’s no belt in my pants. And the suit coat is just draped over my shoulders. I walk into a restaurant dressed like this, everyone’s gonna assume I’m a whore, a rent-boy you’ve hired for the night.”
“Boy, you need to face facts. You ARE a whore. That's why you’ re with me. I provide you with a place to stay; I feed you; I even give you some spending money. And, in return, you let me use your body. It's a nice body, boy, I’ll give you that. And you’ve got a great pussy between your legs - that’s definitely first-rate. But the bottom line, boy, is that you’re a whore. I know that. And you know that, too. So, what’s your problem?”
“Sir, just because…just because I’m a whore, it doesn’t mean I want the whole world to know it. I don’t want to broadcast it to anybody who sees me on the streets. Walking into a restaurant dressed like this would be so humiliating, having everyone staring at me and talking about me. Couldn't I at least wear a shirt, sir? Something to cover up my chest? Or underwear, at least? I mean, sir, they can see my pubes - or they would if you didn’t make me shave them off.”
“No, boy. You're going just the way you are. Besides, boy, the minute the two of us walk into any four-star restaurant everyone there will assume you’re my kept boy no matter how you’re dressed. Your outfit just validates what they’d assume anyway. So, come on, boy, we need to get going. We don’t want to be late for our reservations.”
“Sir, please.”
“Enough, boy. Are you coming or not?”
“Sir, I really don’t want to…but…I’ll do it if I have to.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, boy. You can kiss all this stuff goodbye and walk out that door in whatever clothes you want. But if you want to keep living with me, if you want the ‘life of ease’ you’ve been living to continue, then yes, boy, you have to. That's your choice, boy. That's your choice. So are you coming…or are you leaving?”
“I’m coming, sir. I'm coming…just like you want.”
“Yeah, boy, I figured you would. A smart whore always remembers what side his buns are buttered on and just who it is who’s sticking his dick up between them. And you’ve always been a smart whore, boy. So let’s get going.”
“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
“Yeah, boy, just remember that. Just remember it’s whatever I say. Just keep being a smart whore and remember that.”
“Boy, I don’t understand what the problem is. The suit fits you perfectly.”
“But, sir. I'm not wearing a shirt, I don’t have any underwear on, there’s no belt in my pants. And the suit coat is just draped over my shoulders. I walk into a restaurant dressed like this, everyone’s gonna assume I’m a whore, a rent-boy you’ve hired for the night.”
“Boy, you need to face facts. You ARE a whore. That's why you’ re with me. I provide you with a place to stay; I feed you; I even give you some spending money. And, in return, you let me use your body. It's a nice body, boy, I’ll give you that. And you’ve got a great pussy between your legs - that’s definitely first-rate. But the bottom line, boy, is that you’re a whore. I know that. And you know that, too. So, what’s your problem?”
“Sir, just because…just because I’m a whore, it doesn’t mean I want the whole world to know it. I don’t want to broadcast it to anybody who sees me on the streets. Walking into a restaurant dressed like this would be so humiliating, having everyone staring at me and talking about me. Couldn't I at least wear a shirt, sir? Something to cover up my chest? Or underwear, at least? I mean, sir, they can see my pubes - or they would if you didn’t make me shave them off.”
“No, boy. You're going just the way you are. Besides, boy, the minute the two of us walk into any four-star restaurant everyone there will assume you’re my kept boy no matter how you’re dressed. Your outfit just validates what they’d assume anyway. So, come on, boy, we need to get going. We don’t want to be late for our reservations.”
“Sir, please.”
“Enough, boy. Are you coming or not?”
“Sir, I really don’t want to…but…I’ll do it if I have to.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, boy. You can kiss all this stuff goodbye and walk out that door in whatever clothes you want. But if you want to keep living with me, if you want the ‘life of ease’ you’ve been living to continue, then yes, boy, you have to. That's your choice, boy. That's your choice. So are you coming…or are you leaving?”
“I’m coming, sir. I'm coming…just like you want.”
“Yeah, boy, I figured you would. A smart whore always remembers what side his buns are buttered on and just who it is who’s sticking his dick up between them. And you’ve always been a smart whore, boy. So let’s get going.”
“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
“Yeah, boy, just remember that. Just remember it’s whatever I say. Just keep being a smart whore and remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”