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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 06

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Chapter 6: The Pit’s Gold 

Cage Locks – Power Shines

By Restrained4U

The air clung thick, winch hook echoing.

Jamie slumped, flushed, eyes darting. Leo sat hunched, striped ass raw, wincing sharp.

Ryan settled stiffly, chest heaving, nipples throbbing, socks scuffing where boots once sat.

Marcus slid the bag to Ryan. “Pit don’t take breaks – your go.”

Ryan’s hand froze over the bag, his buzzed auburn hair damp with sweat, eyes narrowing. Fuck this – not again, not yet, he thought, the memory of weights tugging his chest still clawing at him, nipples screaming from Marcus’s tweak. He’d endured – grit held – but the pit’s jaws lingered too close, his breath shallow as he hesitated.

Marcus tilted his head, a faint smirk curling. “What’s the hold-up, soldier? Pit’s waiting.”

Ryan grunted, low and rough, and dipped his hand in, fingers brushing the cards – black dares heavy with dread – then pulled one free, slow, reluctant.

The card gleamed gold, black lettering stark against it.

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 05

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Chapter 5: The Pit’s Cane 

Strokes Break – Flesh Binds

By Restrained4U

The dungeon hung heavy, winch hook creaking.

Jamie slumped, eyes flicking to Leo’s trembling card.

Ryan’s ragged breaths rasped from the cross, weights pulling, clamps biting deep into his chest, his jaw clenched tight – but a flicker of grim hope burned in his gaze now. After Leo’s turn, those cursed clamps would finally come off, his torment ticking down as Leo’s loomed.

Marcus leaned back, arms crossed, his smirk a cold blade as the rustle of the blood-red punishment bag faded, its threat now clutched in Leo’s grip.

Leo’s fingers shook, the card’s crimson edges blurring in the dim light, white lettering stark and unforgiving. He swallowed, throat dry, and read it to himself first – Fuck, not this – his gut twisting as the words sank in. His voice came out low, cracked, barely steady as he read aloud. “Roll two dice for cane strike – strap to the table face-down, count ‘em loud, or the pit doubles it.” He let the card slip to the table – ROLL AND CANE in white – and stared at it, the range – two to twelve – searing into his skull, his breath hitching fast. Both vetoes would’ve killed this – out, safe, done, he thought, a sharp pang stabbing through him. He’d held that last card like a shield, and now the pit had him anyway, dice ready to carve his fate.

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 04

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Chapter 4: The Pit’s Leather

Flesh Quivers – Hide Bites

By Restrained4U

The air sat thick; pit’s pull heavy.

Jamie slumped, briefs damp, shifting with shame. Ryan’s breaths rasped from the cross, clamps biting.

Marcus smirked, sliding the bag to Leo. “Second spin, wave-boy.”

Leo’s hand hovered over the bag, his sun-bleached hair falling into his eyes as he met Marcus’s stare. The cocky grin from his first turn – when he’d stripped to his briefs and strutted like he owned the place – was gone, eroded by the pit’s grind.

Ryan’s ongoing strain, Marcus’s shadow-clawing whisper, Jamie’s shredded clothes in the pit’s trove – it was all hitting home, the intensity sinking deep. He paused, then grabbed the half-pound weight Marcus had set beside the bag, his fingers tightening around it as he rose and crossed to Ryan.

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 03

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Chapter 3: The Pit’s Blade

Scissors Shear – Flesh Pays

By Restrained4U

The room hung heavy with Marcus’s words, air unsteady.

Jamie’s mutter and Leo’s strain echoed, swallowed by the pit. Ryan stayed pinned, head low, clamps biting, weight tugging, tags a faint glint.

Marcus slid the bag to Jamie, staring hard. “Your go, pig-boy – add a weight, then draw.”

Jamie grabbed the weight, stepping to Ryan, breath shaky. Ryan’s chest heaved, ragged. “Lookin’ rough, jarhead – pit’s got you,” Jamie taunted, hooking the weight – clink – yanking a shudder.

Ryan growled, “Fuck you,” as Jamie brushed his sweaty abs, licking his fingers slow, eyes locked, lust warring with bravado.

He drew a card, voice cracking, “Wrists cuffed – hoist ‘em up, shred your threads, or offer flesh as tribute.” He dropped it – LIFT OR LOSE – freezing, eyes flicking up, then to Marcus.

Marcus leaned forward, his gaze unyielding. “Up you go, pig-boy – the pit’s claiming its due,” he ordered, voice a low, authoritative rumble. “Maybe you’d rather taste a punishment instead,” he taunted, his tone sharp and biting as he picked up the blood-red punishment bag from the table, dangling it with a slow sway.

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 02

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Chapter 2: The Pit’s Clamps

Threads Snap – Flesh Yields

By Restrained4U

Leo’s fingers clutched the thick black card, the size of a business card, its crisp white letters stark under the dim light as his grin faded to a stark, silent stare. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, his eyes dropping to the card with a slow, deliberate heaviness. Jamie leaned forward, smirk wiped clean, his breath catching as he stared at Leo’s hands, fingers twitching nervously on the table’s edge. Ryan’s snarl faltered, his steel gaze narrowing intently, a ripple of tension creasing his brow as he leaned in slightly, trying to read the moment. Marcus lounged back, his grin curling slow and predatory, a glint in his eyes like a wolf circling a wounded catch, dice clinking softly in his palm as he savored the thickening air.

The silence stretched, taut and heavy, the room holding its breath. Then, like a switch flipping, Leo’s lips twitched, a shit-eating grin splitting his face as he looked up, eyes wild with mischief. “Gotcha, fuckers,” he said, voice dripping with glee as he read the card aloud, barely holding back a laugh. “Roll a single die – remove that number of clothes. Socks count as one, shoes count as one. If your roll’s higher than the pieces you’ve got on, you take a punishment.” He flicked the card onto the table with a sharp snap – SHED OR SUFFER stamped in white – and leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug nod. “Easy peasy – thought I’d make you squirm first.”

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 01

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Chapter 1: The Pit’s Call

Steel Bites – Shadows Grip

By Restrained4U

The bitter cold of a November night gripped the air outside Marcus’s cabin, secluded deep in the woods. Inside, a grand fireplace roared, its polished stone mantel casting a golden glow across the cedar-paneled room, mingling with sleek, warm lights recessed in the ceiling.

Four friends lounged across top-tier furniture – Marcus sprawled in a tufted leather club chair, Jamie, 31, wiry and sharp-featured with a short, carefree black mess of hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of a storm, a glint of restless naivety in eyes that had seen scraps and storms without learning the scars, sprawled across the plush depths of a charcoal-gray sectional.

Leo, a lean, 25-year-old surfer who chased waves and thrills with equal reckless abandon, his sun-bleached blonde hair catching the firelight as he perched on a cushioned barstool by a gleaming marble kitchen island.

Ryan leaning against a wall beside a towering abstract artwork – a six-foot strip of molded black leather, its taut curves framed in glinting stainless steel, stretching vertically in a silent challenge against the wall.

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Story

Letters from Prison – Part 03

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Day 3

Saturday, March 8, 2025

It’s morning again.  There is a crow or some other squawking bird that wakes me up today.  Again, the light, the sun, is just starting to rise and illuminate my cell.  Yes, I’m still locked in a cell – 3 concrete walls painted institutional off white, the grey steel door and grey bunks.  Even the floor is grey.  And the stainless-steel sink/combination toilet without a toilet seat.  I have to sit on the rim.

This pen sucks.  The rubbery feel and movement make my writing so hard.  I have to think about each letter and write slowly and with precision.  The result doesn’t look like that.  Sorry.

I didn’t sleep well.  I think the chain gang work and being in the direct sun took a lot out of me.  I was awake when one of the flashlight cell checks happened.  I’m not sure if the guard caught I was awake or even cared.  I’m just a number here.  A count to be made.

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Story

Letters from Prison – Part 02

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By Socalbd

Day 2

Friday, March 7, 2025

Good morning,

Light is barely coming into the cell from the window.  It’s dawn.  I thought I would write my thoughts throughout the day as they came to me so this might be disjointed.

The sound of a flushing toilet woke me.  It took me a couple of hours to get to sleep last night, but I finally did sleep.  I woke up to realize I’m still in prison – and alone in solitary.  The coarse blanket they give us is one of the many reminders I’m in prison.

Another toilet flushes.  It’s never quiet even when it’s quiet.  The constant hum of the air vent pushing air into my cell never stops.  It’s doing time, too, just like me.  The humming is always there, and the air is never still.

More toilets flushing.  Will I stay in solitary today?  Maybe I’ll get to see and talk to someone.  Anyone.  I can’t believe how lonely it is.  It’s lonely.  I’m lonely.

A couple of months before this the corrections department assigned two people to me – an inmate liaison and a guard.  They were to help me “transition in” by being able to answer questions.  It was all through text messaging – when I had a phone.

Continue reading Letters from Prison – Part 02 →