Category Archives: Story

Story

The Convict – Part 17

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By Joshua Ryan

“This is Officer Nolan,” he said to his cellphone. “Open A292.” I heard the bars slide back.

“Inside, convict.”

I opened my eyes. There was a gap in the bars. The cell door was open. It wasn’t very wide. It was just the gate to a cage. I could tell that I’d have to tilt my bedroll to get it through. I lifted one side, maneuvering it. I would have to be careful not to let anything drop . . .

Then I saw it.   There was something long and thick lying on the lower bunk, something brown that was shaped like a man. There were letters and numbers stamped on its surface.   It was a convict, lying face down in my cell. Wait a minute! Couldn’t the officer see that the place was already full?

I almost blurted that out. Then I remembered: there were two convicts stuffed in all those other cells. That bundle of clothes on the bunk was only one convict. I was the other one.

I stopped in the doorway. I was scared to wake up that thing on the metal shelf. Jesus, it was dark in there, especially after the spotlight I’d faced outside. I could see a naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn’t turned on. The only light was the gray stuff leaking in from the walkway. That was enough for me to see that the whole cell wasn’t much larger than a medium-sized closet. It was a lot smaller than my bathroom at home. What used to be my home. Half the cell was bunks, one shelf above the other on the right side, against the wall. A lot of the rest was toilet — a metal toilet squatting against the back wall, a toilet without a seat, with something that looked like a little sink built into the top of it. The thing was gleaming at me in the faint light. Christ! I thought. They wash in the shitter. A wave of contempt ran through me. Probably one of them crapped while the other one washed his face in the crapper. They were like cats in a cage, with a little litterbox all their own. And now I was one of them.

Continue reading The Convict – Part 17 →

Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 11

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By lthr_jock

Clark reacted with shock as they headed towards the door – surely Greg didn’t mean to parade him in public like this. He held back and the leash tightened. Without looking around, Greg yanked on it and Clark felt his upper half jerk forward. He tried to brace himself but something made him lose his balance and he staggered forward. Greg turned as Carl burst out laughing. “Greg, you were right. Those boots work a treat.”

Clark looked down with confusion – the boots looked just like the heavy boots he had seen skinheads wearing in the street. But for some reason they felt slippery and unstable under his feet and he had to concentrate to keep his balance on them. Carl picked up another pair of the boots and turned them around so Clark could see the soles. Instead of a normal heel, they had a 2” heel on them and instead of a thick rubber tread they were smooth. “You see, the heel puts your balance off and the slippery sole makes it easy to pull you further off balance. We call them the Slave-maker.” Greg frowned and Carl continued “Ok, the name is a work in progress, but lucky you, you get to road test them for us.”

Greg yanked on the leash again and Clark stepped carefully towards the door. He was having to concentrate on where he was stepping and was taking steps so small that the boot shackles were almost irrelevant. Before he realised it, they were at the lifts. Greg stood there, tapping his crop against his boot with impatience. He turned to face Clark with a wicked grin on his face “You know what, let’s take the stairs.” Clark tried to complain but the gag filled his mouth stopping him and he could do little except hobble along behind Greg as the leather clad man tugged him towards the stairs.

Continue reading Busman’s Holiday – Part 11 →

Story

The Wall – Part 02

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By slavebladeboi

They walked back to their apartment together. Like most 19-year-olds he was used to feeling confident. Confident about his sexuality, his life choices and his future, but this evening he felt none of those things. He wanted an arm round his shoulder and a protective embrace from his partner for no other reason but to feel him there. He asked for both and got them with no hesitation albeit a question.

“Is something wrong man?”

“No, it’s just, well…. No nothing.”

“Come on, open up, I’ve seen that look before, always when you want me to agree to something you don’t think I’m gonna like.”

“Those marks. The ones on my wrists, I don’t know how they got there. Or rather I do, but I don’t.”

“Well thanks for making sense, you sure you’re feeling ok?”

He pulled away from the comforting arm and faced the other, slightly taller man.

“Yes. I’m fine. I think. Let’s get indoors.”

They had reached the steps leading up to the front door of their building, slid the key in the lock and went into the elevator. Once inside their apartment he fell onto the couch and sighed.

“Well?”

“OK. Just hear me out. I know this will sound strange but go with me for a while here.”

His partner sat opposite him and leaned forward. The story came out in one long unbroken monologue. All the details, the guy, the car, the wall, the fucking and waking up in the bar.

Continue reading The Wall – Part 02 →

Story

Time Flies When You’re Having Fun

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By Bondagekid94

Everything has been discussed – we are aware of limits and what each other enjoys, but I do not know the finer details of what is to come. We have only chatted online, and this will be the first time that we meet in person.

The intercom buzzes, signifying your arrival. It is early. I’m still groggy as I’ve not long woken up. All my gear and toys are laid out as requested, and I go and open the front door. No time for niceties, I am taken into my bedroom and ordered to strip.

I am ordered to put myself in my rubber, first shorts, then socks and gloves, then full catsuit. Once this is all on, it’s padlocked closed. This is followed by a gas mask and then I am led to the sleepsack, which is waiting, open, for my rubber-clad body to be sealed inside. As the zips tighten up my body and my arms slip into the internal sleeves, I am now helpless. There is no escape.

Continue reading Time Flies When You’re Having Fun →

Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 10

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By lthr_jock

Vickers placed a small set of steps behind Clark and went up the couple of steps he needed to so that he could talk to the restrained male.

“OK, Samuel, so here’s the plan. You can still move your hands inside the rubber, so when you want a drink just make a fist with your left hand. Try it now.” He looked down and saw Clark make a fist and then release it to once again show his hand splayed out between the two sheets of rubber.

“Good. Now you’re going to be here for quite a while – so if you absolutely HAVE to get out I want you to clench your right hand. Do it now so I know you’ve understood me.” He looked down and confirmed the movement. “Excellent. Oh – one thing. If you insist on leaving before the end of the show, you don’t get any money taken off your debt.” Vickers chuckled at the outraged grunts from inside the rubber. “Now, now, Samuel, that’s no way to talk to the man who isn’t chained in a rubber vac rack. So, make a fist if you understand.” After a short pause, the man did so. “Good. Now, I just need to polish you up.” He looked up and saw that some other stall holders were wandering around before the official opening and were already paying his display some attention.

Vickers got out the rubber gloss and started spraying it over Clarks restrained form. He could see Clark shudder – as much as he could – as the spray chilled the rubber and he then went over it with a clean duster. His light strokes soon turned the already gleaming rubber into a shiny, almost iridescent surface that reflected the lights set up around the hall. He heard a murmur of appreciation from behind him and looked over his shoulder to see that the group of fellow exhibitors was growing. He paid some attention to Clark’s crotch. The mans already hard cock was pointing straight up his towards his navel and a few delicate rubs with the cloth made it stand out even more. He noticed Clark’s right hand briefly clench and then relax as the big man gave in to the situation. Clark’s cock looked even bigger outlined and defined by the rubber and Vickers looked forward to a time when he would be able to get his mouth around it.

Continue reading Busman’s Holiday – Part 10 →

Story

The Convict – Part 16

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By Joshua Ryan

“Boss! Yes Boss!” College Boy said, dropping his hand and jumping to attention. By then, I was standing at attention too.

“Awright,” Officer Nolan said, giving us the kind of smile that you give to a couple of monkeys that you catch dickin off in their cage. “Fun time is over. Grab your gear and follow me, convict.”

I stood by the counter and stuck out my arms, and Brian stacked my gear on them. Bedroll at the bottom, followed by trousers, shirts, underwear, and sox. The baggie perched on top. My arms were loaded.

“Hey!” the officer said. “I thought he was dressin in.”

“Boss! Yes Boss!” Brian said.

“Where’s his fuckin cap?”

“Boss! Sorry, Boss!” Brian answered. The cap was lurking on the counter. He picked it up and put it on my head. Now I was dressed in.

“You trusties get away with a lot,” Officer Nolan said.

“Boss! Yes Boss!” Brian said. I could see he was smiling, and it was obvious that Officer Nolan didn’t see that he was. “Clean up in here,” he said. “Then get back to your cage.”

Continue reading The Convict – Part 16 →

Story

The Wall – Part 01

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By slavebladeboi

He opened his eyes. The rough stone wall, about 4 inches from his nose, was blurred. Licking his dry lips, he moved away, but panic gripped his gut like a vice.

He couldn’t move.

The shock seemed to bring all his senses to life at once. And that’s when he felt what was holding him upright, rigid almost. He tried to move his head but could only do so a fraction. Straining his eyes downwards, he saw the steel bracket that held the collar that he now realised was round his neck, keeping his head so close to the brickwork.

He pulled at his arms. They were locked in position, about 45 degrees below the horizontal and stretched out just enough for him to feel the manacles bite into the backs of his hands, again the same distance from the wall. His elbows too were encased in an unforgiving metal bond.

He was standing straight, his knees held locked, metal tubes about 6 inches long grasped them and forbade them from bending even slightly, his ankles the same distance from the wall locked in position, his feet turned outwards to accommodate that fact.

His fear overcame his senses. He cried out, he yelled. Nothing but a hollow echo returned.

Continue reading The Wall – Part 01 →

Story

The Convict – Part 15

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By Joshua Ryan

I unfolded the shorts. They were cheap and stiff and pasty white, with the same black brand on the leg and rump: CONVICT 353308. Even in your underwear, you had to be labeled. Your rump needed to be numbered so that nobody would mistake it for the rump of the inmate who was next in line. You could never forget that you were a convict, a package of meat with a barcode.

I pulled the right leg of the boxers over my iron and drew them up to my crotch.   I’d never worn whites before. Even when I was a kid, my mother always bought me something “colorful,” something “artistic.” And I’d never worn anything next to my body that felt as coarse and rough as those things felt when I pulled them on for the first time, watching my balls and dick vanish beneath the harsh white cloth that covered them like some exotic disease. I shuddered and reached blindly for the t-shirt.   The thing was as heavy and coarse as the boxers, and just as white, except for the familiar message stamped on the front and back — CONVICT 353308. I pulled it slowly over my chest. Now I was dressed in my prison underwear, with my prison name and my prison number glaring black from the naked white . . . and my dick was rising again. I never knew I could feel this way, sick and eager at the same time . . . Through the thick cloth of my t-shirt, I could see my nipples starting to tube . . .

“What’s the matter, convict?” College Boy asked. “You one of these boxer queens? Can’t get enough of your undies, man? I want you dressed out, convict. Make it snappy.”

Continue reading The Convict – Part 15 →