Category Archives: Story

Story

The Wooden Pole – Part 1

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By Mister-X/Spartan

It was bedtime. Ike got the wooden pole. It was a duplicate of the one that was in his closet that he hung his hangers on. It was about 7 feet long, as the one in his closet was. That was what had gotten Ike the original idea. He liked it so much that he finally got a duplicate at Home Depot so he didn’t have to keep removing his clothes that were on hangers, then putting them back when he was finished.

Ike lay it down on the floor alongside the leather straps, the blindfold and the ball gag. He already had put his cock in his chastity device. Otherwise, he was naked. He lay down on his stomach and lay out the leather straps, then put the pole behind him. He had to sit up to put the strap around the pole and his ankles, having the pole go next to his body. After the ankle strap was tightened and buckled, he lay down again and positioned the pole. Next was the strap around his legs above his knees and the pole. Then the stomach, keeping this one as loose as required.

Then the neck strap. Then the ball gag. He got the handcuffs and ratcheted one side closed on his left wrist after making sure that his fingers would have access to the keyholes. He also made sure that the keys were at their usual accessible place. He put his blindfold on, stretched his hands down under the stomach strap, which now was covering his arms almost to the elbow, put his left hand next to the pole, reached under the pole for the right hand cuff with his right hand and pulled it to the other side after wrapping it around the pole, used his left hand to ratchet it on his right wrist, and checked to make sure he’d done everything. Satisfied, he rolled over onto his back. He tested to make sure he couldn’t move, attached to the pole he was resting on, and prepared to drop off to sleep.

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Story

The Convict – Part 08

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By Joshua Ryan

One of the officers carried my briefcase, and the other one led me by the arm. When we got to the top of the hill there was a woman jogging through the park. She had a cell phone on her someplace and she was talking into the air, the way they do, like they’re crazy people, and when she saw us she jumped back and put her hand on her chest like she was having a seizure. She looked at me like I was raping her at that very moment. Then she ran off, fast. No one had ever reacted to me like that before.

There was a black police car parked at the curb. One of the officers put his hand on my head and guided me into the back seat. His hand was gentle, in the way that hands are when they don’t want to touch something that they have to touch. The car door slammed. In 20 minutes, they were leading me into the Justice Center downtown.

I was surprised that they never read me my rights, but then I remembered — they didn’t have to do that anymore, now that the courts had approved all the new anticrime laws. There had been a conversation about that. I recalled it. A conversation in a bar. It was the night I first met Joey Madison. He was coming on pretty strong, so I told him, “You’d better back off. Otherwise, a cop is gonna show up and read you your rights.” “They don’t do that anymore,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “They just drag you off to jail.” We both laughed.

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Story

The Convict – Part 07

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By Joshua Ryan

I had to get in to work really early that day, because I was the person who was supposed to handle the year-end calls from the branches in other time zones. When I finally got to the lounge at 9 for coffee, the first thing I did was go to the deck and look at the convicts. I wanted to see if one of them was standing by the fence.

“Whatcha lookin for, Jason?” It was somebody’s voice. I remembered. It was Peter Tomlinson’s.

“Uh . . . nothing. . . . I . . . uh . . . Great day, huh?” It was another one of those days we have in winter when the sun is so bright you’d almost think it was spring already. At 9 o’clock in the morning, it must have been 55 degrees on that deck. It was sort of like the first day when I met the convict.

“Not really. Channel 10 says it’s gonna snow tonight.”

“That true? We almost never have snow in December.” What are you talking about? I asked myself. My eyes were searching the fence, searching . . .

“It’s true. Look at those clouds. Cirrus. We’ll have snow all right. Lotta snow.”

“Too bad. I wanted to wash the car.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” I couldn’t believe I was making jokes.

“What are you looking at, Jason?”

“Just watching the convicts.”

“Huh?”

“The convicts. Down in the field.”

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Story

The Convict – Part 06

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By Joshua Ryan

I was having a lot of strange thoughts and feelings. Right after Thanksgiving, Mr. Dietrich called me into his office and told me I’d be getting a promotion and a raise. Starting in December, I’d be an Associate Managerial Analyst, a big step up from Assistant Managerial Analyst, although it didn’t come near to getting me my own office. He said, “Congratulations, young man,” and I thanked him profusely for offering me the additional responsibility. When I looked at my pay stub a week later, I saw the change, but I didn’t feel anything about it anymore. On the one hand, it was more money. On the other hand, Joey would probably spend it. I didn’t care. He was welcome to the money. I just wanted out of it all.

And after Thanksgiving, of course, comes Christmas. I wasn’t paying much attention at first. I had too much else to think about, or try not to think about. Then one night I was in Berenson’s, looking for a new pair of slacks, and I noticed how crowded it was for a Tuesday night. That led me to notice all the evergreens hanging on the walls. The first thing I thought was, that’s the kind of stuff that Jake and the other cons are cutting out in the field. They’re cutting trees and brush. Finally I realized that I was looking at Christmas. It didn’t make much of an impression. What it meant to me, mainly, was that the days were getting shorter and colder. This part of the country usually doesn’t get a lot of winter, but we were getting a lot of it then. When the convicts went past in the morning they were wrapped up in their heavy coats, brown forms peering out of the white truck like reindeer on a Christmas card. And Jake was one of them. I looked at him every morning, but I hadn’t talked to him in over a week. And I needed to talk. The next day, I switched my schedule around at work, and I went out to meet him.

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Story

The Convict – Part 05

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By Joshua Ryan

“Jake,” I said, “aren’t they worried that you might just walk away from here?”

“Naw. Not really. I wouldn’t get very far. Not with my tatts. And not with these clothes! And then there’s this other thing.” He bent down and lifted one leg of his coarse brown trousers. There, on the leg, was an iron shackle! I’d never seen one before. I’d never even seen a pair of handcuffs. But this thing was incredible — wide and thick and as black as death, with a big old hinge on the back and two big rings sticking out on the sides and a thing like a tongue sticking out in front . . .. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This must have been what I would have seen in those leg shots of his, if I hadn’t been rushing through them so fast . . .

“Notice,” he said, like a professor explaining what you see after you’ve dissected a frog, “there’s no lock. There’s just a flange and a rivet. And a couple of D-rings, in case they want to attach me to somethin.” He reached down and patted his iron. “This baby will never come off. It’s here for life. Unless you happen to have a blowtorch and a lot of anesthetic on you. Of course, I could try to escape, if I could just shed these clothes. But . . . ”

I gulped. That thing was monstrous. How guys could actually run across the field in an iron like that . . .

“What do they . . . attach you to?”

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Story

Elevator Tickle Attack

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By Jack

My buddy Jon and I used to work a retail job together. During one holiday season, we were working a gift fair in a large corporate office building down in the Financial Center. The merchandise was set up on tables, and we were using an SE/30 as a cash register and inventory control machine.

At night, we could just cover the merchandise with drop cloths, but we had to pack up the computer into a box and lug it up to the 33rd floor, to be locked in an office overnight.

This particular night, Jon offered to carry the boxed computer up, while I was in charge of the cash box (pretty lightweight).

Now, Jon is in his early twenties, a very clean-cut and handsome guy. He defines the term “jock”: extremely muscular, athletic, short brown hair, cocky attitude, very dry, deep voice.

When we entered the elevator up to the 33rd floor, it was well after 5:00 pm. No one was heading UP at that hour, so we were alone in the elevator. As I looked over and saw Jon struggling with holding that heavy box (easier to just hold it rather than to put it down on the floor of the elevator and then have to pick it back up again), I all of a sudden felt a mischievous streak rising in me.

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Story

The Convict – Part 04

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By Joshua Ryan

“What’s the matter, Jason? You look pensive.”

I was at the Alibi, which is a pretty quiet place, especially in the early evening; and it was Terry, the bartender, I was talking to. Terry got out of the Navy a year or so before, and he had that look that some of the ex-Navy guys keep. I liked that look, and I liked talking to Terry. “Pensive” was a joke between us. It was a word I had used one time, one of the many words that Terry had never heard before.

“Not really. Just drinking. Give me another one, will you?”

“Sure thing. But I still think there’s something wrong. You and Joey having a fight?”

“Joey? You mean the guy that’s always in my apartment?”

“That’s the one.”

“I never fight. I just like to be alone sometimes. Believe it or not.”

“Sure you do,” Terry said, pulling me another beer. “Since when?”

“Since now,” I said. “Since always. I hate the way these queers can’t be alone for a second.” I was so drunk, it was a miracle I got through that sentence.

“You do?”

“Sure I do.”

“Which means you’re thinking about some guy that you’d rather be alone with, all of the time.”

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Story

The Inventor’s Incident With the Box

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By Mister-X/Spartan

Todd awoke to the sound of all the ‘clicks’ of his restraints opening, as well as the slow rising of the lid of the box in which he was sleeping. He yawned and stretched his limbs and removed his blindfold and gag before rising out of the box, being careful when pulling his ass off the dildo which was part of the box. It was the start of another day. After taking care of his emptying at both ends, he shaved his chin, neck, face and scalp and washed his face. Then he went out to the kitchen to start getting breakfast. He was still dressed in his pyjamas, which is what he called the full rubber catsuit he slept in. He turned on the television to catch the news. He had set his ‘alarm’ to be a few minutes before the 7:00 newscast so he could catch the beginning. The lead story was about a big storm that was due to hit that evening and continue overnight.

While breakfast was cooking he did his minimal exercises to start warming up for the day. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and liked what he saw. He started thinking about the day ahead, and realized that it was the day for play with his friends. Since Todd didn’t have a regular job, living off the income from his inventions, he didn’t work a regular week and wasn’t that aware of which day of the week it was. His friends did do regular jobs, and their play would be on weekends, one of which began with this day. At the thought, Todd’s cock started getting hard.

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