Category Archives: Story

Story

Corporate Takeover – Chapter 06

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Note from Metal: This is a “fan imagined” conclusion to the story Corporate Takeover by lthr_jock. To start at the very beginning of this story, which originally appeared in the Prison Library back in 2020, click for Part 1.

By @bdsmsubrex

Brian woke to the familiar hum of the Blu-ray, his body encased in the leather harness and jockstrap, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with the lingering memory of Ken’s cigar smoke. His cock strained against the tight jockstrap, a constant reminder of his arousal. The supplements on the nightstand beckoned, but he hesitated, a flicker of unease cutting through the haze. He shook it off, popped two tablets, and headed to Ironworks, his mind already drifting to the next visit to Cuir Experience.

At the shop, Dave greeted him with a knowing grin, his leather vest stretched tight across his muscled chest. “Brian, you’re becoming a regular,” Dave said, leaning on the counter. “You’ve done us a solid — buying up the estate to save Boltz and this place.” Brian nodded, his chest swelling with pride, though the supplements dulled his usual sharpness. “As a thank you,” Dave continued, his tone shifting to command, “you’re to attend a weekend training with Master William, the local BDSM Master. Starts tomorrow. Be at Boltz at 6 PM sharp. Understood?”

Continue reading Corporate Takeover – Chapter 06 →

Story

It started with Mitts –Part 16

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By Bondagegimp

Dusk

At some point, the sun reaches the horizon – a wonderful play of colors enchants sky and landscape. I turn to Bob. He looks at me with a loving yet slightly sad gaze and kisses me passionately again. As soon as the sun has set, he reaches for the muzzle and puts it on me – this time without a gag, just with the padded leather shell. It doesn’t completely prevent me from speaking, but it’s so tight that I can only open my mouth with difficulty, and my words are very muffled.

Bob stands up, gets a chain and locks: He attaches one end of the chain to the chain between my ankle cuffs, and the other somewhere on my back to the straitjacket. The chain is long enough that I can still kneel, but I can no longer walk. Now Bob starts to clear away the dishes from the picnic. Since he’s leaving me in the straitjacket and has also tied my feet, I can’t help him. So, I just sit there, enjoy the warm evening air and watch Bob collect everything and put it in boxes.

Continue reading It started with Mitts –Part 16 →

Story

Double Trouble – Part 05

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Five: Trial by Sun

The Texas sun showed no mercy.

By midmorning, Peter’s shirt was soaked through and caked with the red grit of the land. Iron chains clinked and dragged with every labored step — the ankle shackles heavy, the transport belt tight around his waist, locking his collar and wrists in a web of rusted links.

The twins had not spoken much since dawn. They simply watched. One from horseback, the other from the shade of a fencepost, arms crossed, aviators hiding any flicker of expression.

Peter dug.

The hole was pointless — not for a post, not for irrigation — just a pit in the earth, three feet wide, three feet deep, then deeper still. Blisters tore open across his palms. His shoulders screamed. The collar bit deeper into his neck every time he bent forward.

Continue reading Double Trouble – Part 05 →

Story

It started with Mitts –Part 15

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By Bondagegimp

Visit

We’re lying on the large blanket in the garden. I feel the sun on my skin. Yes, on my skin! For once, I’m not wearing a rubber suit. My skin is allowed to breathe, at least partially. But my head is once again wrapped in the thickly padded leather hood. The earplugs are still in, as is the gag, and my eyes are still taped shut. But the rubber hood has also been removed. And I’m in the rubber straitjacket. But at least I’m not wearing a suit underneath.

My legs are spread quite wide, almost painfully wide, with a spreader bar. My head is in Bob’s lap. Jad sits or lies a little further down, near my legs. When Bob strokes my head, it creates a noise in the hood, a whooshing or scratching. This drowns out all other sounds. Only when Bob isn’t touching my head at all can I hear a little bit of what’s outside. Not much; I just hear muffled voices. Bob and Jad are talking. Sometimes they laugh. I can’t understand a word, but I get a certain vibe.

Continue reading It started with Mitts –Part 15 →

Story

It started with Mitts –Part 14

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By bondagegimp

The small cell

Bob leaves the room. I’m completely exhausted, only slowly catching my breath. I’d love to sit or lie down, but I’m still strapped into the frame: the collar holds my head, the plug is still drilling into my hole, my hands are tied behind the bar. The cords from my nipples and balls to the head harness are taut, and every movement of my head causes severe pain. But at least the treadmill is off.

I’d like to see what Bob is doing, but turning my head is completely out of the question. The pain is most bearable when I stand completely still, not moving at all. But I can still feel it, a throbbing pain in my nipples and hole. My balls are the easiest to release. My urethra burns a little from the semen that pushed past the catheter. My legs are shaking from the exertion; I have no choice but to lower myself onto the plug until I’m practically sitting on it, and it’s supporting some of my weight.

Once again, it was an incredible orgasm that Bob painfully forced out of me. When he held my head so tightly, I felt an incredible sense of security, yet at the same time it was incredibly oppressive. It really was like a nightmare, when you’re running away and can’t move. And then all his talking about how I’ll always stay with him, how he won’t let me go. Did he mean it? Was he going to leave me no choice? Was he just going to keep me? Was it a mistake to put myself in his hands again? Bob called it trauma therapy. But really, it was a punishment for my escape and a barely disguised threat. How does he manage to make me horny while doing that?

Continue reading It started with Mitts –Part 14 →

Story

Iron Range

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By Linc

Note: This story originally appeared on LockedMEN. It is being shared here with permission.

Jack stepped off the bus with a grunt, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The Minnesota air hit him like a slap — crisp and clean, with the faint scent of pine and chimney smoke.

He adjusted the bag, its weight a dull throb in his shoulder — eight pounds of nostalgia in the form of books, old electronics, and private indulgences. His laptop alone — stuffed with saved articles, annotated stories, and folder names he’d never say out loud — might as well have had a neon sign on it: Escapist with a wi-fi addiction.

Now there was no signal. Just gravel underfoot and a mile-long driveway between him and the farmhouse.

The structure rose in the distance like a memory of another century — broad porch, smoke curling from a chimney, silence thick enough to drown in. Jack squinted up at the steel roof catching the last of the sunset. The place looked more fortress than farm. He could already feel his city softness recoiling. But he needed this.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 04

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Four: The Long Night

The bunkhouse was built like a frontier barracks — thick timber beams, stone floor, heavy iron fixtures bolted to the walls and ceilings. There were no windows, only small vents near the roof and a single industrial fan turning lazily in the corner. The room was dim, lit by a single bulb hanging above the twin beds that filled half the space.

But Peter wasn’t given a bed.

He was mounted to the post.

A heavy wooden pillar rose from floor to ceiling at the room’s center, with rings set at shoulder, waist, and ankle height. The twins had stripped him bare again, save for his collar, and bound him standing with thick leather cuffs to each ring. His arms were pulled back and up, shoulders flexed, chest forward. His legs were spread wide and locked at the ankles. His brand still throbbed on his right hip, raw and blistered.

The collar chafed when he tried to shift. The restraints creaked.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Continue reading Double Trouble – Part 04 →

Story

Double Trouble – Part 03

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Three: Bound and Branded

Peter sat frozen in the barber chair, the buzz of the clippers still ringing in his ears, his scalp raw and exposed. The twin with the deeper voice stood behind him, thick hands gripping his shoulders, while the other crouched in front of the steel collar resting on the table.

“Let’s get the rivet ready,” the shotgun twin said.

The collar was a brutal piece of craftsmanship—two-inch-wide forged iron, hinged on one side, lined inside with dull spikes meant for pressure, not blood. The shotgun twin slid it around Peter’s neck. The weight alone made Peter feel like he was being yoked like livestock.

Then came the hammer.

The deeper twin held a hot rivet with tongs, taken from a forge glowing orange behind a steel grate in the wall. He slotted it into the collar’s open eyelet. The shotgun twin stepped forward with a heavy iron hammer and a steel backing block, sliding it between Peter’s throat and the collar’s inside rim.

Continue reading Double Trouble – Part 03 →