Category Archives: Story

Story

Roped and Wrangled in the Woods – Part 15

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By Sorbus

My car idled, motor humming ever so slightly. The solid gate stood before me, not yet open. 4:42. Three minutes remaining. Cell signal wasn’t strong enough to send a text, not that I would have done it anyway. I was pretty sure it was rule number 2 or 3, maybe 4?, of being a ‘boy’- it’s Sir’s time that matters. I’d been sitting there for about 10 minutes, actually. Thankfully traffic had been minimal, because most of the weekend glampers hadn’t gotten off work yet, to clog the highway with their RVs and trailers.

My fingers tapped along to the beat of the music, thumbs drumming on the steering wheel. I look over to the passenger seat, for about the 20th time. Yep, my overnight bag was still there. I’m not sure I was surprised or not, that he’d told me to only bring one change of clothes- for Monday morning when he ‘released me’ back into the world that would be carrying on while we. . . did whatever he had planned. And there had been plenty of dropped hints about all the things he’d had planned!

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Story

Roped and Wrangled in the Woods – Part 14

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By Sorbus

“Hello, Rowan,” Dr. Travers’ bright, British accent carried a concerned note. “Jason was right. You really must not be feeling well. You look a tad feverish. Are you running a temperature?”

I bit my lip and quickly shook my head. I also took a reflexive backstep, because Dr. Travers was a touchy-feely kind of guy. Nothing ever inappropriate, but I wouldn’t have put it past his paternal instincts to kick in, and do the ‘forehead check.’

Unfortunately, by stepping back, I was no longer blocking Sir’s presence from being visible.

“Oh, hello there, Derek. What brings you up here?” Dr. Travers seemed genuinely surprised and confused at first, but then he looked back and me. . . and then I watched as his nose twitched ever so slightly. Yeah. . . small enclosed space with poor ventilation? Even with his load having been shot directly down my throat. . .  even the most discrete oral sex is going to leave a certain . . . odor.

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Story

Roped and Wrangled in the Woods – Part 13

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By Sorbus

Was this my life now? To be surrounded by bossy Doms who found me in moments of . . . poorly planned distress or humiliation? And. . . why did it seem like some part of me felt like I was ok with that.

“I blame you,” I muttered, staring down at my crotch.

“What was that?” Jason asked over his shoulder, as he led the way.

I merely grunted something unintelligible and followed behind, unsure why I felt naughty. We passed through the parking lot and into the main entrance of a hideously looking building. But the hallways of the College of Agricultural Sciences were packed with cowboy ranchers-to-be and the most adorable plant-geeky guys studying horticulture; the agronomists landed somewhere in between that wide spectrum of masculinity.

I had discovered during my sophomore year that the horribly outdated bathrooms were constructed of solid cinderblock walls- wonderfully sound-dampening cinderblock. And I’d found myself on my knees while a closet-case cowboy stood above me and let me drain his tap. It had happened a couple of other times, with one of those plant-geeky guys, as well.

I quickly shook those memories away as passed the door to one of those restrooms, then entered the echoing stairway, with the creepy florescent lighting, and headed up to our grad student office.

“Hold up there, boy,” Jason said, went I started to step around him on the first landing. He pushed me up against the wall and smirked. “Drop trou and let me see it. I want to see your cage while you’re standing up. I’m really curious about it now.”

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Story

Roped and Wrangled in the Woods – Part 12

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By Sorbus

I left the letters where I’d dropped them, and apparently, somehow, teleported to the tiny front porch. OK, so maybe I walked up there without paying any attention, rereading and rereading his words. I didn’t even notice I’d knocked over Squatsie, the Garden Gnome in a sasquatch costume (come on, weirder things have been seen in the Pacific Northwest, right?).

I sat down with a thump, gasping as those not-anywhere-close-to-healing bruises hit the wooden boards that desperately needed a repainting. I reread the words one final time, then looked up, the hairs rising on the back of my neck. How’d he know I’d been eating at Mickey D’s? I reached up, brushing the sesame seeds out of the 3-day stubble around my mouth. No, there’s no way. He must have been guessing. There were only two fast food places in town here, and there’s no way I would ever eat at local grease pit.

I snorted, ‘kicked puppy’? Kicked puppy indeed! Ha! OK, so maybe my fellow grad student ‘office bestie’ had called me the same thing just a few hours ago. But surely this was just a coincidence! I looked at the post mark, realizing there. . . wasn’t actually one. Wait a minute! There wasn’t even a stamp!

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Story

Roped and Wrangled in the Woods – Part 11

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By Sorbus

“Shr, ysh, Shr,” I mumbled through the O-ring of the gag. I used my tongue as best I could to wipe his manhood as he slowly pulled it out of my mouth, then I looked up at him. Sitting back on my heels, I winced as my paddled muscles flared slightly in pain.

“You’re such a good boy,” he said as he ruffled my hair. “Now, get up. I have more to show you.”

I struggled to my feet as he pulled his underwear and shorts back up and then crossed the narrow room. The entire thing was probably half the size as his closet, if not smaller. It was probably the same size as the guest bathroom.

“The boy bathroom is through this door. And yes, the shower has an enema nozzle that would be used regularly.” He opened the door and I was able to see the tiny room. There was a small shower, a sink, and an odd-looking urinal that seemed much smaller and much higher up the wall than I would have expected. Then I realized it was designed to be used by someone locked in chastity. Obviously Sir expected his boy (his boys?) to always be locked up. I of course had no problem with that! And, considering the daily enema use, there wasn’t a need for an actual toilet in here.

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Story

Roped and Wrangled in the Woods – Part 10

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By Sorbus

“So, you have 4 brothers? No other family? Parents?” He turned off the stove, after giving the food a quick check with a meat thermometer.  I saw now why he didn’t let anybody use his kitchen. He didn’t just ‘cook’ food, and saying he ‘prepared’ it was also an understatement. This man could have been, should have been a chef! He’d had to pause his culinary performance twice, snapping his fingers to get me to refocus and continue when I’d trailed off because I’d been enraptured by his skills. His cooking had literally been on fire- in a good way- when he deglazed the pan with a red wine from a bottle written only in French.

“No, Sir,” I replied, my restraints only allowing half a shrug. “Killed in a car crash a month after I graduated high school. It’s almost a 10-year gap between me and the brother just older than me, I, uh, was a ‘surprise’ baby. My brothers sold the house and split the money between us. They were kind enough to give me mom’s brand-new car- they even paid it off for me. Of course, they used a big chunk of the house money I would have gotten to do that. And my oldest brother was both executor and lawyer So. . . uh, yeah?”

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Story

Roped and Wrangled in the Woods – Part 09

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By Sorbus

Yeah. . . I would never, ever underestimate the strength those biceps had. Nope, not ever gonna happen. Considering that I hadn’t been swatted in a very long time. . . it was no surprise how much my eyes burned as I tried my best to hold the tears back. Anybody who thinks it’s shameful for a grown guy to cry. . . I’d gladly invite them to take my place at that flogging post and let Sir have a go at him. Their attitude is going to change after just a few swings of those arms that belonged on Paul Bunyan. Sir might be a game warden, but I have a feeling he spent a few summers wielding chainsaws during his college summers, and never skipped arm day in the gym.

“There we go,” he said, his voice calm and low when he finally set the paddle down. It didn’t show the slightest hint that he’d exerted himself. “I’m going to remove the clothespins before I ungag you. Fair warning, removing them is going to as bad, if not worse, as putting them on.”

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Story

Welcome Home – Part 02

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By MP Boss

Down the street, sitting outside at a table at a small restaurant, the boy’s Sir sits dressed in leather, with a fellow friend dressed in leather as well.  They drink their beers as their Harley’s are parked in close sight.  How did you figure out who he was, the man asked Sir.

It was a challenge. He would send me pictures, but would blur out his face and name tag.  One day he sent me a picture of himself in his ACU uniform, pants unzipped and in a begging stance, in that picture there was enough of his shoulder unit patch showing that I was able to locate the unit.  He had told me his first name a long time ago and I figured he had forgotten that detail, since he had no interest in making fantasy a reality.  From there, I searched through pictures online and matched a name and his body to them. It was easy from there,

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