Category Archives: Story

Story

Brothers

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By Bikermike

It was my own fault; I should never have contacted them on Recon in the first place.

My life is now one of abject slavery, a pain-slave to three lads, the oldest of which is twelve years my junior.

I have to report to them every weekend and undergo degradation, torture and humiliation for the full forty-eight hours. I am forced to do this through blackmail. However, there is always a frisson of enjoyment on my part: I’ve always fantasised about being a slave, especially to younger men.

Each Friday I turn up at their house and once let in I have to strip naked. The oldest gives me my ‘uniform,’ which consists of a tight butt-plug, which he inserts brutally; a steel collar, a ball and chain attached to my right ankle and a heavy steel ball-stretcher or a scrotum shackle.

I am then forced to fellate each of them in turn: failure to please results in a flogging across my arse or back, the number of lashes depending upon the whim of the flogger.

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Story

VRansomwear – Chapter 5

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VRansomwear

By POW

CHAPTER 5

It had been fairly easy for Evan to find the rubberlad. The VRealWorld app on his phone had said he was in Central Park, then suddenly it said he was in the area of Lincoln Square. He had the cab driver cruise the streets while he scanned the sidewalks for anyone dressed all in rubber. There were few enough people out, and the guy stuck out like a sore thumb. He told the cabbie to pull over, tipped generously, and hit “Enter VRealWorld” on the app, watching the rubberlad as he did. The effect was immediate. The rubberlad stopped his plodding walk and started looking around. Evan climbed out of the cab and stood, watching. Very quickly, the rubberlad spotted him, then started figuring out how to get to him. Evan decided to speed the process along and waited for him at the corner.

The cock-touch came, just as the app’s instructions had said it would. Then the guy knelt down and held up his wrists. Evan was ready – he tapped “Request Control” on the phone screen. In a few seconds, the phone chirped a happy tone and a green “Control Granted” message danced across the screen. He tapped the rubberlad’s wrists and murmured “cuffs”. Nothing seemed to happen.

But when he held up the phone and looked through the app, he could see the silver cuffs. And the rubberlad was certainly acting as if his wrists were now pinned together, trying and failing to separate them. Evan lowered the phone. The real-world view was almost comical, as if the guy was performing some kind of mime act.

[[WARNING: This story contains extreme elements that some readers might find objectionable. Continue reading at your own risk.]]

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Story

Cellar

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By Bikermike

I must say that I can look back to what happened to me some six years ago with a degree of fondness and if I am honest, more than a soupçon of a sense of security. Strangely enough, I can remember verbatim the early conversations we had in the first few days of my captivity. Whether it was because of the shock of something terrible and new I have no idea. The following six years I remained as this guy’s captive seemed like a blur of memory; akin, I suppose to what some might refer to as “institutionalisation.”

I was eighteen and was hitch-hiking home from the city centre one night in the pouring rain. I cannot remember the type of vehicle that stopped; perhaps a Range Rover. The driver – I suppose in his forties and of stocky but muscular build reached over to let me into the passenger’s door. ‘Where are you off to, mate?’ he enquired. I explained that I lived a further ten miles up this particular road and would thankfully appreciate a lift, given the horrible weather. I climbed in and put on the seat-belt.

I can remember the guy rummaging in his glove compartment and pulled out a small box of what I supposed were peppermints: something like “Tic-Tacs.” ‘Here! Have a mint, mate, it’ll warm you up!’ he said as he shook two into my hand. I thought the taste was a bit odd – pepperminty but also bitter.

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Story

VRansomwear – Chapter 4

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VRansomwear

By POW

CHAPTER 4

Meanwhile… the next morning, in Queens… and Brooklyn… and across the river in Secaucus, New Jersey …

Ken’s phone chimed with a sound he was not accustomed to hearing. He pulled it out and looked at it.

It was a notification from an app he remembered installing a few weeks back. It was called “VRealWorld” – pronounced with two syllables, the first two letters slurred together like the VRs in “vroom vroom” – and it was supposed to be an online hookup tool like grindr or recon. Like grindr, it supposedly got you in touch with guys near you who shared your interests. But it had never shown Ken anything and after a few days he had forgotten it was even there, had even forgotten that the account had been created under the name “Rockit”. Seeing it now on the screen now his reaction was that it was almost too cutesy a nickname, a callout to the band he played lead guitar for as well as a thinly-disguised reference to dicks and orgasms.

Now the app was chiming for “Rockit’s” attention. The notification said “Rubberlad near you!” A… “rubberlad”? Skeptical, Ken swiped the message.

“A rubberlad has completed the VRealWorld training program and is currently active near you. If you wish to let the rubberlad find you, see you, and interact with you, read on!” There was a link to more instructions.

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Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 15

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By lthr_jock

Vickers was ticked off. No, scratch that, Vickers was angry. Angry at Clark, angry at Carl and Greg – but most of all, angry at himself. It started from the moment at the party when he realised that the hunky man secured in the straitjacket and muzzle was actually Clark. He had dreamed of getting Clark in that kind of position, but had been moving things forward slowly, carefully. But Greg and Carl had got Clark into the gear within just a few hours. Vickers had enjoyed getting Carl restrained inside the vac rack, but all that day his attention kept getting drawn across the aisle to Clark. The sight of his body in the tight leather harness with his arms locked behind him distracted him, aroused him – and made him jealous as hell.

After the conference, Vickers continued talking to Clark by email and text and monitoring Clark’s workouts. It was clear the man was still working hard at the gym, though his measurements had stabilised and he seemed to be improving definition rather than just putting on bulk. Vickers had several thoughts about where to go next, but whenever he broached ideas with Clark, Clark seemed distracted and gave brusque off-hand replies. Vickers also noted that he was curious about Greg and Carl and the conversation often returned to them.

The last straw came when Greg and Carl invited him to their latest open house to display their latest creations. Their venue was in an abandoned warehouse, and the main showroom was circular and high-ceilinged. High on the walls were video screens, and on this occasion they were showing slideshows of men wearing various items of leather wear. Vickers grabbed a drink and wandered around. As usual, their gear was high quality and piqued his interest – but tonight his attention kept getting drawn back to the video screens. Despite the fact that the leather being worn kept changing, the model looked the same. The photos never showed his face, but as he looked on Vickers realised that they were all photos of Clark. This was confirmed by the last set where he was wearing a leather version of his guard uniform. Vickers felt his cock swell and gulped down his drink as his jealousy spiked.

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Story

VRansomwear – Chapter 3

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VRansomwear

By POW

CHAPTER 3

Sunday began with Colin trying to wipe away the crustiness of dried sleep-gunk in his eyes. Still only half-awake, he went to rub them clear and found his fingers’ way blocked by the confining rubber of the hood. For a brief moment overnight, it seemed he had been able to somehow forget that he was a prisoner in a form-fitting cell. His waking had been gentle; he rose smoothly and gradually from the depths of sleep. The lingering vestiges of a pleasant but already fading dream left him with a general sense of well-being. He was comfortable in his bed, the temperature was mild… and so when his hand failed to wipe his eyes the memory of his captivity came crashing back all at once. His mood instantly plummeted.

It was a tight fit, but by using more of the talc supplied in the gym bag he was able to work a finger into the mouth hole of the hood and worm it all the way up to the inner corner of his eye, clearing the tiny but infuriating chunks away. He worried the suit might zap him for tampering, but it allowed his action without interference. Even so, the effect on his mood lingered, and didn’t get better as the day went on.

He had promised Eva he would spend the afternoon at her sister’s birthday party. Prior to a few days ago, he would have told anyone who would listen “I’d do anything to get out of going!”. Now, today, he realized that there were limits on what “anything” might mean; an afternoon with Eva’s family started to seem downright appealing in comparison. Still, there was no way he could show up there. She wouldn’t like it, but he had to tell her he wasn’t going.

Texting seemed best, although it was awkward with rubber-coated fingers. Eva would have preferred he call, but that would have meant a 20-minute-long bitch session he was in no mood to listen to. So he sent a quick “Sorry got 2 cancel 2day. Will make it up 2 u promise.” She took a while to respond, but when she did, to his relief, it was to say “Thats ok, know u don’t like this kind of thing,” which was much better than he expected. He sent back “Thanks, ur the best” in appreciation.

Then it was a scrounge for breakfast – food was running low; he would need to grab some groceries soon. Preferably downtown, far away from home. There were no visitations from muscle-bound deities, so he was on his way by noon.

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Story

Roommate Tickle Wager: Craps You Lose

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By Jack

My roommate Zack and I, just before he moved back to the midwest to a different college, used to hang in the living room, drinking sherry (of all things) and shooting craps. We were way into it, and would have some fierce, marathon games, sometimes lasting until dawn. We sorta played by Hoyle, but some rules we made up as we went along. We were very competitive, really rubbed it in when the other guy lost. Zack was especially sadistic when I lost, calling me a wuss and a loser and stuff. We played with stacks of nickels, and the game was over when one guy won all the other guy’s nickels.

Now, Zack is very ticklish, but only his armpits. He is a muscular, wiry guy, 5’8″, 150#’s, smooth, clean-shaven, real handsome, with several tats. Very tough, hot, macho little 24 y.o. dude. Smooth, muscular chest, light wisps of blond hair in his armpits. Hated being tickled. No, I mean really HATED it. Used to tell me horror stories about his baby-sitter tying him up with electrical cord and tickling him until he pissed himself. Also, about his mother and older sister pinning him down with his arms over his head and tickling his armpits until he was screaming and crying. I listened to his stories with mock dread, and always seemed to feel sorry for him. So, yeah, I knew he was ticklish. And I knew he hated it.

But I also knew what a prick he was when I lost to him at craps.

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Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 14

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By lthr_jock

Clark settled the leather uniform cap on his head and looked at himself in the mirror. The 8-sided cap was a leather version of the one he wore at work, and it settled snugly onto his head, pressing his gelled hair tightly against his scalp. His torso was covered with a tailored white leather shirt, complete with breast pockets, epaulettes and a name embroidered on the left chest. The black leather tie snugged it in place around his neck. His legs were in gleaming black combat trousers that clung to his muscles and showed off his thick thighs and heavy calves. His feet were in highly glossed combat boots that peeped out from under the leather trousers. Holding the trousers in place was a thick duty belt complete with baton, pepper spray and handcuffs.

Clark pulled on the final items – a pair of thin leather gloves that completed the ensemble. Three weeks ago when he had asked what kind of uniform he would be wearing, he had never imagined it would be one quite like this – an almost exact leather copy of what he wore to work.  He checked the cap was properly in place and then headed back out into the studio. Waiting for him was Greg and Carl and their photographer, Michael. By now, Clark knew what was expected of him so he walked with confidence into the brightly lit area and waited for the instructions from the three men.

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