Tuesday, August 15, 2017

The Beta's Pleasure (#gayerotica #gaysex #gaybdsm)

My Alpha stands over me, towering, dominating. He’s all man — more than I’ll ever be — made of muscle and hair and tanned skin. A leather harness wraps across his broad chest, his bulky lower body is encased in a tight pair of leather pants.

I’m on my knees, naked, my cock in a chastity cage. I’m the beta to his Alpha.

He likes to think he chose me. The truth is, I chose him.

He unzips his fly, revealing a sweaty jockstrap, and then grabs my head, mashing my face into his crotch. He thinks he’s demeaning me, that he’s doing this for his pleasure and his pleasure alone.

I inhale, breathe him in, let his musk surge through my body. He’s not the only one getting pleasure. I would argue my pleasure is greater.

I nibble at the cotton, teasing the sensitive skin of his shaft. He lets out a loud breath that I know is a barely contained moan. He doesn’t want to show such weakness in front of his beta. I play along, submitting to him, giving him what he wants — what he thinks he wants — while I truly get what I want.

He eases down the front of his jockstrap, his length flopping out. I eagerly take it in my mouth. I moan. It’s not an act, it’s not a way to please my Alpha — no, I moan because I’m getting what I want, what I need.

We’ve been Alpha and beta for years. We met at Folsom Street Fair, I sucked him off in the middle of the party, and we’ve been with each other ever since. I give him blowjobs like no other beta has ever done — better than anyone will ever give him, I know. He knows that too.

I’m true to him. He’s my only Alpha. He demands my faithfulness, though he doesn’t need to — I freely give it to him. I don’t demand the same of him, but I know I’m his only beta, his only fucktoy … his only lover.

I’m too good to him. In a moment of weakness last year — a rarity for my Alpha — he had confided that he’s always terrified of losing me, because he considers me irreplaceable. And so he treats me like a prince. Still a beta, still a submissive, still a lesser man than him, but a prince, nonetheless.

He lets out another loud breath, another barely contained moan, and I know he’s close to losing it, to filling me with his spunk. And I know he doesn’t want to do that — not yet. To do so would be to show weakness in front of his beta, an inability to control his urges around me.

Instead, he cups his hand under my chin and nudges me to his feet. I hate to abandon his cock, but my Alpha bids me to do so. With dominance in his eyes, but with a glimmer of affection, my Alpha guides me toward the sling, hanging from the ceiling, here in his dusty basement. He helps me into it and then ties up my wrists and ankles. Securing me. Restraining me. Owning me. Between my legs, my helpless cock, contained in a cage of plastic, decorated with a padlock, struggles to get hard, but it can’t. Beta males don’t deserve erections.

With my limbs secured, my Alpha says, “Let me know if it hurts. And don’t forget your safe word.”

Of course, I know these things. He says them every time. Yet, I’ve never been put in a position of harm and I’ve never used my safe word. For an Alpha, he’s very gentle and caring, very tender and compassionate. Those reminders, surely necessary among new partners, but less so between us, reinforce how much he cares for me.

The safe word gives me the option to end a scene at any time. For a beta, it puts me in a position of power. In a way, it makes me the Alpha, even if I shun that term, even if it doesn’t feel true. Alpha waits for me to nod, the sign that I’m okay and ready for the next step.

I nod, giving my Alpha permission to proceed.

He smiles, and for a moment I see relief, like he was scared I would put an end to this. I’ve never ended a scene early — not with him. I trust my Alpha and would let him do anything. I would give him permission to do whatever he wants to me and my body. Because I know his ultimate goal is pleasure — for him, but also for me.

He leans into me, pressing the head of his dick against my already-slick hole. I relax my muscles, unclench my body, and he slides easily into me. I moan loudly, to give my Alpha permission to silently moan along with me, my noise cancelling out his, letting him maintain his dominance and control over me.

Again, my dick struggles to get hard, to enjoy the moment, but it’s locked down and kept small. My Alpha hasn’t given me permission to have an erection. And I have given my Alpha permission to make that decision for me.

He drags his cock halfway out, igniting all my nerve endings, pleasure flaring through my core. Then he slams it home, the chains squeaking under the violent shudder. I moan again and it drags out into a steady rhythm of loud breathing and moaning as he starts swinging his hips back and forth, pounding me.

Every shove inside me has his dick stroking against my prostate, causing ecstasy to build and mount within me. He grabs my hips, to give him better leverage to fuck me. Our bodies collide and separate, collide and separate, over and over.

I can tell by Alpha’s breathing and the sweat on his forehead and the crease in his brow that he’s close to orgasming, close to filling me with his seed. I know he wants to maintain his superiority, so I give in to my own pleasure. Alpha has pushed me so close to orgasm, so close to that overwhelming joy, that it doesn’t much to push me over that inescapable edge.

One more stroke across my prostate has me whimpering and moaning as pleasure explodes within me. Even though my cock is contained in plastic, forced to stay flaccid, I have an incredible orgasm. Powerful. Overwhelming. My cum leaks from the plastic cage and flows down my taint.

And my asshole tightens, gripping Alpha’s thick girth. With a grunt — powerful, dominating, aggressive — Alpha shoves his dick in me one more time and presses his body hard against mine. He grunts again, long and low, and I know he’s filling me with his cum. My body is owned by him, inside and out, and this is him staking his claim on me one more time.

In the aftermath — sweaty and breathless — he looks into my eyes. That same dominance is there, but behind it, hiding, is a look of questioning. Did I enjoy it? I know he wants to ask me — I know he wants to make sure that I want him and only him — but he can’t ask me, not if he wants to maintain his Alpha dominance over me.

“That was incredible, Sir,” I say, between gulping down lungfuls of air.

And with that, the question disappears from his eyes, so that only dominance remains.

I let my eyes close and I sink into the sling, revelling in the moment, the feeling, the joy, the pleasure, the ecstasy. I’m where I belong.



Cameron D. James is a writer of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance; his latest release is Forbidden Desires: The Complete Series. He is publisher at and co-founder of Deep Desires Press and a member of the Indie Erotica Collective. He lives in Canada, is always crushing on Starbucks baristas, and has two rescue cats. To learn more about Cameron, visit http://www.camerondjames.com.

12 comments:

  1. Cameron, this is a brilliant take on the theme (as well as being devastatingly hot) because of the repeated way you draw contrasts between the Alpha and the beta--and the way you show that to some extent, it's all a matter of perspective.

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    1. Thank you! I've always felt that the beta/sub has the real power in a power-imbalanced relationship -- after all, it's up to them if the scene continues or ends!

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  2. Oh my lord, is it hot it in here, or is it just me? I love beta boys in chastity, and this kind of loving, caring dominance is precisely what make my heart flutter.

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  3. I know a few people--well, one who writes about it--whose fantasies during sex are all about being used by the partner, forced to give pleasure, and that's what provides their own pleasure. This person is definitely an alpha in most other areas of life. We're a strange, complex species, and that's great.

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    1. Sometimes those who make decisions all day at work want to have decisions made for them in the bedroom! "Decision fatigue", I think it's called. Sometimes when I get home from work, I can't decide what to make for dinner and force my husband to choose -- I'll make it, but I don't have the mental power to choose.

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  4. Cameron, has this been published? If not, it should be.

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    1. Hehe -- you're the second person to ask me that! I'm working on a series of super-shorts, which will include a few things I've written for this blog and some original stuff. So... hopefully soon!

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  5. Phew! Is it hot in here, or is it just me?

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    1. Oh, it's hot in here. But we're all hot folks, so it's us, too. ;)

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