Category Archives: Story

Story

Double Trouble – Part 04

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Four: The Long Night

The bunkhouse was built like a frontier barracks — thick timber beams, stone floor, heavy iron fixtures bolted to the walls and ceilings. There were no windows, only small vents near the roof and a single industrial fan turning lazily in the corner. The room was dim, lit by a single bulb hanging above the twin beds that filled half the space.

But Peter wasn’t given a bed.

He was mounted to the post.

A heavy wooden pillar rose from floor to ceiling at the room’s center, with rings set at shoulder, waist, and ankle height. The twins had stripped him bare again, save for his collar, and bound him standing with thick leather cuffs to each ring. His arms were pulled back and up, shoulders flexed, chest forward. His legs were spread wide and locked at the ankles. His brand still throbbed on his right hip, raw and blistered.

The collar chafed when he tried to shift. The restraints creaked.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 03

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Three: Bound and Branded

Peter sat frozen in the barber chair, the buzz of the clippers still ringing in his ears, his scalp raw and exposed. The twin with the deeper voice stood behind him, thick hands gripping his shoulders, while the other crouched in front of the steel collar resting on the table.

“Let’s get the rivet ready,” the shotgun twin said.

The collar was a brutal piece of craftsmanship—two-inch-wide forged iron, hinged on one side, lined inside with dull spikes meant for pressure, not blood. The shotgun twin slid it around Peter’s neck. The weight alone made Peter feel like he was being yoked like livestock.

Then came the hammer.

The deeper twin held a hot rivet with tongs, taken from a forge glowing orange behind a steel grate in the wall. He slotted it into the collar’s open eyelet. The shotgun twin stepped forward with a heavy iron hammer and a steel backing block, sliding it between Peter’s throat and the collar’s inside rim.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 02

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Two: Induction

The compound wasn’t on any map. Surrounded by rusted fencing and tall mesquite trees, it sat like a secret in the heart of nowhere—half ranch, half fortress. The main building looked like a converted barn, only the reinforced doors and surveillance cameras hinted at its true purpose.

Peter stumbled up the steps between the twins, their huge hands still gripping his arms. The door creaked open, and the blast of cool, conditioned air hit his sweat-slicked skin like a slap. Inside was a stark, dimly lit room lined with metal lockers and pegboard walls hung with restraints, batons, coils of rope, and iron collars thick as wrists. A worn leather barber chair sat at the center beneath a spotlight, its chrome arms fitted with heavy straps.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 01

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter One: Trespass

The Texas sun was a cruel, unblinking eye in the sky, scorching the blacktop and everything around it. Peter wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and habitually ran his fingers through his long blond hair like a comb.  He cursed under his breath. His rental car—a cheap sedan that had looked dependable enough back in Austin—now sat silent and steaming on the side of the road, its hood up like a white flag of surrender. The nearest sign of civilization had been a lonely gas station fifty miles back. He hadn’t seen another car in hours.

With no cell service, no breeze, and no luck, Peter shouldered his backpack and headed east across the dusty plains, hoping to find a ranch, a house, a human being—anything. The ground was cracked and dry, dotted with stubborn tufts of grass and the occasional mesquite tree. He passed a wire fence that looked like it hadn’t been repaired since the Reagan administration. He didn’t notice the sun-bleached sign nailed to one of the posts:

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Story

Discipline Technologies Home Monitoring System

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By Scribe

My name is Jason. I live in a small town without a leather or kink community. However, I am strongly attracted to bdsm, spending many hours on Serious Male Bondage, Recon, Fet Life and other kinkster sites. I recently came across ads for Discipline Technologies. I really wanted to experience bondage and total control in one of their prisons. However, I am not retired or independently wealthy. I have to work a job with limited vacation benefits. That’s why I really got excited when I saw an ad for a home bondage and control system offered by Discipline Technologies. For a monthly fee, covering equipment and monitoring, they promised rigorous control and discipline in the discomfort of my own home. All I needed was a laptop, cell phone and high-speed internet connection. I would be allowed to go to work but otherwise would be constantly supervised. I would be subject to bondage, painful discipline, and chastity.

This sounded exactly what I wanted. I sent an application and received a contract. I gave them a credit card number for the deposit and first months rent and monitoring. I told DT that I could start immediately.

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Story

Retail Slavery – Part 03

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By Rubrpig

As usual, the writer is locked in a chastity belt, plugged, wearing Wesco’s and a heavy locked posture collar.

Michael stood quietly as the Police Sgt. Now in civilian clothing entered the store.  He turned and locked the door again.  The slave stood quietly his upper torso now bare of all the gear except for the padlocked chain collar it wore.  It stood quietly and put its hand behind its back and bowed its head.  The Sgt. Walked over to Michael and told Michael that he had seen Michael notice that the Sgt had become aroused earlier.  Michael smiled and told the Sgt. That it was a common reaction in many men especially those that were attracted to leather, dominance and submission.  The Sgt. turned red and nodded.

Michael asked the Sgt. what his name was, and the Sgt. Told him that his name was Marco.  Michael stuck out his hand and told Marco that it was good to meet him.  He then asked if he was attracted to the idea of controlling the slave or being a slave which just made Marco blush all the more.  Marco replied that it was the thought of being locked into all the heavy gear that the slave had been wearing which had aroused him.  Michael smiled and looked at Marco and asked if he wanted to wear the gear to which Marco nodded and looked at Michal and agreed.  Michael told him that the gear would go on and it would be locked and Marco nodded and said that is what he hoped.

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Story

It started with Mitts –Part 13

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By bondagegimp

Trauma therapy

Wall. In front of me, all I can see is the wall. I’m standing on my tiptoes. The muzzle I’m wearing has this ring right in front of my mouth, and Bob has attached it to a hook on the wall so high that I have to stand on tiptoes and look diagonally upwards. Bob has left me here while he prepares something. I can’t see what, I can’t see him. I only see the wall. My head is tied to the wall with a thick lock. But I can hear him working.

Steel bars are banging together, a screwdriver is screwing, things are being pushed back and forth on the floor. I have no idea what he’s up to. I’m nervous, sweating. The sweat is collecting in the booties of the rubber suit. It’s the same one as yesterday on our walk. The one with the rubber sheath over the hole. Bob fucked it into me again with great pleasure. I’m also wearing my sneakers again. And the gag from yesterday, the mouth over it is taped up again with the foil plaster, on top of which is the rubber mask from the suit.

Bob wants to re-create yesterday. We were just lying in the evening sun. My shoulders ached from the tight restraints, the collar cutting into my neck. But I enjoyed the moment with Bob, who, lost in thought, played with my nipples while I snuggled into his muscles.

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Story

The Shackles of Curiosity – Part 01

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Peter had always been a curious man. Not just about the world — though he devoured books on history, science, and myth — but about the more obscure corners of the human experience. Of all his peculiar interests, one obsession stood out above the rest: bondage. Specifically, the cold, metallic click of handcuffs locking into place. There was something elegant in the restraint, a mechanical intimacy he couldn’t quite explain.

When he heard that The Amazing Argento, a legendary escape artist rumored to have broken free from the most impossible traps, was performing in his city, Peter bought front-row seats without hesitation.

The show was mesmerizing. Argento, draped in sleek black, challenged padlocks, chains, straitjackets, and submerged cages — each escape more impossible than the last. But what held Peter’s gaze was not just the spectacle, but the tools. The gleam of cuffs, the clink of chain, the artistry in control.

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