Category Archives: Story

Story

Strongman – Part 07

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Seven: The Trial of Strength

I spent the next few days under the ever-watchful eyes of the Baldies. My body ached from hard labor — hauling firewood, scrubbing tires, and fetching supplies. Still shackled at the wrists and ankles, I could do nothing but obey. Viktor in his cage was never fed.  Brought water once a day.  Maybe.

At night, my chains padlocked to a tree, I dreamt about possible escapes, but every plan seemed doomed. Viktor was caged. I was in irons.  The bikers were ruthless, their camp well-guarded. Fuzz, in particular, seemed to delight in watching me.  He enjoyed it to see me struggle as I worked against my chains, always smirking from the shadows.

Then, one evening, after another grueling day, Q-Ball gathered the gang around the fires and made an announcement.

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Story

Strongman – Part 06

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Six: Captured by the Baldy Bikers

The roar of motorcycles died down as we pulled into a clearing deep in the woods. Firelight flickered off twisted tree trunks, casting eerie shadows over the makeshift biker camp. Many tents and oil drum fires surrounded a large circle of dirt in the center of the camp, with a row of heavy-duty choppers parked in a line like wild animals at rest.  Off to one side I saw an old-fashioned barber chair, the black leather seat torn and stained, but its chrome and porcelain gleaming in the firelight. At the other end of the camp I noticed several objects, all under filthy tarps, one appeared to be a large crate of some kind.

They yanked me off the back of the bike and dragged me toward the center dirt circle. My wrists ached from the cuffs, my breath coming in short gasps.  I was shoved to my knees.

“Welcome to your New Life, boy,” Q-Ball sneered.

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Story

Strongman – Part 05

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Five: The Road Ahead

The clang of our kettle bell weights echoed through the quiet carnival grounds as Viktor and I pushed through another intense workout. My arms burned, my chest heaved, and I relished the feeling. The weightlifting sessions were no longer just about training — they were about proving myself, about matching Viktor rep for rep, about standing beside him as an equal.

But then, the sharp call of a whistle cut through the still evening air.

“Meeting! Everyone, gather up!”

The voice belonged to Rufus Crane, the head of the carnival. His tone was grim, and the moment Viktor and I stepped outside, we could see the unease settling over the performers and workers. They clustered together near the main stage, faces lined with worry.

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Story

Strongman – Part 04

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Four: The Gift

The carnival rolled from one town to the next, and I was usually so tired by Showtime that I didn’t really notice the crowds were getting thinner in every town.  I continued to wear my Collar as a mark of pride. Viktor’s training, once grueling and punishing, started to feel more like a challenge. We worked out together, side by side, pushing each other to the limit. It wasn’t about pain anymore. It was about strength. It was about earning something more than just muscle — it was about respect.

Viktor was no longer just my mentor; he had become a kind of partner in all of this. We’d work with the roustabouts in the mornings, hauling crates, setting up tents, lifting heavy carnival equipment. Viktor always made sure to encourage me, watching me carefully as I struggled with the same things the other men did. But he always pushed me to go further, to lift heavier, to show the others I could do it just as well as they could.

“Lift it!” he’d shout with a grin, watching me struggle with a large piece of equipment. “That’s how you show them. No weakness. You’ve got this.”

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Story

Strongman – Part 03

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Three: The Training

The first few weeks would be harder than I could ever have imagined.  And for the first few days I felt a little embarrassed about the Collar locked around my neck, wondering what people were thinking when they saw it.  But no one even batted an eye.  Maybe they were used to seeing it.  Maybe they had too much respect for Viktor to think disparagingly about anything he did.  So pretty quickly, it became just part of me, and I was proud to be wearing it.

Every day, it felt like I was moving from one task to the next without rest. The carnival was always on the move, traveling from town to town, setting up and tearing down with a kind of clockwork precision. I was no longer just the lonely orphan — I was part of the team, working with the roustabouts to unload crates, set up tents, and make sure everything was ready for Showtime.

The work was brutal. My hands were always raw from the ropes and wood, and my back ached from lifting heavy boxes or pushing the wagons into position. But through all the pain, Viktor never let up.

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Story

Strongman – Part 02

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Two: The Pact

The carnival grounds were alive with motion.

Roustabouts shouted as they packed up the rides, wooden crates slammed shut, and performers griped about their costumes and gear. The air was thick with smoke from dying cookfires, the scent of fried food still clinging to the night. The whole place pulsed with the urgency of moving on.

I wove through the chaos, heart pounding. I was afraid I wouldn’t find him in time, that maybe he had already left.

But then I saw him.

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Story

Strongman – Part 01

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter One: The Chain

I never knew my parents, they had died when I was very young, and I was raised by my big brother.  I was a terrible brat to him, but he always dealt with me fairly and calmly.  He was everything to me.  Just as our relationship was really starting to click, he was killed in a car crash halfway through my senior year of high school.  Although I somehow managed to graduate, in the three years since then, I have been a total fuck-up.

By the time I reached my early 20s I had already been floating from job to job, barely scraping by, living in one of those run-down SROs with peeling wallpaper and thin walls. The kind of place where you hear everything, but no one talks to you unless they need something. I never had two cents to rub together, just enough to get by. Just enough to stay invisible.

But lately, things had gotten worse. Rent was months overdue, and the landlord had made it clear that tomorrow, if I didn’t pay up, I was out. He didn’t care that I was barely keeping my head above water. In his eyes, I was just another body taking up valuable space.

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Story

Earned Punishment

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By mclioncub

Recently, I made a voluntary decision to miss my scheduled visitation with Sir.  I knew that I risked the chance that punishment would result but I took that chance.  Just to provide a little background, I am in servitude to Sir and Master.  Although I do not live in their household, I am required to be there every Sunday without exception.  Outside of death or incarceration, there is no acceptable reason for missing this schedule.  There were some extraneous circumstances that led up to missing my duties, however, when it ultimately came down to this Sunday, I could have completed my visit.  Without going into inconsequential details, suffice it to say, I made the decision to miss that day.

As the week progressed, before my next visit, during our daily exchanges, Sir did indicate that I should expect some form of punishment for my disobedience.  I was not surprised or taken back by the fact that I would have to receive punishment.

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