Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
MASTERS VLOGGER
Bink Cummings
Copyright © 2017 by: Bink Cummings
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Proofreader/Editor- Genevieve Scholl.
Proofreader/Beta- Mary Bevinger, Kylie Sharp
& Tammy Anderson
Cover Artist- Bink Cummings
Photo provided from: Big Stock
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to the Author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
About this book:
It’s been over a year since Master rescued me from the commune. Now, I live my amazing life with the man of my dreams as I pursue my career as a vlogger. The only problem is, as much as I love my master and the life we lead, I’ve sworn off all male friendships aside from Jake’s—our next door neighbor. It’s nothing personal. I just can’t seem to get past … the one thing that tore into my soul and won’t let go. I don’t want to be this way. But I can’t seem to help it…
Will Master find a way to fix what’s been broken?
Or, am I destined to live my life jaded, thanks to a scarred past?
I’m not a damn victim.
If only my brain would get the memo.
Warning: Read at your discretion. This novella contains shameless sexual M/M content. Adult F'in language. A smidgen of mushy love. Taboo elements including those of consensual BDSM relationships. And whatever else that makes it unsuitable for anyone under the age of 18.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Michael
In our playroom, seated on a blue computer chair in front of the laptop, I prepare myself to hold bogus eye contact with my audience through the tiny dot above the screen. Inhaling a deep breath, I channel my inner socialite to record another vlog about my life as a submissive. Aptly named The Naked Submissive, because, well, I’m naked. Apart from the blue jeweled plug nestled in my ass and the cage wrapped around my junk, I’m as naked as a jay bird. It’s how I prefer to live. Nude. Without the constriction of those godawful garments you call clothes. Growing up, I had to wear them like everybody else. That is, until I moved into The House of Red, a commune for men like me—gay submissives. Before that, I was a poor kid living on the streets, trading tricks for a hot meal and a few bucks. Luckily, I was saved by Master Croy and taken in for six years. During that time, I lived my life in the buff. There was no need for clothes—they got in the way. Now that I’m living a new, much happier life with my full-time master, I still prefer my birthday suit. Unfortunately, that displeases him often. Since letting it all hang out in public is against the law. He should know. He’s a judge. That’s the last thing we need in our lives; me getting arrested for indecent exposure. It’s bad enough he’s the only outed gay man in the court system where he works. Every night, there’s another story about some asshole shooting him scathing looks, which I have to smooth over when Master gets home. Not that I mind the soothing part. It’s the pissing him off part that upsets me most. He doesn’t deserve that. Not after all we’ve been through over the past year.
As I was so eloquently trying to convey, I’m ready to perform for my ever-growing audience. Eleven months ago, my master, who’s also known as Judge Corey Kellan, to you, gave me the green light to start this vlog. At first, I was hesitant. It took me a week to come up with a name. Another to make an actual YouTube account. By then, I’d shot three videos … all of which I trashed. My entrance in to the world of online vlogging wasn’t an overnight success. Not that I expected it to be. Vlogging is, first and foremost, for me, to educate and inform. Whether it be a shortened biography of my sad gay childhood in foster care, or how to pick the best butt plug, it’s an outlet of sorts to get my overworked thoughts into tangible form. If nobody watches it, no biggie. I feel better knowing my vast knowledge is floating in cyberspace, ready to be consumed. It’s cathartic. And if I help one person learn a tiny bit about themselves in the process then I consider that a monumental success.
At least that’s what I thought months ago when this all began. That was before the explosion. And by explosion, I mean going viral. One day I posted a video talking about mine and Master’s day to day life as a Dom/sub couple and boom, I was everywhere. My first month I’d been ecstatic to have fifty views on my uploads. Some of which I suspect were from my master himself. He has a habit of policing my channel. To exercise his presence within my online persona, he’s created his own YouTube handle—Michael’s Master. My now, seven hundred and fifty thousand followers love his interactions so much they want him for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and twice for dessert. They can ogle and dream dirty thoughts all they want, but he’s mine. Mine all mine.
Speaking of Master, he should be home shortly. Maybe I should post a video with him today? It’d be the perfect boost to highlight our up and coming website launch that’s been designed and fully funded by one of my sponsors. Who knew becoming an overnight sensation in the BDSM community would stir up a ton of interest? Not me. I went from happily making zero dollars to a healthy six figure income. Add my adult product sponsorships, and we’re set for years to come. It’s crazy to think it all started from nothing and traveled this far in such a short span. Sometimes, I pinch myself to make sure this is real and not a figment of my imagination.
Reaching out, I angle the laptop camera to give a full view of my tanned pecs and defined abs. The rest of me is not suited for YouTube. That’s why my sponsors have designed a website—to give me a safe outlet to expose my nudity to the masses through tutorial videos. Don’t worry. It’s not pornography. I look at it as more of a hands-on approach to the lifestyle. We are to feature my spanking bench with step-by-step instructions by Master, who agreed to partake in this adventure with me for the right price and a mask to conceal his identity. This transition has been in the works for months. There was a lot of legal mumbo jumbo we had to wade through. Good thing he knows how to negotiate contracts flawlessly. I couldn’t have come this far without him.
Snatching my phone off the makeshift desk, which is nothing more than a table, I shoot Master a quick text.
Do you wanna be in tonight’s video? I can wait until you get home to film.
The reply is instantaneous.
No. I won’t be home for another two hours. Maddox needs my help with something. Sorry, baby. I forgot to text ya sooner.
Sighing and shaking my head, I grin a smidge. Maddox is Master’s eldest son. Yes; I know being with a man who has three teenagers isn’t without its challenges. There are small sacrifices that have to be made. But they’re well worth it. I love his children as much as I love him. They’re a packaged deal, and I knew that going in. I wouldn’t change it for the world. Guess it helps that they accept me. If they didn’t, that would’ve thrown a big wrench in to our lives. We’re lucky our odd family dynamic works.
Me: No problem. Give him a hu
g from me. I’ll shoot a vid I’ve been putting off anyhow.
Master: Thanks for understanding. Love you.
Me: Love you more.
Master: Not possible. BTW, no cumming ‘til I get home. You know what happened last time.
Crap!
I groan dejectedly.
And just when I thought I could record what I promised my sponsors, he cock blocks my grand finale. Not that that’s a shocker. He never lets me ejaculate without permission. Still, I could use a little leeway here. I know this toy is gonna make me super hard. Hell, just thinking about it has me thickening.
Me: Yes, Master. I won’t come.
Master: That’s my Michael.
A shiver of happiness flitters from my toes to my fingertips for pleasing my master. Briefly closing my eyes and freeing a dreamy sigh, I wrap myself in the genuine warmth of his words as I picture Master’s naughty grin. The one he undoubtedly cracked when he sent the text.
Months ago, during a video, I’d brought myself so close to the brink of coming that I’d had an accident. Basically, my body flipped me the bird and threw me off a cliff. I’d shot spunk all over our playroom floor, then promptly deleted the video I’d been filming. That night, I’d been honest with Master about my epic failure, and he’d spent the subsequent hours paddling my butt and tying my balls with rubber bands. Talk about a mindfuck. I teetered on the pain/pleasure threshold for so long I couldn’t remember my name, much less stave off any further orgasms. Subspace can be … for the lack of a better word— intense.
An erotic zing of remembrance shoots from my asshole to my nuts. As painful as it is, I freaking love my testicles being abused. It’s degrading, but sexy as hell. Not many people realize how sensitive your balls can be until they’re possessed by a master. Mine in particular.
Shifting on the chair I readjust myself, which does little good to help the growing member inside the plastic tube. Soon, it’s gonna feel like a fat guy in a little coat. If only my dick could break the seams like Chris Farley in my third favorite movie of all time—Tommy Boy.
Heeding Master’s message, I pad my way to the closet that’s now chock full of unused sex toys—compliments of my sponsors. One of which is an online adult superstore and the other the world leading adult toy manufacturer. I’ve featured many of their products on my YouTube channel because I personally endorse the item. Not because they expect me to. More than half of my supply is given away or tossed because I can’t endorse something I don’t love. It’s a matter of principle. I can’t feed my viewers falsities for a paycheck. My sponsors both know and respect this. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t work with them.
Selecting the most appealing object on the shelf, I anxiously chew my bottom lip and return to my chair, facing it backward to straddle. In order to film, I can’t very well show my bottom half, and the chair back delivers much-needed privacy. Unfortunately, my subscribers have to go off my expression and explanation as I review.
Here goes nothing.
Clicking the record button, I smile flirtatiously into the camera, batting my long lashes.
“Hey, everybody. Welcome back to my channel. Today, I’ll be demonstrating The Perfect Stud vibrating prostate massager.” Resting it and its corded remote in my palm, I move it closer to the camera so my viewers can get a better look. It’s black, ribbed, and exciting as hell.
This is so damn fun.
I smile broadly at the screen. “As most of you know, I love toys like this. They are some of my favorites. And if you’ve watched my previous demonstrations, you understand why. Because, as a bottom, I love nothing more than to have my prostate milked. It’s such a turn on. Whether it be by my master’s finger, my own, or a toy, there’s nothing more addicting than having your man-G stimulated. Gay or straight, submissive or dominant, you can never go wrong with a little extra caliente in the bedroom.” Shimmying my shoulders, I wink, blowing an air kiss to my subscribers. They adore the flirtation. Master does not.
Setting the toy on the table top, I readjust on the chair so I can remove my plug before inserting The Perfect Stud. Through this process, I speak to my viewers like they’re old friends, telling them about my week, and how, as much as I’d love to come for them today, Master has forbade it since he’s not home. It’s something many of my viewers are intrigued by—my orgasms by anal play. I’ve offered two previous videos where I ejaculated behind my chair on screen, and they were some of my most successful to date. I guess people want the raw and uncut reality of what a toy can or can’t do. So many companies lie to sell a product. I never have. If I didn’t like it, I note that. There’s been a dozen or so vlog reviews of failed products. There’s no such thing as good without the bad.
Butt plug removed, I set it on the floor beside the chair and snatch the toy off the desk. Holding it up once more, I show my viewers. Then lube up the phallic vibrator with my favorite lubricant, and into my rectum it glides without a twinge of discomfort. Sighing through the insertion, my eyelids flutter when the toy settles on my favorite button. I grin lazily at the screen, already blissed out. The Stud is ergonomically perfect. Snug and stimulating without even turning the puppy on. The thin cord connected to its control is long enough that I can sit comfortably and hold it on the chair back where my viewers can see it plainly. Thankfully, its settings are not overly complicated like some of the vibrators I’ve sampled before.
“Are you ready for the first setting? I dunno if I am.” My abs contract at the mere thought of flipping the toy on. I can’t help it. My entire passage is lit up, ready for some action. Sometimes, I wish my body wasn’t so responsive. It does have its drawbacks.
Dropping my gaze to my imprisoned erection, I watch the first stream of pre-cum pour out of the tip in my cage, collecting in a small, clear puddle on the seat. Why do I always forget to cover the chair when I get down to business? It’s seen more cum than a hotel bed.
For show, I dip my pinky in the wetness and flaunt it to my subscribers. “I’m already leaking. I dunno about any of you, but I pre-cum a lot. It makes a huge mess. But my master sure does love it.” I smile brightly, all teeth and charm before sucking my pinky in to my mouth and making an erotic show of it. Who says I can’t be fun and seductive? It keeps my supporters returning over and over again. I consider it part of my appeal.
Extracting my finger with a wet pop, I steel myself for what’s yet to come, then flip on The Perfect Stud. The lowest setting pulses gentle vibrations through the walls of my anus. Lips parted, eyelids dancing, I succumb to the low hum torture. More pre-cum drools from my prick on to the chair. I moan lowly and do my best to professionally explain the exquisite sensation to my viewers before turning the level up.
Up, up, up.
I swap from one level to the next until I hit the toy’s intense finale, and what a finale it is. Gritting my teeth, no longer able to speak, my hands grip the back of the chair as the toy lives up to its name, turning me into a writhing sex fiend. Moaning unabashed, head thrown back, eyes pinched shut, I revel in the sweet, all-consuming ecstasy. It drowns out all sounds, and leaves my glans in a constant state of throbbing arousal. My hole, unsure of how to handle the invasion, clenches and unclenches, trying to milk that thing for all it’s worth. The telltale sign of imminent detonation radiates from my man-G to my balls, and up the shaft of my dick where another explosion of pre-cum soaks the fabric.
“Fuck!” I hiss, riding the razor's edge.
I mustn’t come.
Master will be mad.
But this feels so damn good.
Sweat beads on my brow and my spine bows, heaving my pecs heavenward as I fall victim to my baser needs.
“Oh God!”
My cock tries to buck, and my nuts draw tighter.
“If I do—don’t stop, I’m gonna come for you all. And I can’t. I can’t come. Master would be mad. But th—this toy is the b-b-best one yet. Th-the perfect fucking s-st-stud.”
The end of no return races up my spine, and I know it’s now
or never. To come or not to come.
Reluctantly, I heave a pained sigh and shut down the toy. Not wanting to tease myself further, I slip the gluttonous device from my rectum and drop it on the floor. The coolness of the air hits my damp, unfettered hole and I shiver, instantly feeling the loss. My gut churns its discontent. I hate being empty. Why can’t Master be home yet?
Running my fingertip around my dilated rim, I dip my finger inside, and it hugs around the digit. The churning in my stomach ceases momentarily. With my hole still plugged, I let my video run to edit later, and grab my phone to text Master one handed.
Me: I need you. My hole misses your dick. It needs eased.
Snapping a picture of my copious pre-cum mess, I attach it to the message.
Master: Put your plug back in. I’ll be home in an hour.
Ousting a childish whine I drop my forehead to the chair back, bottom lip jutting into an exaggerated pout.
Why can’t he come home now?
I stuff the phone between my chest and chair so I can view the screen.
Me: Bring Maddox home with you. We can shower. You can take me in there. Then I can cook us something. Please.
Can’t he see I’m close to begging? Hell. I am begging. This is the equivalent of me getting on my knees via text.
I need him. And the longer we’re together, the stronger our tether becomes. Not the opposite, like most relationships. My balls haven’t been hurt in almost a week. They need reprimanded, and I don’t care how adamant I have to be to coerce him in to that. Doesn’t he understand how hard this is right now? My heart is practically pounding out of my chest, as my dick aches with abandon. It misses him terribly.
Master: Michael. You are not the master. I am. And your cooking is abysmal.
Cracking a faint grin, I roll my eyes. Yes, I know my cooking sucks. I’ve tried to learn. Master’s ex-wife, Margret, to whom I’m friends with, has tried to teach me the basics. Upon which I’ve failed miserably. Cooking is definitely not my forte. Although, I can pour a mean bowl of cereal.
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