Category Archives: Story

Story

7 Days in Berlin – Part 07

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By Takeo

Day 2 – Wednesday June 12th – Going Out

So far I have never experienced dog training, even though I have worn a plug with a dog tail once or twice. But I remember expressing my desire to try it to Florian during one of our chats. Yet what attracts me most is the look, with a tail and a dog hood, a leash, and the fact of being on all fours. As for eating out of a bowl, I had carefully avoided the subject. I like being humiliated by a dom, but this is a little too extreme for me, I thought.

As these thoughts run through my head, I try to understand why I am in this situation. It does not make much sense to me; Flo’s pleasure should be in watching me being humiliated by having to eat off the floor from a bowl, but he is not there.

I realize that I have been up for a while, and that I am hungry. So I resolve to try and eat something. One bowl contains water, the other food. Rice, apparently with bits of vegetable and chicken.

My hands are trapped in the mitts, so if I lift the bowls I risk spilling everything. So I am forced to leave them on the ground and really eat like a dog, even though I am alone and nobody is actually forcing me to.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 16

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By Hunter Perez

The interior of the cottage looked as if somebody’s grandmother was recruited to inspire its décor: frilly lace curtains, heavily upholstered furniture, framed needlework on the walls and fragile doilies with porcelain figurines of fauns and lambs sitting atop sturdy oak tables. A fireplace took up much of a wall in the living space and an ornate clock was perched on its jagged wood mantlepiece. As I just emerged from a prison cell residency, the coziness overkill came as a shock.

The kitchen was large and more utilitarian in design and haphazard in its presentation, with dishes and pots scattered carelessly about. There was no running water for the large sink, and an oversized pitcher laying on its side in the basin challenged me to figure out how to clean the dishes and cookware without the benefit of a faucet. A wood-burning stove occupied a corner of the space. The box marked “cottage food” that Patterson carried over was plopped on a dark wood table with chairs parked on each of its sides.

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Story

7 Days in Berlin – Part 06

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By Takeo

Day 2 continues …

I stay in this kneeling position in the cell for a while, the fresh air of the apartment making me shiver. I can feel all my muscles after the gym session Franz put me through this morning. Not that it hurts, but I can feel the work that has been done.

I hear a door open and footsteps approaching the cell.

“Hello, boy,” says a beautiful rocky voice.

“Good morning, Sir” I reply.

I am not wearing a gag under the gas mask, so I imagine a response from me is expected.

“Come on,” orders Sir Flo.

I scramble to my feet, Florian taking me by the arm to help me. He leads me into another room, which I imagine to be the playroom. The temperature is a little higher, more pleasant than the coolness of the cell. Florian removes the chain linking my wrists and ankles and ties my hands above my head. In this basic position, I feel very exposed. Florian tenderly caresses my chest. His hands roam all over my body, sides, arms, back. He ventures farther down, to my buttocks. His caresses on Franz’s gym shorts provoke immediate arousal. He puts his hand on my chastity belt and whispers in my ear.

“So it looks like you’re horny boy, do you like it?”

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 15

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By Hunter Perez

The next three weeks swirled into a prolonged magic show, with yours truly as the unlikely Pygmalion and Merrifield as an even more unlikely Galatea. Patterson brought us a huge box full of goodies that he purchased in Monroeville: books, newspapers, magazines, a black-and-white board for chess and checkers, a pack of playing cards, and several notebooks and pencils. Everything I requested was included except for the requested harmonicas, which Holmgren nixed. But even without the opportunity for harmonica interludes, each day was filled with so much activity that there rarely a wasted minute.

We started the morning with exercising. I tried to vary the exercises to prevent the boredom and a repetition of routines. Merrifield took it upon himself to invent a new exercise by lifting and lowering the bed. Unfortunately, he was caught doing that when Patterson arrived one morning with our breakfast – the guard scolded him gently for mishandling prison property and scolded me more harshly for encouraging such shenanigans.

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Story

7 Days in Berlin – Part 05

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By Takeo

NOTE: This is the continuation of a story that began many months back. To start at the very beginning, click here.

Day 2 – Wednesday June 12th – Gym & Stress

The position I am in isn’t too uncomfortable. The hardest part is not being able to stretch my legs or arms, but otherwise I am able to move quite well whenever my muscles feel the need. The cage is relatively small, and I bump into the bars several times as I try to find a comfortable position. I imagine that even without the chains, I wouldn’t have been able to stretch out to my full length.

In the end, the hood and mitts are the harder to bear. Keeping the fists closed for a long time is much harder than it looks. The mitts are small, and they fit my slender hands well and thus allow almost no movement inside. The hood, too, is tight, and although the mouth opening is large enough to allow me to breathe without difficulty, my head feels like it is clamped in a vice, the hood exerting permanent pressure on my skull. The insulation pads over my eyes and ears, and the straps that keep them pressed against my head, are amazingly effective. I perceive absolutely no light (to tell the truth, I don’t even know if the room is lit or not), and I don’t perceive any sound apart from the inner sounds of my breathing and of my heart.

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 14

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By Hunter Perez

Holmgren slowly lifted the glass from the desk and vigorously sipped its whiskey content, keeping his foul gaze at me while he consumed the drink. I stood at door and tried to consider how I would respond to this new predicament.

I assumed I would be facing an evening’s worth of abuse – certainly verbal and probably physical. Having my wrists tightly handcuffed behind my back offered a painful reminder of who was the alpha in this encounter. If Holmgren was drunk or on the verge of inebriation, then I didn’t know what to expect – he was erratic while sober, and whiskey would certainly make a crazy situation worse. Patterson’s behavior outside of the room only preyed on my apprehension – how many other prisoners came before me to experience Holmgren’s whiskey-soaked wrath?

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 13

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By Hunter Perez

Merrifield finally woke up and released me from his grip. He rolled on his back, raised his arms into the air and yawned, then looked over at me with his newfound smile. I was moved by the serenity he displayed – he seemed to be completely at peace and joy with the world, so very different from the tortured man I encountered the previous evening.

“Do you…do you…have dreams?” he asked. His voice had settled into a deeply pleasant and masculine tone, although he still paused with slight uncertainty between words.

I sat up in the bed and tousled his long blonde hair. “Sometimes,” I answered. “Sometimes they’re good dreams, sometimes they’re not. Why are you asking?”

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Story

A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 12

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By Hunter Perez

You might be familiar with the saying “If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.” I don’t know who originated that observation, but it could have easily been me. Having somehow unlocked Merrifield from his immobile silence through the most ridiculous manner imaginable, I suddenly found myself wondering how to proceed further. Holmgren pretty much tossed me into this situation without advance planning and I had to think fast about what to do next.

Since Holmgren was supposed to be bringing us dinner, I figured I could keep entertaining Merrifield with my favorite songs until our meals arrived. I was starving, but somehow I found adrenalin to fuel me through the absence of food. I was also trying to recall songs that sparked positive reactions from my past which could be translatable into my current bizarre situation.

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