Category Archives: Story

Story

Interrogation Game: Chapter 1 – The Stakes

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By BondageChallengeGames

Andrew had one hour to torture the lockbox code out of me and get the key to his chastity cage. We’d come up with the idea of the scene a few weeks ago, as a fun way to do some interrogation with actual consequences and a goal. A way for me to get to endure some of the torment I enjoy during bondage, and a motivator for him to really try and break me.

We didn’t expect to get as emotionally charged as we did.

By the day he brought me into his garage for the scene, he’d been kept in chastity for over a week. Andrew’s husband had loved the idea and served as his keyholder. Andrew was finding chastity to be so much more frustrating than he’d thought. So as he led me handcuffed into his garage, I could tell this wasn’t going to be the carefree fun scene we’d both thought, rather this was his only chance to finally get out of the cage he’d grown to despise.

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Story

Reading for a Leatherman

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Written by ty dehner

“Are you the author?”

After hearing the question from a firm, baritone voice, I looked up from my device to see a tall man wearing what had to be his finest leathers. Without thought, I responded quickly. “Yes, Sir. I am.”

As I stood, the Leatherman took one of my books, turning it over to read the back cover. As he read, I took a closer look at his leathers, starting with his boots, a pair of Wesco Boss that went to just below his knees, with thick Vibram soles that I always thought gave a pair of boots more authority. This gentleman wore black Langlitz Competition Breeches with their distinctive quilted design on the knees and hips. A thick leather belt around his waist was slightly covered by the belted waist of his Langlitz Columbia jacket with quilted accents on the shoulders and elbows. While the jacket was zipped up, Leatherman wore a leather shirt with a leather tie knotted at his neck. Black leather gloves were holding and paging through the book’s first chapter.

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Story

The Prison Writer – Chapter 21

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By Joshua Ryan

***This is the final chapter***

I know there are some mystery books that have a last chapter where the detective gives all kinds of explanations.  Steven said he never did that, because “the story ends where it ends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

“It means that I’m bored with all your talk about writing,” Steven said.  “You’re trying to get me to start writing again.  Do a book.  Smuggle it out.”

“That’s right.”

“Sorry,” he said, grabbing my cock and pulling me down on the bunk with him.  “I’ve got better things to do.”

All of our literary discussions ended like that.  So I’ll just do what I want and write some stuff about how things turned out.

Obviously, I told him the whole story about how I’d bribed my way in here, and he told me the story about how he’d done the same thing.  He made me excited when he said he’d done it to write a book, but then he laughed and said, “That was a bad idea.  I found out I hadn’t really wanted to write any stories; I just wanted to live in one.  So now I am.  And finally getting to enjoy it.  End of story.”

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Story

The Prison Writer – Chapter 20

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By Joshua Ryan

***This is the second to last chapter***

Three years had passed since I saw Steven on the Maskawa ferry, but I’d looked at the pictures maybe a thousand times, and yeah, that was him.  His head was bald, but his lips were still thin and his nose was still the kind I used to see on all those guys in prep school — long and narrow, as if it wanted to look down on everything.  And eyes never change.  The eyes looking at me were the same eyes I saw in the picture on the back of my first Steven Meres book.

The rest was totally different.  The body on the bed was packed into its uniform like a shell in a cannon.  Every inch was filled with muscle.  When he stood up, you could see the ripples moving under his white tee and the flex stretching his denim thighs.  Hot, very hot when combined with the little pointed chin and the intelligent brown eyes.  Which looked me up and down.  I remembered meeting a guy in a bar who gave me his address and told me to come over in an hour from then.  When I got there, I was met at the door by his boyfriend, who was packed exactly like this guy and was giving me the same look.

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Story

The Prison Writer – Chapter 19

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By Joshua Ryan

So, off the boat, and a few comments from fellow passengers — “Enjoying your vacation?” “How’s your day goin?” “Have a good time, losers!”  Too bad — those guys had to stay in some hotel on Water Street, but I was going to prison!  Then the ride through town and up the mountain — big deal; I’d been there!  But coming to that fence again, the fence that separated prison property from everything else — that was major!  When I was a little rich boy with a spotless record, they wouldn’t let me through the gate; now that I was a criminal being taken to his place of punishment, no problem — come on in!  Welcome to the nation’s most exclusive country club!

So the gate opened and the van rolled in, and it seemed like right away — there it was!  The big house, the end of the road, the concrete mama, the consequence of my crimes, the place where I’d be spending the rest of my life!  I can’t pretend about this — when I first saw it, I thought, “What have I done?”  I’d felt small when I was sitting on the deck, getting yucks from those college kids.  How small did I feel when I saw this place with a wall that was 30 feet high!  I’d wanted to go to prison … Did I want to go THERE?

Answer:  Oh yeah.

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Story

The Prison Writer – Chapter 18

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By Joshua Ryan

He stopped the car in something that looked like a garage or an old bus depot.  There was even a bus parked in there, and a whole line of guys climbin off of it.  They were all dressed like me — I mean they were all wearing cuffs and shackles!  Their clothes were all different, though.  Some of them were wearing those cool jailhouse stripes that you always see online, and some of them were dressed in various styles of orange.  About half of them were like me — normal clothes.  I could see what was happening.

This bus had stopped at a few jails, and some of these were guys like me that had just reported for prison, like I was “supposed” to have done, but some of them had been sittin in jail already.   Not enough money, I guess!  But they were all going to prison.  And so was I!  It didn’t take long for me to take my place in line with them.  Lieutenant Brannigan pulled me out of the back seat, and a friend of his came up, another gray-uniformed DOC goon, and I was swept away, into the tide of bodies comin off the bus.  Too bad I didn’t get to know the Lieutenant better — I’d never had a hunk like that grabbing my crotch before.

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Story

The Prison Writer – Chapter 17

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By Joshua Ryan

I realize that writers need to predict the questions that their readers will ask, so I’ll answer the question that’s on your mind: Did I think about what would happen if I found out I wouldn’t actually get celled up with Steven?  Or if I found out that I hated him or something?

So the answer is, yeah!  I thought about it.  It got more interesting during the months between my passing the first check to Donald and my appointment with the arresting officer. At first I hadn’t wanted to give it much thought.  I was so fascinated by the idea of getting close to this man whose story I was putting myself into … It would be a tragedy if anything went wrong about him.

But gradually I was getting a feel for writing my own story.  I don’t mean writing, like, on a keyboard.  I mean, I’d got this idea about going to prison, and I’d written the whole script, and now it was getting produced, and it was exactly the kind of story I wanted to be in!  And if Steven got cut out of the script somehow, I would still be in it.  It was my own story.

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Story

The Prison Writer – Chapter 16

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By Joshua Ryan

The party happened at a really nice steak place (“top ranked,” my brother said), and Wyatt and his friends ate and drank, and you could tell that in five years they would all be totally fat.  Not that I don’t like to eat steak and drink.  Because I do.  But anyway, they were going on and on with all this sports talk that is totally uninteresting to me, while I kept ordering drinks with my fake ID, which made me feel like the kind of person the Department of Corrections calls “an offender”! although everybody at Kingston does it, and they’re all on their way to boring jobs, and finally I heard something that sounded like an interesting story.  Which was that Donald so and so, who was in their class at St. Swithin’s, had fallen on hard times.  His dad had gotten in all kinds of complications and Donald had to leave his job, which was “nothing to brag about anyway,” and come back and live at home, and now he had this terrible job that was barely enough to pay the mortgage.  It was some manager job with, “get this!  The Department of Corrections!”  They all laughed at their friend Donald.

Then Wyatt said, “Hey Collypus!  Maybe that’s the job that you should train for!”  I blushed and squirmed, and they wanted to know why.  Wyatt said, “Because he spends his time taking pictures of convicts,” and I had to explain that OVER A YEAR BEFORE we’d been on the ferry to Maskawa, and I saw something interesting, etc.  “Yeah?” one of them said.  “Sure you don’t have a boyfriend in prison someplace?”

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