Category Archives: Story

Story

The Art Show

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By Cutieboy90

Matt and his buddy TJ stood awkwardly by the big steel door of the warehouse. Matt instinctively covering his flaccid penis with one hand, while TJ didn’t even bother trying to cover his big package. He swung his arms idly as they waited for some sort of instruction.

“We ain’t too early, are we?” TJ asked Matt. Matt shook his head.

“No, we’re right on time. And exactly where we were told to be. They must be running late.” Matt finished with a slight hint of annoyance.

“It’s cool, man.” TJ shrugged. “You know how civilians are. They can’t help it.”

Matt nodded. Of course TJ was right. Adjusting to life after years of structured army life had been difficult for both of them. Matt was glad TJ was always so chill.

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Story

My Marine

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By Cutieboy90

“U-ughhhh…” I groaned softly through my ballgag as I blinked my eyes open. My neck had a crick, and my jaw ached terribly.

“Hey bud,” a deep voice spoke from above me.

“Huuuuhh…?” I looked up at the handsome face of my partner, Jake. He smiled warmly as he stroked my face.

“Yeah, you fell asleep there for a bit,” he said. I tried to stretch, but quickly found I was still in bondage. My hands were handcuffed to a chain around my waist, and my legs were cuffed and drawn up to the belly chain as well, essentially pigtying me.

“You’re so cute when you sleep,” Jake hugged me closer and nuzzled the top of my head. “I’ve missed this.” I nodded in agreement, nuzzling into his broad, muscular chest.

Jake was still wearing his uniform, boots and all. He liked wearing his uniform at least as much I liked seeing him wear it. Not only for the kink reasons, but personal too.

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Story

Total Behavioral Solutions – Part 04

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By Sang Freud

Note: This is the continuation of a story. To start at the very beginning, click for Part 00.

Tom was utterly dependent on the two orderlies as they led him out of the exam room and into the corridor. His eyes searched in vain for even the smallest bit of light or shadow in the VR helmet, and the straitjacket held his arms tight against his body. Somehow, though, the earplugs were the most terrifying. True to Brian’s word, Tom could hear absolutely nothing, not even his own blood circulating. He tried to ask Joe and Mike where they were taking him, but he didn’t even hear his own voice. Only a warning from the nerve interface told him that he had in fact made any noise at all.

When the helmet allowed his vision and hearing to return, Tom was standing in front of a solid panel of steel with a giant C painted on the door. No food slot, no observation window, not even a handle or a keyhole. Just an LCD timer and a red or green light indicating whether the cell was occupied. Like a bank vault, it was thick, heavy, and lined with an airtight gasket.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 10

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By Hunter Perez

After the back-to-back craziness of Nicky and his pals plus the O’Dwyer incident, the prison went into lockdown. We had no idea how long it would last – Patterson told me the warden returned from his trip and ordered an indefinite confinement period there was an investigation into how Nicky and his fellow intruders broke into the prison and took guards as hostages, as well as a probe of how O’Dwyer managed to get his hands on dynamite and a horse-drawn wagon that he packed with his fellow prisoners.

Patterson and Charleson spent a great deal of time during the lockdown outside of my cell, speaking with myself and Zeb through the iron bars. Both were deeply appreciative of how we subdued the intruders, and they brought us items to keep us distracted while we were confined – magazines, blank notebooks and pens, cookies, candies and thickly packed sandwiches. The Jones boys also came by the cell to express their thanks for rescuing them, and when we began to converse I realized that my opinion of them was completely wrong – they were not dull and indolent, but were charming and unexpectedly funny once you got to know them. They shared their dissatisfaction with their work and confided they were looking for opportunities elsewhere. They also asked if Zeb and I could give them boxing lessons once the lockdown was over.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 09

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By Hunter Perez

Holmgren walked me through unfamiliar corridors within the prison, and as we journeyed I began to develop a very bad headache. I don’t know if it was from the whiskey or if it was a crash from the adrenaline rush I felt in subduing the intruders, but the pain came on quickly. Holmgren had been talking, but in my discomfort I stopped listening to him – which I didn’t realize until he repeated a question twice without my generating an answer.

“You don’t look good – what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I feel like I’m having a migraine headache,” I said. “Do you have aspirin?”

“I don’t think it’s been invented yet,” he said. “But I have something in my kitchen that can make you feel better instantly.”

We walked out into a section of the prison grounds that I didn’t recognize. There were several small stone buildings and a few wooden sheds. A strong wind brought the scent of horse manure that betrayed the presence of the prison’s stables, which Holmgren pointed out to me.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 08

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By Hunter Perez

Once we were inside the prison, I calmed down. Charleson and Patterson put me back on my feet, and I apologized to them for creating a commotion. Patterson ordered Charleson to return to Holmgren, then he unlocked my handcuffs and walked me back to my cell.

“Sorry we had to be rough on you, son,” Patterson said softly. “I don’t like hurting good people.”

“It was my fault, Sir, and I deserved it,” I said. “You and Private Charleson would be justified in submitting a conduct demerit over how I behaved.”

“I doubt the private will do anything of the sort,” Patterson replied. “And if he did, you have to remember that I am the one who approves and rejects those reports. I don’t see any conduct demerits in your future.”

When we reached the cell, Patterson assured me that Holmgren will able to solve whatever situation was taking place, and he thanked me for being concerned about the lieutenant’s safety. The opening and closing of the cell door awakened Zeb, who was sleeping naked in the middle of our bed. He blinked at me through half-asleep eyes and rolled himself to the edge of the bed, freeing up space for me to join him. While I wasn’t the least bit sleepy, I nonetheless rested next to Zeb.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 07

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By Hunter Perez

Anyone who complains that I talk too much should spend an hour with Harry – he speaks at supersonic speed while weighing down his verbiage with a grab-bag of labored colloquialisms, off-tangent trivia and an endless supply of melodrama. I debated whether to share his story in its verbatim form, but I could not justify replicating the torture I experienced as his audience and, thus, I will offer the no-frills abbreviated version of his tale.

Harry worked in the finance office of a defense contractor based in New Mexico. He landed the job after graduating from college and remained there for a dozen years, with only a mild promotion in position and pay during that period – although he was insistent on thanking the company for covering the tuition costs so he could complete his graduate studies. As he was going into his thirteenth year with the company, he said that he uncovered some financial discrepancies he considered to be significant. He made some informal inquiries within the company but was unable to secure a satisfactory explanation regarding the final destination of the money in question. He approached his superiors about the matter, explaining at great length what he discovered.

“I was under the impression this would help raise my standing in the company,” he recalled.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 06

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By Hunter Perez

After Holmgren introduced me to Quinn, I saw neither of them for several weeks. I have no idea what became of Holmgren, but I heard a few uncomplimentary things about Quinn. The first complaints came from Charleson, who somehow got into an argument with Quinn over the merits of Emily Brontë’s “Wuthering Heights,” which Charleson adored and Quinn loathed – and to make matters worse, Quinn insulted Charleson’s character based on his taste in literature.

“He had the audacity to question my intelligence and the type of home I was raised in,” Charleson fumed in confidence to me one afternoon. “Just because I wasn’t college educated like him doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate fine writing.”

More concerns about Quinn arose at the rock quarry when O’Dwyer started quizzing me about Quinn.

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