By PFC Pflege
I discovered Rocky one night when Dave and I tied up the boys in the next squadbay who shared our head. We tied them up and put them one by one in the shower. Rocky was an extra guy, who had been waiting next door, trying to buy drugs, and we tied him up, too. He said later that he was from El Paso, but he was crazy and said a lot of things.
By Aquala Guy
(Monday, 10 p.m.) I am going to lock on my steel wrist shackles and steel ankle shackles when I get home from work tomorrow night. Once locked they will stay locked until I get up for work on Friday. When I return home on Friday they will get locked back on for the remainder of the weekend. I’ll try to send photos, but my cell phone is my only camera and can be a bit testy at times.
By John Strickland
“Get your straitjackets out, guys!” said Kellan suddenly.
“What?” they both said together.
“Let’s get some pictures of you tied up in ‘em!” he said.
“We got pictures…….” started Stefan.
“Yeah, – but not with both of you tied up at the same time,” interrupted Kellan.
By Catdude
Josh sighed and rolled off me. I swallowed a few times, savouring the flavour of his juice in my mouth, sucking at my cheeks a little to extract the very last bit of his cum. I lay there enjoying the aftertaste of it in my mouth, salty yet tangy, I also grunted and wiggled a little, the tight straightjacket hugged me close and I could feel the pressure building on my forearms the most and a little in my shoulders, I had cum a few minutes before Josh had, he had stroked me to a orgasm even as my mouth had worked him towards him.
By PFC Pflege
After boot camp I was sent to Camp Smith, which sits in the hills overlooking Pearl Harbor. It’s also headquarters for the Fleet Marine Force, and CINCPAC (Commander in Chief Pacific), so it’s a pretty important base. As a result, they spent more money on it than other bases, and the barracks were pretty fancy by Marine Corps standards.
By Norm
Hey boys, glad you could make it to our monthly fetish night poker game. We are up to 5, last one in makes stud. Mike, the host for the evening said. The dress code of leather or rubber was strictly enforced, and tonight was no different. A leather cop or two, as well as rubber men gathered in Mike’s garage, turned playroom. Not long after, Kurby, came in, out of breath. Tonight he was in his motorcycle leathers, chaps and a jacket, and what looked like something rubber underneath tightly plastered to his skin.
“I’m not late am I fellas, my cycle broke down and I had to push it 4 blocks.” Kurby was an ass, really just a young kid, on his own, always late, and usually hitchin’ a ride. Most times he was pretty broke, and thought he could win some extra money at the games. The guys had met him at the local bar and if it wasn’t for his great body, no one would have bothered. Most of his ability to think centered around his dick, and not much else. Tonight he was the betting stud, and the opportunity to dish out some needed training.
“Well Kurby boy, I’d say you’re just in time. You’re the designated betting stud tonight.”
“Shit, guys, not again, last time it took me a month to grow my hair back.” Kurby moaned.
Author unknown
I rented a car at the Kansas City airport and drove towards Springfield as I had been directed. I had read about the Training Center in a leather magazine and decided I was ready to try it myself. I had been working on my physical condition for over a year and was now not in bad shape for a 30 year old. For reasons I can’t entirely describe, the scene I wanted to act out was that of a sailor sentenced to do hard brig time. I had read in the article about the psychology of confinement and the various levels and decided I wanted to try a very strict regime.
By slavebladeboi
Part 1: The Boxer
It was only as I was passing the table in the hallway on my way down to the dungeon that I glanced down and noticed them. The slave was in the habit of buying me little presents from what remained of his allowance for running the Fireblade at the end of the month and on this occasion it had been a pair of black leather sparring gloves. I picked them up and looked at them. They had arrived in the post the previous morning and I often mused as to whether the postman wondered about the anonymous parcels that we received on a regular basis.
