Category Archives: Story

Story

The Mystery

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By Steellock

So Who?

He lay on the bed.

His eyes looked at the inside of a thick leather hood. The thick leather gripped his head all round, tight, but not too tight. He could feel the intrusion of the gag into his mouth. It was a rubber plate that came right in beyond the point where his tongue could get round it and it made him drool. He knew the hood was padlocked on – he had done it earlier. It was one of his favorites, an old Sci Fi hood from Mr S in the US; his first hood in fact bought many years ago and showing it’s age and use. But the reason he had chosen it today was that it resonated inside with the sound of breathing. The sound of the air rushing in and out of your nose and through the two small grommets in the nose of the hood. When strapped in tight you could only really hear yourself. He could make it stop by opening his mouth wide and breathing round the gag. He had to do this occasionally anyway to clear the drool. But the sound would hide any noise made by a visitor…

He kept on lying on the bed; he had no choice. His 20 hole laced black Grinder skinhead boots were padlocked from the D ring on the padded and locked ankle restraints to D rings at each side of the bed frame.

His thick muscular left wrist was gripped by another padded restraint wrapped around and locked to his arm; locked again to the bedframe D ring.

The D ring on the top of the hood was padlocked to a chain across the top of the bed.

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Story

Lincoln’s Assassination Anniversary Play

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By Mister-X/Spartan

Our college was putting on a play to mark the 150th anniversary of Lincoln’s assassination. Most people knew about John Wilkes Booth’s role in it. But few people knew about the others who helped him, and what their fate was. I was to play the role of one of the co-conspirators.

I made no pretext of the fact that I was gay. I also wanted acting to be my career. When it came time to pick the one who would be put into prison in those horribly difficult cuffs that the co-conspirators where put in, our director asked for volunteers. He normally would pick people for the roles, but he didn’t want to assign someone who would have difficulty playing this role. After no one seemed to want this role, I volunteered for it. Our director thanked me. He said I would need a backup, but no one else wanted to even be the backup. I was going to have to make sure that I would always be available. That was my first warning that this was going to be a difficult role to play.

Now that the director had someone to play the role, the next problem was getting the cuffs made. They had to fit the person who was portraying the role, and I was sent to the metal workshop to be fitted. Due to the fragility of the original cuffs, the director decided to make a modification. He also figured that I would prefer being placed in this modified version. He knew something about my interests, since he was also gay, and we’d played some.

At the metal workshop, the director told the workshop teacher what was required. He was surprised, but said that he’d be able to produce them. The director told him that I would be the one playing the part, and told him to make them to fit me. He said everything needed to be tight fitting, since that was the way they had it done at the time. The workshop teacher said “if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. But if you don’t like it, don’t blame me. Your man here will have to be the one to be put into them.” That was my second warning that this was going to be a difficult role to play.

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Story

The Convict – Part 14

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By Joshua Ryan

“OK,” the officer said, when he got me out in the hallway again. “Your looks are improving, convict. I like that new ankle bracelet. I think you look real cute in it. And you’re gonna look even cuter after your next stop. I’m tired of watchin that little dick of yours floppin around on the outside. But I guess you faggots don’t mind hangin out — do you, boy?”

“Boss! No Boss!”

“Well, if I didn’t have no more than what you got, I’d never wanta bounce that thing. I’d keep it packed away. Look at it.”

He put his hand out and grabbed my dick, like you grab a piece of junk that you plan to throw away. He yanked on it, and I lurched in his direction. “You call that a dick, boy?” He opened his hand. My dick was lying there, open to inspection.   He was right. It looked like nothing compared to his thick hard hand, or the long gray sleeve, full of muscle, that connected the hand to his big, buffed shoulders.

I could smell the Krew Comb on his haircut. I could smell the cigar he’d been smoking. A voice inside me yelled, “Fuck, man! There’s a hillbilly grabbin your dick! There’s a fuckin prison guard grabbin your fuckin dick!” But that voice was a long way away. My dick was starting to grow. It was filling and hardening, and he was starting to stroke it and crank it, like I was his cow and it was time to milk me. The more he stroked, the more it hardened and swelled and thrust in his fingers. I didn’t want that to happen. But there was nothing I could do. It was his tool now. I wasn’t in control of it anymore. Maybe I never had been. My dick didn’t care whose hand it was in; it might as well have been my own hand milking it — except that this hand was attached to a man, not to a “boy” like me. It was sliding in his hand like a piece of well-oiled machinery, like a piston that’s found the right groove . . It was true, then . . . he was the man, and I was the boy . . . he was the guard, and I was the convict . . . My dick was throbbing and jerking, struggling for release . . . Just when it was about to lunge free. . . .

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Story

Three Days in Jail – Part 03

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By Pisslurper

After two days, I had pretty much settled into jail routine. The mornings were nice; I’d wake up to the soft light at dawn, and drowsily drift in and out sleep with the sounds of the town waking up in the distance. The light would gradually bring the details of the cell into focus — the giant rivets, the steel walls, the steel L-brackets welded to the side walls, the glimpse of the cellblock through the steel bars of my cell doors. I’d become more aware of the smells of steel and concrete, and eventually I’d get up and piss a stream into the bucket.

When I was in the end cell, the jailor had to be in the cellblock to see into the cell through the bars of the cell door, and I could hear when he was entering the cellblock because unlocking the cellblock door made a loud racket. In the middle cell, the jailor could more or less sneak up from the jail portion behind the shower and look into my cell through the bars in the back wall of the cell. I wasn’t certain if I liked being more exposed or more secluded.

Since there wasn’t a table in the middle cell, and now I was supposedly a “medium security” risk, the jailor fed me my meals at the table in the cellblock area. He unlocked the padlock on the door of cell, exited the cellblock, slammed shut the cellblock door, padlocked the two huge sliding bolts on the cellblock door, then unlocked the sliding bar locking mechanism that locked and unlocked all three cell doors simultaneously. Then he told me that I could push open my cell door and enter the secure cellblock area. He pushed my cereal and banana through the handcuff slot, and I sat at the small table to eat my breakfast. I would’ve given my left nut for a cup of strong black coffee, but I knew better than to ask.

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Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 09

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By lthr_jock

As Clark walked out of the house, Vickers marvelled at the sight of the prison guard wearing head to toe rubber. He knew that the additives he had put in the man’s drink would increase his arousal, but he never anticipated that they would make him so relaxed and open-minded. Talking to Clark it was clearly the same man, just a man with his inhibitions lowered. Vickers watched Clark drive away, then was back onto his computer to review the film he now had of Clark putting on the rubber. He pulled out his cock and stroked it at the sight of the tall, muscled man covering up with the gleaming black rubber. He grinned with pleasure and added the film to his private collection of films of Clark that he had taken since Clark had first come over to collect the Scavenger’s Daughter. Vickers had been very careful with those files – they had been shared with a very few select friends, each time with dire warnings not to share them with anyone else.

 

***

 

Clark drove home, enjoying the way the rubber moved and stretched with every movement of his body. He was also aware of the sounds that it made as he moved and the strong smell of the rubber – a smell which got stronger as his body heated the rubber up. It was a warm day and although the sun was low on the horizon, it was still enough to make him sweat. He could feel the trickles of it down his body under the rubber and even that served to arouse him. He reached down with his left hand and stroked the bulge of his cock, which was still rock hard under the rubber. Clark loved the feel of the pressure through the rubber without the direct contact and he could feel pre-cum leaking out of his cock.

Clark pulled up short – his reverie had almost made him drive through a red light. He carried on stroking his cock with one hand until a shout disturbed him. He looked to the right and saw the familiar shape of a pickup truck. Leaning out of the window was the same guy that had seen him driving around in slave chains a few weeks before.

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Story

The Convict – Part 13

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By Joshua Ryan

It was a strange-looking room. What you saw was a line of long metal benches, the kind of benches that are big enough for a guy to lie down on and spread out his arms above his head. The benches were lined up parallel, every few feet. And you could tell that guys were supposed to lie down on them, because they had cuffs and shackles at all four corners.

At the head of every bench was a table, with some metal instruments arranged on it.

The panic was rising again, but I didn’t have time to panic. “Go to the drain, boy,” the officer said. He was pointing to the wall across from the line of benches.

I went to the wall. At the bottom I saw a thing in the floor like a gutter, or a big pipe with the top cut off of it. “I want to see you piss, boy. Do it now. And make sure you squirt it all out. We don’t want any accidents later on.”

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Story

Changes …

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By Rubrpig

Alan slowly woke up and stretched. Looking over at the sleeping form of his partner Robert he smiled and stretched again. Standing up he scratched his furry chest as he walked to the bathroom. Standing before the toilet, he grabbed his semi hard cock and began to piss. The dark yellow piss stream arced into the bowl. Shaking the drops from the head of his cock and the 2 gauge PA he turned and walked over to the sink and got a glass of water. Looking out the window, he decided that a morning swim in the pool would feel good. Grabbing a dark blue Speedo from the drawer he pulled it over his heavy muscled furry legs and over his butt.

Walking through the bedroom, he headed downstairs and out to the backyard pool. Diving in he spent 20 minutes swimming laps in the pool, and then hoisted himself out and sat on the edge of the pool. Hearing the sliding door open, he turned and smiled as Robert walked over carrying 2 mugs of coffee. Handing one to Alan, Robert pulled over a chair and sat down. Alan smiled at Robert and told him that it had been a great time at the bar last night. Robert agreed and smiled as he said, “those 2 boys were certainly willing and able.” Despite the warnings of their friends that a relationship between 2 confirmed leather tops wouldn’t work but it did. After 4 years together both men were still happy and committed to each other.

Just then the phone rang and Robert got up and walked into the house to answer it. He shortly came back carrying the portable phone and handed it to Alan. Alan looked up and saw that Robert’s face was troubled. Alan took the phone and said Hello and then began to listen to the caller.

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Story

Three Days in Jail – Part 02

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By Pisslurper

The rules of the jail were strict, but simple and expected. I was supposed to call the jailor “Officer” and “Sir.” I was to keep my blanket folded neatly whenever I wasn’t using it. I was supposed to back away from the cell door and go nose to the wall with my hands clasped behind my head whenever instructed to do so or whenever the jailor was about to come into my cell. I was supposed to be in uniform (top and bottoms) whenever I was out of my cell.

For some reason, calling the jailor “Sir” or “Officer” just rankled me, and I resisted doing so. I guess I also gave him some attitude, although I was nicer when he had something I wanted, like a meal.

Once or twice a day he would conduct a cell inspection, looking for contraband I guess. He went through the whole unlocking the cellblock and cell routine, had me nose to the wall, and he cuffed my hands behind my back. Then he turned me around and locked the handcuffs to the metal L bracket that was fastened to cell wall. So now I am shackled, chained to the wall with my feet, and my handcuffed wrists are slightly elevated behind my back and locked to the wall. I couldn’t move much at all. The jailor then inspected the cell, looking under and checking the seams of the mattress and pillow, unfolding the blanket, and examining the entire cell.

I gave him some attitude during the first inspection, and when he uncuffed me, he shortened the chain to my shackles so that I could only move a few feet.   Then he repeated the lock down process, and after the series of banging and clanking, I was again left alone in the dim cell, only know a little more severely restricted. I could still move a bit, but no more pacing the length of the cell. I could lie down since the foot of the bed was close to the point where the chain was attached to the wall, and I could stand to piss in my bucket if I needed. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, because, like I said earlier, time seemed pass both slowly and quickly.

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