Category Archives: Story

Story

Time Flies When You’re Having Fun

2 Comments

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

4 Comments

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

2 Comments

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

1 Comment

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

Leave a comment

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 →

Story

The Mystery

2 Comments

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.

Continue reading The Mystery →

Story

Lincoln’s Assassination Anniversary Play

Leave a comment

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.

Continue reading Lincoln’s Assassination Anniversary Play →

Story

The Convict – Part 14

1 Comment

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. . . .

Continue reading The Convict – Part 14 →