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THE ORPHANAGE: PRIMARY INSTINCT

Posted by @guest

When I was 7, I was in an orphanage for boys. In a place like that, you don't have a normal life. You have a wild hunger to find out who you are. I knew right away: I was born to be a dominant, not a submissive.

One night, things got crazy in the dorms. Some perverted guy started something. All the boys were sitting there in the dark, breathing fast. One guy stood up and asked the others to suck him. Seeing a man beg for that disgusted me. That wasn't my style. I left them all together in that room to do their weak games. I didn't want any part of it.

I went down to the kitchen. It was empty and quiet. I saw another guy there, with his back to me, busy working. Without saying a word, my primary instinct took over.

I walked up behind him and pressed myself hard against his ass. I felt his heat right through his pants. I didn't want his mouth; I wanted him to feel my power. I wanted him to know that I was the boss in this house. I rubbed myself savagely against him, marking him like an animal marks his territory.

That’s when I realized the truth: sex isn't about feelings. It’s about who is on top. In nature, there is the one who takes, and the one who serves as a hole. That night, in that silent kitchen, I chose my side forever. I am the one who takes.

MY FIRST TIME: FROM THE STREETS TO THE CAMERA

Posted by @guest

It all started when I was 24. I was a "zonard" (a guy from the streets), always looking for cash. My friend wanted to get into the adult industry, and he found a contact: a big producer in Paris. This guy was from the projects too, and he made it big in the DVD business. He met us in a bar, showed off his money, and gave us a deal: 300 euros just to play with ourselves on camera.

We weren't shy. My friend and I took out our gear and did the job. I finished, I got paid. But the producer had a bigger plan for me: "Do you want 600 euros? You just have to fuck a guy."

Coming from the streets, I didn't want a rough guy. I asked for a "minet" (a pretty, slim boy) with soft features that I could dominate. A few days later, after smoking some weed the producer bought me to get in the mood, I was ready.

We filmed in an underground parking lot in Paris. They put me in the driver's seat of a luxury car, and the boy was waiting for me. As soon as he put his warm mouth on me, I was harder than a rock. My heart was racing.

I took him with no hesitation. When I turned him around, I saw he was perfectly smooth, not a single hair. He felt like a woman. I pounded him hard, feeling my strength go deep into his tight spot. At that moment, it wasn't about the money anymore—it was about power.

I finished all over his face while he looked at me like a total bitch. To me, he was just a hole, a tool for my pleasure. That day, I realized I loved it: having a submissive man at my mercy. Since then, I’ve filled dozens of them. I never stop when I feel them giving in under my power.

The Echo of the Fountain

Posted by @guest

At 22, my world ended where the sidewalk began. I was what people called a "beau minet"—a "pretty boy"—a mix of French and Algerian features that never went unnoticed. Even living on the streets, I kept myself clean and sharp; it was my armor. My headquarters was the stone edge of the fountain in front of the McDonald’s in Cannes. I would sit there to break the silence, soaking in the life of "normal" people to drown out the bitterness of my own struggle.

One day, a man in his forties passed by. I asked him for a coin, just one euro. He gave it to me without a word, a mechanical gesture, and walked away. In Cannes, everyone crosses paths by sight, but no one truly knows each other. At least, that’s what I thought.

A few days later, a guy I occasionally hung out with approached me:
"Hey, I'm going to a party tonight. Come with me, it’ll get your mind off things."

I followed him without asking questions, glad to escape my daily routine. We arrived at an anonymous door. It opened, and then—the shock. I found myself in the heart of a swingers' club. The music, the scent, the electric atmosphere... everything hit me at once. But the craziest part was the man who opened the door: it was him. The man from the fountain, the one who had given me the euro.

I would learn later that nothing was a coincidence. Cannes is a small world; he knew people and had specifically asked this guy to bring me in. He was the owner of the club.

He offered me a job right then and there. For the kid I was, the excitement was instant. Moving from begging on the street to the spotlight, serving bottles of champagne at tables, shirtless, in the middle of all that raw debauchery... it was intoxicating. I loved drifting into the dark corners and hidden nooks to witness the forbidden while I worked.

Then came the night the owner invited me to his place. It started out friendly enough, until he offered me a line of coke. My first time.

The effect was staggering. In an instant, it felt like all the knowledge of the universe was pouring out of my head with effortless ease. I was disinhibited, completely confident. That’s when he began to perform oral sex on me. It was my first homosexual experience. I’m straight, I love women, and I felt a sense of hesitation. But I couldn't refuse the pleasure. When he started licking my ass, I discovered sensations I had never even imagined. I enjoyed it in the moment, even if I didn't like the idea of something that devalued me as an active man. It wasn't unpleasant.

After that night, I went back to my bohemian life on the streets.

Today, I’m 45 years old. I’m still as "canon" as ever; time hasn't touched me. But the roles have reversed. Now, I’m the one who takes advantage of the young "minets." I feminize them so I don't feel gay, and it’s me now who dominates the pleasure, taking control of their bodies just as it was once done to mine.

Under the Sink

Posted by @guest

The Nylon Hunt
​When I was a kid, I was like a radar. Every time my aunt cleaned the house, I stayed close to watch. She wore very tight leggings that showed her body, and I knew that underneath, she was wearing tights. That material drove me crazy. I would stare at her feet and the way the nylon moved. I was completely fascinated.

​I searched everywhere and I knew every corner of the house. It usually started with the laundry basket. I would put my hands inside to find my cousins' underwear. I was looking for marks and strong smells, and I would sniff them like an addict. It was my secret ritual in the bathroom.

​My biggest win was finding my aunt’s secret hiding spot. I looked under the sink cabinet, behind the cleaning bottles, and I found her collection of tights. There were grey ones, blue ones, and all kinds of colors. This was my "material." I knew exactly where she hid them and I went there all the time. I would lock myself in, wrap myself in the fabric to feel the nylon, and masturbate into them.

​That mix of strong smells and the feeling of nylon started everything for me. Today, I don’t need to search anymore because I am the one wearing the lingerie. Feeling the nylon on my own legs was just the natural next step.

Sunday visit

Posted by @guest

For months, the routine was well-oiled. When I came over to my friend's house, she would open the door with a big smile, delighted to see me. We would sit in the living room to have a coffee and chat. She really thought I was coming for her, but in fact, it was solely for her son, that 20-year-old university student, fully of legal age, with the androgynous look. She didn't suspect a thing, even though the truth was playing out right under her nose.

Beneath the tablecloth, her son and I would play footsie. The moment she turned her back, in the hallway, I took advantage of every split second to press my hard cock under my pants against his ass. Whenever we had two minutes, I would pull it out and he would give me a quick blowjob. The young man, completely consenting, loved this game and provoked me nonstop; he went as far as showing me the crack of his ass in a thong he stole from his mother. His eyes charmed me, I liked it, but he was playing with fire.

One Thursday afternoon, I got fed up with his provocations. I knew his mother wasn't there, so I went to visit him at his place. When I rang the bell, this 20-year-old adult opened the door, completely surprised. I walked right in and shut the door behind me. Right there, fully accepting the situation, he found himself facing his own responsibilities, alone with me.

He was young, thin, and slender; compared to a man of my age, the difference in stature was clear. I grabbed him to take him over to the living room couch. In the process, his sweatpants slipped and exposed the crack of his ass—this time again, he was wearing panties stolen from his mother. My cock was hard as wood, and I'll admit, I handled it with absolute authority, entirely matched by his own desire. His smooth, pink anus deserved to be licked greedily beforehand, but I was way too rushed to finish inside his ass.

I pulled off his sweatpants; he was left in nothing but his panties and a t-shirt. I loved his consensual submission in the face of my experience. I spat in my hand, I spat on his ass, and I shoved my big circumcised head in all at once. It was fast, barely five minutes of pure intensity. His moans, a mix of surprise and intense pleasure, sent me over the edge. I came deep inside him, releasing my thick, juicy cum while groaning in turn like a wild beast.

That day, I took what belonged to me. By constantly pushing me and provoking me, he finally found out who he was dealing with.

🏆 Top All Time

THE ORPHANAGE: PRIMARY INSTINCT

Posted by @guest

When I was 7, I was in an orphanage for boys. In a place like that, you don't have a normal life. You have a wild hunger to find out who you are. I knew right away: I was born to be a dominant, not a submissive.

One night, things got crazy in the dorms. Some perverted guy started something. All the boys were sitting there in the dark, breathing fast. One guy stood up and asked the others to suck him. Seeing a man beg for that disgusted me. That wasn't my style. I left them all together in that room to do their weak games. I didn't want any part of it.

I went down to the kitchen. It was empty and quiet. I saw another guy there, with his back to me, busy working. Without saying a word, my primary instinct took over.

I walked up behind him and pressed myself hard against his ass. I felt his heat right through his pants. I didn't want his mouth; I wanted him to feel my power. I wanted him to know that I was the boss in this house. I rubbed myself savagely against him, marking him like an animal marks his territory.

That’s when I realized the truth: sex isn't about feelings. It’s about who is on top. In nature, there is the one who takes, and the one who serves as a hole. That night, in that silent kitchen, I chose my side forever. I am the one who takes.

MY FIRST TIME: FROM THE STREETS TO THE CAMERA

Posted by @guest

It all started when I was 24. I was a "zonard" (a guy from the streets), always looking for cash. My friend wanted to get into the adult industry, and he found a contact: a big producer in Paris. This guy was from the projects too, and he made it big in the DVD business. He met us in a bar, showed off his money, and gave us a deal: 300 euros just to play with ourselves on camera.

We weren't shy. My friend and I took out our gear and did the job. I finished, I got paid. But the producer had a bigger plan for me: "Do you want 600 euros? You just have to fuck a guy."

Coming from the streets, I didn't want a rough guy. I asked for a "minet" (a pretty, slim boy) with soft features that I could dominate. A few days later, after smoking some weed the producer bought me to get in the mood, I was ready.

We filmed in an underground parking lot in Paris. They put me in the driver's seat of a luxury car, and the boy was waiting for me. As soon as he put his warm mouth on me, I was harder than a rock. My heart was racing.

I took him with no hesitation. When I turned him around, I saw he was perfectly smooth, not a single hair. He felt like a woman. I pounded him hard, feeling my strength go deep into his tight spot. At that moment, it wasn't about the money anymore—it was about power.

I finished all over his face while he looked at me like a total bitch. To me, he was just a hole, a tool for my pleasure. That day, I realized I loved it: having a submissive man at my mercy. Since then, I’ve filled dozens of them. I never stop when I feel them giving in under my power.

The Echo of the Fountain

Posted by @guest

At 22, my world ended where the sidewalk began. I was what people called a "beau minet"—a "pretty boy"—a mix of French and Algerian features that never went unnoticed. Even living on the streets, I kept myself clean and sharp; it was my armor. My headquarters was the stone edge of the fountain in front of the McDonald’s in Cannes. I would sit there to break the silence, soaking in the life of "normal" people to drown out the bitterness of my own struggle.

One day, a man in his forties passed by. I asked him for a coin, just one euro. He gave it to me without a word, a mechanical gesture, and walked away. In Cannes, everyone crosses paths by sight, but no one truly knows each other. At least, that’s what I thought.

A few days later, a guy I occasionally hung out with approached me:
"Hey, I'm going to a party tonight. Come with me, it’ll get your mind off things."

I followed him without asking questions, glad to escape my daily routine. We arrived at an anonymous door. It opened, and then—the shock. I found myself in the heart of a swingers' club. The music, the scent, the electric atmosphere... everything hit me at once. But the craziest part was the man who opened the door: it was him. The man from the fountain, the one who had given me the euro.

I would learn later that nothing was a coincidence. Cannes is a small world; he knew people and had specifically asked this guy to bring me in. He was the owner of the club.

He offered me a job right then and there. For the kid I was, the excitement was instant. Moving from begging on the street to the spotlight, serving bottles of champagne at tables, shirtless, in the middle of all that raw debauchery... it was intoxicating. I loved drifting into the dark corners and hidden nooks to witness the forbidden while I worked.

Then came the night the owner invited me to his place. It started out friendly enough, until he offered me a line of coke. My first time.

The effect was staggering. In an instant, it felt like all the knowledge of the universe was pouring out of my head with effortless ease. I was disinhibited, completely confident. That’s when he began to perform oral sex on me. It was my first homosexual experience. I’m straight, I love women, and I felt a sense of hesitation. But I couldn't refuse the pleasure. When he started licking my ass, I discovered sensations I had never even imagined. I enjoyed it in the moment, even if I didn't like the idea of something that devalued me as an active man. It wasn't unpleasant.

After that night, I went back to my bohemian life on the streets.

Today, I’m 45 years old. I’m still as "canon" as ever; time hasn't touched me. But the roles have reversed. Now, I’m the one who takes advantage of the young "minets." I feminize them so I don't feel gay, and it’s me now who dominates the pleasure, taking control of their bodies just as it was once done to mine.

Under the Sink

Posted by @guest

The Nylon Hunt
​When I was a kid, I was like a radar. Every time my aunt cleaned the house, I stayed close to watch. She wore very tight leggings that showed her body, and I knew that underneath, she was wearing tights. That material drove me crazy. I would stare at her feet and the way the nylon moved. I was completely fascinated.

​I searched everywhere and I knew every corner of the house. It usually started with the laundry basket. I would put my hands inside to find my cousins' underwear. I was looking for marks and strong smells, and I would sniff them like an addict. It was my secret ritual in the bathroom.

​My biggest win was finding my aunt’s secret hiding spot. I looked under the sink cabinet, behind the cleaning bottles, and I found her collection of tights. There were grey ones, blue ones, and all kinds of colors. This was my "material." I knew exactly where she hid them and I went there all the time. I would lock myself in, wrap myself in the fabric to feel the nylon, and masturbate into them.

​That mix of strong smells and the feeling of nylon started everything for me. Today, I don’t need to search anymore because I am the one wearing the lingerie. Feeling the nylon on my own legs was just the natural next step.

Sunday visit

Posted by @guest

For months, the routine was well-oiled. When I came over to my friend's house, she would open the door with a big smile, delighted to see me. We would sit in the living room to have a coffee and chat. She really thought I was coming for her, but in fact, it was solely for her son, that 20-year-old university student, fully of legal age, with the androgynous look. She didn't suspect a thing, even though the truth was playing out right under her nose.

Beneath the tablecloth, her son and I would play footsie. The moment she turned her back, in the hallway, I took advantage of every split second to press my hard cock under my pants against his ass. Whenever we had two minutes, I would pull it out and he would give me a quick blowjob. The young man, completely consenting, loved this game and provoked me nonstop; he went as far as showing me the crack of his ass in a thong he stole from his mother. His eyes charmed me, I liked it, but he was playing with fire.

One Thursday afternoon, I got fed up with his provocations. I knew his mother wasn't there, so I went to visit him at his place. When I rang the bell, this 20-year-old adult opened the door, completely surprised. I walked right in and shut the door behind me. Right there, fully accepting the situation, he found himself facing his own responsibilities, alone with me.

He was young, thin, and slender; compared to a man of my age, the difference in stature was clear. I grabbed him to take him over to the living room couch. In the process, his sweatpants slipped and exposed the crack of his ass—this time again, he was wearing panties stolen from his mother. My cock was hard as wood, and I'll admit, I handled it with absolute authority, entirely matched by his own desire. His smooth, pink anus deserved to be licked greedily beforehand, but I was way too rushed to finish inside his ass.

I pulled off his sweatpants; he was left in nothing but his panties and a t-shirt. I loved his consensual submission in the face of my experience. I spat in my hand, I spat on his ass, and I shoved my big circumcised head in all at once. It was fast, barely five minutes of pure intensity. His moans, a mix of surprise and intense pleasure, sent me over the edge. I came deep inside him, releasing my thick, juicy cum while groaning in turn like a wild beast.

That day, I took what belonged to me. By constantly pushing me and provoking me, he finally found out who he was dealing with.

🆕 Latest Stories

Sunday visit

Posted by @guest

For months, the routine was well-oiled. When I came over to my friend's house, she would open the door with a big smile, delighted to see me. We would sit in the living room to have a coffee and chat. She really thought I was coming for her, but in fact, it was solely for her son, that 20-year-old university student, fully of legal age, with the androgynous look. She didn't suspect a thing, even though the truth was playing out right under her nose.

Beneath the tablecloth, her son and I would play footsie. The moment she turned her back, in the hallway, I took advantage of every split second to press my hard cock under my pants against his ass. Whenever we had two minutes, I would pull it out and he would give me a quick blowjob. The young man, completely consenting, loved this game and provoked me nonstop; he went as far as showing me the crack of his ass in a thong he stole from his mother. His eyes charmed me, I liked it, but he was playing with fire.

One Thursday afternoon, I got fed up with his provocations. I knew his mother wasn't there, so I went to visit him at his place. When I rang the bell, this 20-year-old adult opened the door, completely surprised. I walked right in and shut the door behind me. Right there, fully accepting the situation, he found himself facing his own responsibilities, alone with me.

He was young, thin, and slender; compared to a man of my age, the difference in stature was clear. I grabbed him to take him over to the living room couch. In the process, his sweatpants slipped and exposed the crack of his ass—this time again, he was wearing panties stolen from his mother. My cock was hard as wood, and I'll admit, I handled it with absolute authority, entirely matched by his own desire. His smooth, pink anus deserved to be licked greedily beforehand, but I was way too rushed to finish inside his ass.

I pulled off his sweatpants; he was left in nothing but his panties and a t-shirt. I loved his consensual submission in the face of my experience. I spat in my hand, I spat on his ass, and I shoved my big circumcised head in all at once. It was fast, barely five minutes of pure intensity. His moans, a mix of surprise and intense pleasure, sent me over the edge. I came deep inside him, releasing my thick, juicy cum while groaning in turn like a wild beast.

That day, I took what belonged to me. By constantly pushing me and provoking me, he finally found out who he was dealing with.

Under the Sink

Posted by @guest

The Nylon Hunt
​When I was a kid, I was like a radar. Every time my aunt cleaned the house, I stayed close to watch. She wore very tight leggings that showed her body, and I knew that underneath, she was wearing tights. That material drove me crazy. I would stare at her feet and the way the nylon moved. I was completely fascinated.

​I searched everywhere and I knew every corner of the house. It usually started with the laundry basket. I would put my hands inside to find my cousins' underwear. I was looking for marks and strong smells, and I would sniff them like an addict. It was my secret ritual in the bathroom.

​My biggest win was finding my aunt’s secret hiding spot. I looked under the sink cabinet, behind the cleaning bottles, and I found her collection of tights. There were grey ones, blue ones, and all kinds of colors. This was my "material." I knew exactly where she hid them and I went there all the time. I would lock myself in, wrap myself in the fabric to feel the nylon, and masturbate into them.

​That mix of strong smells and the feeling of nylon started everything for me. Today, I don’t need to search anymore because I am the one wearing the lingerie. Feeling the nylon on my own legs was just the natural next step.

THE ORPHANAGE: PRIMARY INSTINCT

Posted by @guest

When I was 7, I was in an orphanage for boys. In a place like that, you don't have a normal life. You have a wild hunger to find out who you are. I knew right away: I was born to be a dominant, not a submissive.

One night, things got crazy in the dorms. Some perverted guy started something. All the boys were sitting there in the dark, breathing fast. One guy stood up and asked the others to suck him. Seeing a man beg for that disgusted me. That wasn't my style. I left them all together in that room to do their weak games. I didn't want any part of it.

I went down to the kitchen. It was empty and quiet. I saw another guy there, with his back to me, busy working. Without saying a word, my primary instinct took over.

I walked up behind him and pressed myself hard against his ass. I felt his heat right through his pants. I didn't want his mouth; I wanted him to feel my power. I wanted him to know that I was the boss in this house. I rubbed myself savagely against him, marking him like an animal marks his territory.

That’s when I realized the truth: sex isn't about feelings. It’s about who is on top. In nature, there is the one who takes, and the one who serves as a hole. That night, in that silent kitchen, I chose my side forever. I am the one who takes.

MY FIRST TIME: FROM THE STREETS TO THE CAMERA

Posted by @guest

It all started when I was 24. I was a "zonard" (a guy from the streets), always looking for cash. My friend wanted to get into the adult industry, and he found a contact: a big producer in Paris. This guy was from the projects too, and he made it big in the DVD business. He met us in a bar, showed off his money, and gave us a deal: 300 euros just to play with ourselves on camera.

We weren't shy. My friend and I took out our gear and did the job. I finished, I got paid. But the producer had a bigger plan for me: "Do you want 600 euros? You just have to fuck a guy."

Coming from the streets, I didn't want a rough guy. I asked for a "minet" (a pretty, slim boy) with soft features that I could dominate. A few days later, after smoking some weed the producer bought me to get in the mood, I was ready.

We filmed in an underground parking lot in Paris. They put me in the driver's seat of a luxury car, and the boy was waiting for me. As soon as he put his warm mouth on me, I was harder than a rock. My heart was racing.

I took him with no hesitation. When I turned him around, I saw he was perfectly smooth, not a single hair. He felt like a woman. I pounded him hard, feeling my strength go deep into his tight spot. At that moment, it wasn't about the money anymore—it was about power.

I finished all over his face while he looked at me like a total bitch. To me, he was just a hole, a tool for my pleasure. That day, I realized I loved it: having a submissive man at my mercy. Since then, I’ve filled dozens of them. I never stop when I feel them giving in under my power.

The Echo of the Fountain

Posted by @guest

At 22, my world ended where the sidewalk began. I was what people called a "beau minet"—a "pretty boy"—a mix of French and Algerian features that never went unnoticed. Even living on the streets, I kept myself clean and sharp; it was my armor. My headquarters was the stone edge of the fountain in front of the McDonald’s in Cannes. I would sit there to break the silence, soaking in the life of "normal" people to drown out the bitterness of my own struggle.

One day, a man in his forties passed by. I asked him for a coin, just one euro. He gave it to me without a word, a mechanical gesture, and walked away. In Cannes, everyone crosses paths by sight, but no one truly knows each other. At least, that’s what I thought.

A few days later, a guy I occasionally hung out with approached me:
"Hey, I'm going to a party tonight. Come with me, it’ll get your mind off things."

I followed him without asking questions, glad to escape my daily routine. We arrived at an anonymous door. It opened, and then—the shock. I found myself in the heart of a swingers' club. The music, the scent, the electric atmosphere... everything hit me at once. But the craziest part was the man who opened the door: it was him. The man from the fountain, the one who had given me the euro.

I would learn later that nothing was a coincidence. Cannes is a small world; he knew people and had specifically asked this guy to bring me in. He was the owner of the club.

He offered me a job right then and there. For the kid I was, the excitement was instant. Moving from begging on the street to the spotlight, serving bottles of champagne at tables, shirtless, in the middle of all that raw debauchery... it was intoxicating. I loved drifting into the dark corners and hidden nooks to witness the forbidden while I worked.

Then came the night the owner invited me to his place. It started out friendly enough, until he offered me a line of coke. My first time.

The effect was staggering. In an instant, it felt like all the knowledge of the universe was pouring out of my head with effortless ease. I was disinhibited, completely confident. That’s when he began to perform oral sex on me. It was my first homosexual experience. I’m straight, I love women, and I felt a sense of hesitation. But I couldn't refuse the pleasure. When he started licking my ass, I discovered sensations I had never even imagined. I enjoyed it in the moment, even if I didn't like the idea of something that devalued me as an active man. It wasn't unpleasant.

After that night, I went back to my bohemian life on the streets.

Today, I’m 45 years old. I’m still as "canon" as ever; time hasn't touched me. But the roles have reversed. Now, I’m the one who takes advantage of the young "minets." I feminize them so I don't feel gay, and it’s me now who dominates the pleasure, taking control of their bodies just as it was once done to mine.

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