Category Archives: Story

Meeting him for a first time – Part 02

By Eckie

Option one:

I had another free day, so still enough time and did not worry when he released me for shower and cleanup and made me end up sealed and chained right after again, I did not even worry yet when two meals later the very same happened again, trusting him pretty much completely anyway and assuming that he still played tricks on the schedule of meals to keep me confused on time or date. But another two meals later I worried then finally, this must be the time when I have to get out and home, given the travel distance and what I assumed MUST have passed by now, we are close to the maximum I could stay here for sure. His short brief words however were the same, shower, clean, get back into the suit and then leaving locking the cell proper again.

I decided not to get into the suit anymore, it must be time to leave, so waited naked for him to return, but he did not even enter the room, just looked through the tine barred opening of the heavy door, seeing me naked and left. I kept waiting, but he did not come back, started shouting for him, but no reaction, hours must have passed, but nothing changed, and by the amount of tiredness I felt, I could not stay awake all the time, I dozed away several times, every time being awake I shouted for him, but at no time he reacted, I wondered if he even could hear me, was he home, even if, was my shouting heard upstairs, a little or at all ? Sitting in a small cell with nothing but a dim tiny light off the ceiling that never switches on or off means I was not aware, was it day, night, today, tomorrow or …

Continue reading Meeting him for a first time – Part 02

Meeting Him for a First Time – Part 01

Note: This story is by Eckie, and it is from his website, Eckie aka Bondagfan. It is being shared here with the author’s permission.

By Eckie

I could not tell what makes this bond special, we have never met, we had some occasional conversations over email, some more intense ones for a while and then again just the rare occasional one. From my side for sure it was fascination, he lived what I a lot of times fantasized about, or to be said better: he allowed his slave object to live what I often dreamed about in wet fantasies, and not just for a short game, no, he lived that for more than two decades already permanent. A Man, stripped of all humanity, made into a permanent rubber object existing only in the small of his master’s worlds, by his side or heavily chained in storage in a small basement cell.

It was a few images of a scenario that just got me going from the first time I saw those and I kept looking at them many times in the years after, and suddenly a longer while ago that very object was contacting me by message, we talked for a while, that’s how I also got to chat later then with his Master and Owner.

Continue reading Meeting Him for a First Time – Part 01

7 Days in Berlin – Part 12

Note: This is a continuation of a long running story. To start at the very beginning, click here.

By Takeo

Day 4 – Friday June 14th – An Unexpected Morning

I am still on this rock face that seems endless. My harness is a little too tight and is rubbing against my thighs. But I cannot adjust it now, I need both hands to keep climbing. I’m starting to feel my muscles; it must be three hours since I started the climb. The air is hot and heavy, despite the altitude, and I’m sweating profusely. My hands are clammy. I’m no expert climber, but I enjoy it and am starting to gain quite a bit of experience. This route is clearly the most challenging I have tackled so far. Perhaps too challenging. I hope I can make it to the top without too much trouble. There is no escape route on this climb; once you start, you have to continue to the end.

My thighs hurt and I need a break. I fix one last piton, attach my short rope to it with a carabiner and gently let myself sit down in my harness. I shake both arms to relax them. I drink a little and enjoy the landscape. The mountains are magnificent at this time of year. The snow is not far off, and this will probably be the last outing before the start of the ski season. I take advantage of this break to adjust my harness. I place my feet against the wall and stretch my legs to relieve the tension on the thigh straps. I loosen the one on my right leg slightly, then do the same on the left.

Continue reading 7 Days in Berlin – Part 12

Iron Range – Part 03

By Linc

The farm was finally quieting down. Harvest was done, irrigation lines rolled up, and the air carried the crisp bite of change. Days still started early, but they didn’t run long. Not anymore. Jack found himself restless. Not from lack of sleep, not from too much work, but from too little to do. So when Ethan asked if he wanted a ride into town, Jack didn’t hesitate. He jumped at the chance, the belt by now as familiar as his boots.

Ethan gave him a look, glancing to Jack’s waist then chin tipping toward the main house in a silent question. Jack just shrugged, and hopped in the truck.  he ten-mile drive went by in a blink. They stopped at the bar around half past six after picking up provisions for the coming weeks. They had a beer each, enjoying the quiet hum of the place. An hour in, Ethan glanced toward the window, then back to Jack. “I’m heading home. You want to stay awhile?”

Jack considered it, weighing the quiet of the farm against the possibility of something—anything—different. “Yeah. I’ll stay a bit.”

Ethan gave a small nod. “Text when you’re ready.”

Continue reading Iron Range – Part 03

Lost No More – Part 01

By OKLASH

You crawl in bed with me upon my beckon and I lay you down on your stomach. Your sobs of anguish have subsided to free-flowing tears, and you tremble as I lay close to you. I run one fingernail across the angry welts on your back. “Relax,” you hear me say, “and let go. The hard part is behind you for now.”

This moment is unscripted if perhaps preordained by that part of your soul that still resides in your past, where “freedom” was another word for “lost.”

Continue reading Lost No More – Part 01

Discipline Training Institute Part 5 – The Origin Story

Fiction by JockBoy

The Punishment Room
You kneel on the cold concrete of Room 101—the Punishment Room. Gray walls stretch around you, scarred and unforgiving. Overhead lamps cast harsh, surgical shadows. Hooks, ropes, whips, and leather straps line the walls; stainless-steel dog bowls gleam on the floor.

The air is thick—sweat, dust, disinfectant, and leather cling to your skin and fill your nostrils. Every sound—the shuffle of knees, shallow breaths, faint whimpers—echoes like a drum of dread.

“Blessed be the fruit,” one of the watchers whispers nearby. The words hang heavy in the still air. It is a ritual phrase, steeped in echoes so ancient it was once used by an overrated novelist in a famous book many pretended to have read when they had only watched the movie. But like everything in this dystopian world, it has been turned upside down. Now it serves as a chilling invocation, binding bodies and wills alike.

Continue reading Discipline Training Institute Part 5 – The Origin Story

Discipline Training Institute – Part 4: Disciplining the Drill Instructor

Fiction by JockBoy

Verbal Humiliation
The Drill Instructor’s first weapon strikes the mind, not the flesh. Flesh heals. Pride does not. Identity must be gutted before the whip or paddle falls.

Execution:

Stand close. Control trainee’s space. Own his breath.

Target manhood, self-worth, illusions of strength

Match insults with whip, rope, or paddle so body and mind collapse together

Whisper softly, break suddenly into bark. The rhythm destabilizes, unbalances, and strips confidence.

Degradation Phrases   (Rotation):

“You’ll never earn respect. Only bruises.”

“You beg for punishment because you aren’t man enough to handle  freedom.”

“Your father won’t spit on you when he finds out what you’ve become. He’ll piss on you.”

“You’re a pervert who feeds on humiliation. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

“Look down. Dust and boot leather—that’s your place.”

“You live to kneel; you’ll never lead.”

“Big muscles, small cock. Hard every time I yell at you. Weak. Pathetic.”

Continue reading Discipline Training Institute – Part 4: Disciplining the Drill Instructor

Discipline Training Institute – Part 3: The Transformation

Fiction by JockBoy

I never thought I would answer a letter like that. The envelope was plain, sealed with a black insignia. I turned it in my hands, feeling its weight pressing down, tightening an unseen band around my chest. Fear or craving—I couldn’t tell which—compelled me to open it.

The Discipline Training Institute was no gym, no boot camp. It was a crucible—a furnace—to strip men bare, to burn off their pride and forge obedience in scarred muscle and shattered will. Its creed was clear: absolute obedience. Relentless effort. No excuses.

At first, I couldn’t see why Collins—the friend who knew my every laugh and bruise—had pushed so hard. But now I saw: he had walked its fires. The letter he sent, a desperate lifeline, never reached me. Instead, his will found me here.

Continue reading Discipline Training Institute – Part 3: The Transformation