Category Archives: Story

Story

Getting Wet

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By bootboy

bootboyDon’t really know how I ended up where I did. Sometimes I think i’m crazy to stay here, and other times I think i’m just where I should be. I didn’t plan this: I just sort of slid into it. Not even sure how much further into slavery I can slide. Maybe tomorrow i’ll decide to call it quits, but I might just decide to stay put and ride it out. Kind of surprised how far i’ve gone. It just didn’t happen by accident though, I think it’s a bit like a storm. You can sense that one is approaching, seeing the clouds gathering and all, and you can either head inside and batten down the hatches or you can stay out in the thick of it. I guess I don’t know enough to come in out of the rain but I like splashing around and getting wet.

If anyone looked in through the window and saw me here; shaved from head to toe, my hands locked behind my back with wrist restraints, collared and hitched to the post of a loft bed, i’m sure that they would think I was crazy. But when I look out and see how most people live, to me, they are the ones who seem crazy: or worse.

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Story

Gimp Training, Week 5

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Unowned in NYC

It’s been over a month now since my sub became my gimp. While I’m on the job, or out with my buds, the excitement of knowing where he is and how he’s bound, and that he’s not moving until I got home, still keeps me hard through the better part of each day. But the intensity is lessening a little bit, week by week. It’s a relief for me, in a way, because my dick was getting chafed from stepping into the port-a-john to jerk off five or six times a day during those first couple weeks. The other guys had started razzing me about it — was I getting old man’s prostate?  Going to jerk off again?  If only they knew that’s exactly what I was doing.

That first week, the gimp was on my mind practically every second of every day.  Horned up beyond belief, but tempered with a strong dose of concern.  Maybe he’d overheat, or there’d be a fire or a gas leak at the house.  Maybe he’d completely freak out and I’d come home to a zombie gimp, mentally broken beyond the point of what I wanted.  Maybe some freak accident would clog up the air tube in his gag.  The gimp and I had talked about all these dangers and more, in those last couple months leading up to his transformation.   As far as he was concerned, the chances were so remote for any of these possibilities, that  it was a no-brainer.

The potential risks were well worth the reward of him being allowed to truly live as my object.   He didn’t have to twist my arm.  I had just wanted to make absolutely sure he was aware of what he’d be getting himself into, and that he wasn’t off in a fantasy world, unaware of certain realities.  By the time I’d decided I really wanted to do it with him, I wanted to be sure we weren’t going to get a few days or a few weeks into it just to have him try to get out of it or negotiate for something easier.

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Story

Gimp Training, Week 1

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By Unowned in NYC

I’m driving home from work with a raging hard-on, knowing my gimp is sitting on the closet floor right where I left him this morning.  It’s only been a week since he quit his job, and since that first day,  this Monday, barely a moment has passed where I haven’t been throbbing in my pants, oozing precum.

I wonder if I’ll eventually get used to having a gimp, take it for granted, forgetting about him for hours at a time, no longer ready to bust my nut just picturing him.

Almost there.  It’s been all I could do to not whip out my dick and jerk off in the car, but I’m waiting until I get home so I can get into my full leather and see the gimp as I shoot my load.  Still early spring, so the days are still short.  It’s dusk as I take the last turn on to my street.  My place sits at a dead end.

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Story

The WORC Program – Part 23

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By Joshua Ryan

So, the way it happened, it was Saturday, and I was just comin outta the library, when I saw him! They’d brought him into town to do some grunt work for that manager of Mr. Hamilton’s, the gay one, and the workie that drove Mr. Hamilton’s cars. But those guys were off doin something and Butch came back to the car and there he was, leaning against the side, right next to the HAMILTON FARMS placard, waiting for them to show up. All alone! And SO hot! And just waiting for me!

So naturally, I made a total fool out of myself, just standing there with my mouth open, staring at him! Because he was SO hot! He looked exactly the way I wanted to look. He was wearing this great workie suit — which I knew you’re not supposed to like, but maybe that’s why I liked it, cuz people drive past a workie and they say, oh, ugh, look at that horrible suit, I’m glad I’m not a clown like that and I have to wear a clown suit. But that just means they can’t see how big and tough it makes you look, especially if you’ve got muscles that are making the suit be how it’s meant to be! Which is what Butch had.

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Story

Journal to Hell – Part 03

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By rts

male bondage storiesBut although he succeeds in opening the snaps on the fly of my leather jeans, he is frustrated and unable to reach my cock and balls as they are tightly contained by my piss-soaked leather jock. He moans, his body suddenly jerks with another shock, and bites down hard on my encased package. As I grunt with the sudden pain, the skinhead re-enters the cell, laughing at the sight. “Great to see two helpless leather faggots trying to eat cock.”

He walks over, straddling Jake and sitting down hard on him, pinning his head tight into my crotch. He shoves a water bottle into my mouth and squeezes, forcing me to gulp down the entire contents. Holding the empty bottle tight into my mouth, he pinches closed the nose holes of my hood, and I struggle for air while Jake is desperately reacting to multiple shocks and his inability to breathe with my wet jock rammed into his face.

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Story

Bondage in 2020 Cell Without Bars – Part 05

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By felon

The cell rings, I can’t hear much of the conversation as the radio is blasting country music. We are speeding down I-79 getting deeper into West Virginia. The skinhead prisoner seated next to me starts to struggle in his restraints. From up front: “Do the fags need to take a piss?”

He yells f–k yes. I can only grunt.

We stop about 30 miles down the road at an old fashioned gas station with the outside doors to the restrooms.

The driver says, “I know the guy that owns this place — one at a time gentlemen.” He gets the skin out of the van, and finds he can’t get the restroom door open. So he rips open the jumpsuit and pulls out the guy’s monster dick and says, “Just piss against the wall.” He leads him back to the truck and re-chains his feet to the floor.

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Story

The WORC Program – Part 22

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By Joshua Ryan

So OK, this is Lucky, and I get to talk!

Butch says that’s a dog’s name, and maybe he’s right! But I’m glad Mr. Hamilton chose it, because it’s the right name for me. If anybody’s lucky, I am. Just look at my boyfriend Butch! You think I’m not lucky?

Anyway, I’ve been here at Hamilton Farms for two years now, so this is a big fast forward, LOL! But it’s a good time to check into the story, for reasons I’m gonna explain. So yeah. But I wanta go back to the start. The start for me, anyhow.

It all started — me being lucky, I mean! — when I was in my senior year in high school. When you turn 18, I guess you start lookin around, tryin to figure out what you wanta do. I know what my dad wanted me to do. (I guess I should tell you, my mother’s dead. I can’t remember her much, actually. Too bad — maybe she was nice!) I was the one that was going to college. My brother Luke, he was the one that was gonna take over the business. I remember my dad sitting me down in private and telling me, “You know, Luke understands how to do this. He’s already doing it. So … I’m giving it to him. No hard feelings?”

“Course not, Dad. I didn’t want it anyway.”

I guess he didn’t like to hear that. But it was true.

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Story

You Wanted This

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By Locked22

“You wanted this, slave.”

The voice spoke confidently through a speaker overhead as Derek stared at the collar.

This wasn’t just any collar. “It must weigh ten pounds” he thought, as he lifted the massive metal object off the floor of the cell he found himself in. It was a beautiful piece of ironwork, with an integrated locking mechanism that removed any need for a bulky padlock. A length of heavy chain stretched from an anchor on the wall to the collar – long enough to allow a wearer to sit or stand, but not long enough for the wearer to get close to the door of the cell.

He knew that if he closed it around his neck, there was no going back.

Not that there was much chance of that as it was. He was naked, save for the chastity cage that had been a constant companion over the preceding month, and alone in the small cell. He didn’t know where he was, or even who he was about to put himself in the custody of.

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