Category Archives: Story

Story

Iron Range – Part 02

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By Linc

Note: This story originally appeared on LockedMEN. It is being shared here with permission.

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The heat of summer was well underway, and things had finally slowed enough that weekends started feeling like weekends again: shorter days, lighter work.

During the midday sun, when no one wanted to move more than they had to, Jack sat beside Ethan on the porch, drinking nothing stronger than sun-brewed sweet tea.

“Been meaning to ask,” Jack said, tipping his glass. “That barn — it belong to a neighbor? I know we don’t have livestock.”

“Still mine,” Ethan replied. “Nearest neighbor’s a mile off, easy.”

Jack squinted toward the fields. “How big is this place, anyway? I’ve been working it, but if someone asked me, I don’t think I could even guess.”

“Just over five hundred acres,” Ethan said, like it wasn’t much.

“So what’s it for then, if it’s not for livestock?”

“Storage, mostly. Used to be my dog’s spot during the day — back when I had one. He didn’t like it when I got too far off. I needed him somewhere out of the way. Safe from the equipment.”

Continue reading Iron Range – Part 02 →

Story

The Jougs

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

A note from Art: “Here is a short story, soaked in wine, rain, shame, and steel”:

I dinnae remember fallin’ asleep in the alley, but I surely woke up there — flat on my back, cheek pressed to wet stone, and a mouth like I’d been suckin’ on ashes all night.

The bottle was still clutched in my fist — half-empty and warm from my own body. Cheap red wine, the kind that burns more comin’ up than it does goin’ down. The kind that gets you noticed.

And noticed, I was.

I heard him before I saw him — the scrape of leather soles and the hollow clomp of boots with purpose. Then his shadow stretched long over me like a cross at sunset.

I blinked up into his face — his face — that square jaw framed by the kind of gray muttonchops that only grew on men who feared neither sin nor storm. His eyes were cold. Steel blue. Judgmental.

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Story

The Lock-In – Part 01

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By Cuffed Locked

It was a Friday afternoon when I wandered over to Caleb’s garage, as I had dozens of times before. I usually stopped by on Fridays. We had one of those neighborly routines, not quite friends, not quite strangers, but something in between. I’d wander over with a beer and a story from the office. He liked my stories, and I liked watching him work. It was easy. Today, the late-summer heat was thick in the air, and the sound of Caleb’s tools echoed out into the driveway, clinks and whirrs like music he didn’t need speakers for.

His place always looked like the inside of a junkyard exploded and reorganized itself into a workshop. Piles of wires, wood scraps, old appliances taken apart and half rebuilt into God knows what. There was a sort of madness to it, but Caleb had a talent for rigging up stuff that worked. Dangerous stuff, sometimes. Genius stuff, always.

He was working on some half-dismantled snow blower, even though we were still a few months out from the first frost. That was Caleb, always two steps ahead, always building something, fixing something, or taking something apart just to see if he could put it back together better. He was shirtless, and his forearms flexed every time he twisted the wrench.

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Story

Starlight – Part 03

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By Raybound

The flight back from Saratoga was very relaxed. I was still locked into the steel cock restraint but travelled light, tee shirt and shorts. Jed, as usual, had the full black leather get up. On the journey we got to discussing his boots. The company that made them, Jean Gaborit, was French. He told me how they had taken three months to arrive, having been hand made to measure.

To my mind it was well worth the wait. They were the perfect boot, heavy grade black leather with lacing around fourteen pairs of steel hooks. They really underlined his authority, something that I found incredibly erotic. Jed was tall with a fine, muscled body and the combination of skin-tight leather jeans worn beneath the boots that reached right onto the knee where the laces were tied with neat bows and a wide saddle leather belt with a triple buckle arrangement at the waist looked absolutely fantastic.

[[WARNING: This story contains extreme elements that some readers might find objectionable. Continue reading at your own risk.]]

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Story

The Firemans Union – Part 02

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By Felon

So I had two days to think about the “meating.”  Of course the first thing I did was to check out the address he had given me. It was some obscure street I had never heard of. After some searching I found the address. It was at the end of a short street in the warehouse section known as the strip district. There was parking in front of the building and a few parking spots in the rear. It was a two story structure, old, dark with a dark depressing facade. The second floor of the building looked like possibly one or two apartment units, with an outside entrance. I later discovered the building had mounted cameras so I would guess that Fireman Dan would know I had checked out the place.

Sunday morning a note was stuffed under my rear door — don’t forget about tonight, expect to stay all night and leave around 9AM Monday morning. Also the note indicated that if all went well I was to make myself available for all day the following Wednesday. He must have placed the note during the day and entered my yard from the rear alleyway. The very fact he had the balls to slip that note under the door began an intimidation process I had never experienced before.

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Story

The Shackles of Curiosity – Part 04

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

The Watch That Ticks Backwards

Antonio Romano had been an unremarkable man. He had lived in Rome his entire life, but certainly never in any of the glamorous or exotic areas. He was a simple porter; never married as he preferred men, but could never admit this even to himself at that time. Now, eighty-eight by the calendar, his back hurt, his knees cracked, and his eyes — clouded with that milky fatigue of living too long — no longer recognized his own reflection.

He found himself usually bored and sometimes confused, which startled him. He had taken to long walks, which often cleared his head and forced him to focus on sights he knew he should remember from his many years in the same city.

He had been walking aimlessly down a narrow street in a part of the city he didn’t recall entering, where the buildings seemed pressed together like secrets, and the sky overhead had dimmed to an eerie tarnish, as though dusk had arrived before its time. Rain drizzled like oil from a rusted pipe above the eaves, as he felt himself drawn down a narrow alleyway.

That’s when suddenly he saw it.

Continue reading The Shackles of Curiosity – Part 04 →

Story

Starlight – Part 02

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By Raybound

The Pony Race

After meeting those two hot leather men at the bar and having a hot session with them, I never could have imagined that our next encounter would involve one of my deep secret fantasies — pony play! Here’s how it all unfolded…

The pre dawn sky was streaked with pink as I arrived home, the morning sun had not yet risen above the horizon. I was still feeling lightheaded from the effect of the endorphins that had coursed through my body like a wild river as I had endured the controlled torture of the night’s action. I went straight to bed and slept late, right through into the afternoon, breakfasting some time after three. Wild dreams filled with the images of the two leathermen had chased around my head shortly before I had woken. I put together the events of the previous night, realising that my life had been changed forever. This was one genie that I certainly didn’t want to put back in the bottle.

Continue reading Starlight – Part 02 →

Story

Men Forged in Iron, Leather, Fear, And Blood

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By Jockboy

Hour 0: More Than I Bargained For

I thought I was ready for this. Sixty-seven hours sequestered in that rotting tomb of an abandoned prison—facing down four men whose cruelty I’d worshipped and feared online, clinging to the fantasy that this was my forge, my shot at genuine mastery.

Pain isn’t new to me. My body’s been shaped by rugby scrums, USMC infantry runs, and the silence of rooms where control passes on the snap of a cuff or the thud of a paddle. I’m built thick, a compact fortress: broad chest with the striations of hundreds of bench presses, shoulders like capped stone, hands calloused from rifles and barbells and uncounted deadlifts.

My shins and knees bear the roadmap of old wounds—rugby studs, gravel pits, forced marches—etched in white ridges and purpled, weathered skin.

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