Category Archives: Story

Story

The Examination – Part 2

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By Slavebladeboi

“According to my notes your Master calls you Zero, is that correct?”

“That and other things.”

“Like…?”

“Zilch, nada, zip, nix, shit head, … anything meaning nothing really.”

“We’ll stick to Zero here then. OK Zero. You’re here for a bit of re education. It can take as long as I want it to. I fill in the forms so if I don’t think you’ve reached your goal then you haven’t. I can make it as short or as long a process as I like. Let’s see how we get on.”

He looked in front of him without any expression.

“Mind you, it’s not all thumb screws and whips. It could be of course” I laughed quietly to myself remembering an incident last week, “but not necessarily. With you I‘ve decided to start somewhere else.”

I unlocked the base of his chair and swivelled it round 180 degrees so he was facing my work bench rather than the mirror wall.

“You see I have a range of items, whips, floggers, hoods, gags, irons to fit all manner of places on your body, clamps, chains, ropes, just to name the first shelf. However, with you perhaps we should try and find the problem you have with your position as slave.”

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Story

The Examination – Part 1

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By slavebladeboi

I looked through the one way glass as they wheeled him in. He looked about 19, fit, tanned, 5 10 or so, short jet black hair with eyes to die for. Well he wouldn’t actually have to die for them. I’d already been ordered to get everything I wanted out of him, but alive this time.

Oh well.

The three goons that dragged him into my “Initial Examination Room” as I liked to call it, so much nicer than “torture chamber”, were typical types. Heavy, muscled, hairy bears, none of them under 6’3” and wearing the uniform for their jobs in this wing, leather leggings and boots with heavy rubber aprons and bibs. Sometimes they wore fingerless studded gloves too but these were not uniform, just impressive.

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Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 22

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By lthr_jock

Clark staggered upstairs, still slightly unsteady on his feet. He tried to stand unsupported but wavered and had to hold himself up against the wall. He shook his head and pulled himself together and headed back to his post. But he hardly got there, when he grabbed his stomach and dived into the nearest toilets. There he threw up – he thought it must be a reaction to the drugs Palmer had given him but it could well have been a reaction to his rape by Morrison. As he thought about it, his stomach churned and he threw up again, retching bile as the protein shakes he had been eating for the last 2 days gave him little to bring up.

“Clark? You OK?”

He heard a voice outside the stall and stood up, grabbing his cap from where it had fallen on the floor and using it to hide his shaven head before flushing and heading out. There he saw Palmer, a concerned look on his face. He rubbed his stomach ruefully.

“Must have eaten something bad. I’m going to head home.”

“Yeah. Look after yourself, Clark.”

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Story

Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 08

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By Greg Alexander

I was so scared I could have shit my pants. There I was, bound, gagged and completely helpless, at the mercy of a bunch of muscular frat jocks who at this moment had every reason to hate me, and every motive to extract their revenge. All I could do is crane my neck and stare up at them, a desperate pleading look in my eyes, as the row of pledges stared back at me, distinctly unforgiving smirks on each of their faces.

“Remember,” Trevor was saying to them, as they all looked down at me, none of them taking their eyes off of me, “the little shit bag has pictures on his hard drive of all of you naked, elephant walking around the basement of this fraternity. Little creep likes to sneak in here and take pictures of us late at night. Don’t ask me how. Now, pledges, it is up to us, the brothers of Delta Psi, to scare the cocksucker straight.”

The pledges were nodding enthusiastically at this.

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Story

To Defile

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By Bikermike

Defile (transitive verb) to befoul; to pollute or corrupt; to violate (Chambers 20th Century Dictionary 1983 edition)

I walked round, assessing what needed to be done. How long would it take? What instruments would I need?

I gave a few prods and punches to the object hanging there in the middle of the room. I suppose it could be described as a perfect specimen of masculinity, secured by chains from its wrists to an electric winch attached to a beam across the ceiling. It was naked except for a tiny pair of red lycra shorts that left very little to one’s imagination: if its penis became erect the shorts would be of little use as far as modesty was concerned.

This boy (for that’s what he was) was, I suppose about twenty five, six feet four with a swarthy complexion, zero crop hair and with about a week’s beard growth on his face. He also looked as though he had spent every day for the last eight years in the gym.

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Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 21

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By lthr_jock

Clark yelled into the muzzle as he woke up, his muscles aching and his back spasming with pain. The restraints afforded him little movement and while he slept his muscles had locked. Despite his yells, little sound leaked out of the muzzle and didn’t disturb anyone outside the cell. He moved himself to a sitting position and stretched as much as the restraints allowed, staring at the blank wall and wondering what the time was. He thought it was the next day – but he had absolutely no idea. He also had no idea whether Morrison was actually coming back – he thought he would, but if he didn’t Clark would be exposed once the restraints were removed and his bondage ordeal would be over. But that would just be the start of another ordeal as his superiors explored how this had happened. They would go over his life with a fins tooth-comb as he would be suspected of being involved, and everything to do with Samuel would be discovered.

As he thought about it, he felt his cock rising and tenting the front of his trousers. Clark sighed. The bondage was arousing enough and he could reach his cock to give himself some relief. He was tempted to do it so that Morrison would have to pull on his trousers with Clarks sticky load inside, but he didn’t want to have to endure that himself. It had been bad enough when he had used the toilet on the day before – with his hands restrained in front of him he could just about work his trousers down far enough, but it took ages to pull them back up.

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Story

In a Romanian Insane Asylum – Part 2

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By Mister-X/Spartan

After the article appeared, I was inundated with requests for television interviews. I also got requests from a number of people who were into choking guys. One of the ones who was interested in choking me also said that he was an agent for sports figures, and figured that I would have gotten requests for television appearances, and would want an agent to represent me. I decided to contact him before contacting anyone else.

He turned out to be a big burly guy. He told me a number of things. He said that I should start dressing and acting the part of my persona when I make public appearances. That made sense. He said my persona was of a young, somewhat smart-alecky guy who liked to have my clothes be tight around my neck. He said further that on seeing me, he could see that I was also good-looking, which would be a plus in television appearances, and also had a slim body, which could be highlighted with my clothes.

Since I had been in a tight canvas straitjacket, he recommended getting canvas shirts custom-made which had a collar that went up to the top of my neck and was smaller than my normal neck size. When he said that, I told him that I wasn’t turned on by having something going up that high on my neck, that I was turned on by being choked. He replied that it didn’t matter, that my public persona was of someone who would wear clothes like that, and that is what the public expected.

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Story

In a Romanian Insane Asylum – Part 1

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By Mister-X/Spartan

The stories she told were chilling. I was a budding investigative reporter, hoping to find a story to make my mark in the world. My boss knew this, and invited me to hear this woman’s stories. She lived in Romania, and was visiting in this country. She was telling us about how their ruler, Ceaucescu, would use insane asylums to house meddlesome dissidents, and the terrible things they would do to such people.

I was young, still in college. My parents had emigrated to the U.S. from Romania, and they spoke Romanian at home, so I was fluent in the language. I would be a natural for the job of doing a report from inside one of these hell holes. But it would obviously be a very dangerous assignment. The lady said that if I could get into Romania, she could get me the necessary papers as a resident student. My boss left the decision up to me as to whether to do this assignment.

I thought about it, thought about the stories the lady told, and decided I would do it. The paper would back me. I had to start planning everything quickly. The lady would be returning home in a week. She knew the people there who were leading the opposition to the ruler, and would put me in touch with them when I arrived in the country.

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