Category Archives: Story

Story

It’s Been a Year

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By Taurus

NOTE: This single-part work by Taurus is a short sequel to his much longer story One Year.

As James spun around, all he saw was white, with the set of washbasin and toilet flashing grey intermittently.

When he eventually slowed down – he was not quite sure if it was double vision or nausea – there were two sets of personal hygiene stations.

It took James another few breaths to calm down enough that he could confirm once and for all that it was not just him – there were two sinks and two toilets on opposite corners of this cube-shaped cell, which was brilliantly lit on all its sides.

Raising his head, he slowly fell towards the ceiling, until his neck got tired enough to bring the rest of the cell back into view.

Disappointed that he could not fly, James lay down on the one unlit surface in the cell he had been on the whole time; a black leather mattress.

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Story

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 05

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 5: You Must Take the Tour

A taxi took me to the headquarters of the State Labour Program.  It was a couple of miles from the hotel, and on St. Bevons, a couple of miles makes a lot of difference.  The street was wide but almost deserted.  A few old frame houses straggled along, but most of the frontage was warehouses or wholesale places—Stor-It-Here, Pure Products, Empress of India Auto Parts . . . .  Because it was St. Bevons, everything was wreathed with tropical foliage, even the razor wire fences around the parking lots.  But you could see why this part of town wasn’t on the tourist itinerary.

The cheerfulest place was actually the SLP building.  Nothing to brag about, but they did make an effort to fix it up in a “colonial” style, and the foliage facing the street was well maintained.  Even the little strip of grass in front looked like it was trimmed by hand, every day.  As soon as my shadow approached the glass doors, a slappie jumped out and held one wide for me, bowing.  A man at a desk—a real man, not a slappie—stood to welcome me, asked if I were Mr. Lansing, and said that Major Timmons was awaiting me.  Within a minute I was comfortably seated at a table in the Major’s spacious office, watching the morning light play across his ebony features.

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Story

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 04

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 4: Travelers Are Often Moody

I rose early and hit the breakfast room, a cream-and-gilt confection where the morning light shone softly on the cut flowers at my table, and slappies bowed and asked permission to butter my muffin.  After observing them all at my leisure I decided that the hottest one was a smiling young black with “Omar” on his shirt and shorts and one of those silver necklaces—which all of them seemed to be wearing — glinting from behind his collar, a nice adornment for a shapely neck.  When I was ready to leave I snapped my fingers in his direction, and in seconds he was at my table, bowing.

“I want a tour of the island,” I said.  And I want you to give it to me!  But I didn’t say that.  I knew they wouldn’t let a hotel servant out for that purpose, or pretense.  Although maybe, if I offered enough money . . . .    But no–I remembered Roger’s advice.  “And I want it now,” I said.

“Yess sirr,” he answered, in the island intonation.  “If you will please to relax here a moment, sir, I will convey your wishes sir.”

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Story

The Party – Part 01

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By findingmyself1986

You agreed to this last month, and once you locked the chastity belt on there was no turning back. Of course you could just decide not to show up for the party, but why do that? First off that would mean no main attraction, and second you will likely never see the keys to that belt again.

While most guests will be getting ready after work, your part preparation starts Wednesday night after your last solid meal. You decide to make it a light one as you know what lays ahead. Thursday morning finds you preparing jello and broth for your liquid diet and drinking the colon prep you snuck from the hospital. The cramps are hell but necessary for tomorrow morning.

Friday morning finds your nerves at their peak as you power on. Hopefully by Monday morning your dick will be free of its steel prison. You make the drive to the party location and upon arrival, strip and strap yourself standing spread eagle, blindfolded, outside in the fenced backyard as you wait for the doms to arrive. Your only hope is that UPS or Fedex does not show up with a package to leave out back.

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Story

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 03

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 3: Exceeding the Ideal

The flight was beautiful — the turquoise sea studded with emerald islands, then the purple thrust of St. Bevons, relic of an extinct volcano, with a city relaxing on its flank.

The Wellington International Airport is small but friendly.  In an American airport, you have to fend for yourself.  At Wellington, a gang of attendants in brown uniforms lines up in the luggage department, waiting to take your bags and carry them to Ground Transportation.  The first one in line grabbed my belongings–one bag in the left hand, one in the right, the third tucked under his arm–and before I knew it he was stowing it all in the trunk of a cab.

The guy was young and fresh-faced and very cute, with a strand of yellow hair poking out from under his little brown cap.  Too bad our encounter was so rushed!  I reached in my pocket for an outsized tip when the cab driver, an elderly black man with a rum-thick accent, intervened.  “No wurries, sirr.  You doan tip thee slappie boys.”

Slappie boys!  So this little corn-fed Midwesterner with the brown shorts and the brown short-sleeved shirt and the glint of a silver necklace underneath his collar—he was a slappie!  Obviously, St. Bevons had several ranks of hierarchy, and they weren’t arranged in order of race.  But fuck!  How hot can this be!

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Story

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 02

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 2: One’s Company

Roger let me know that he’d made not only the room arrangements but also an appointment for us with Major Timmons of the St. Bevons State Labour Program.  “I confess that I have had the tour already, but I will enjoy meeting him again, and I am sure that you will enjoy it too.  We will meet him at his office at 9:00 a.m. on the second day after your arrival.  As for our own meeting, may I suggest 7 p.m., local time, on the day you arrive?  I will make our dinner reservations for that hour in the restaurant of the King George Hotel.  I think you will find the Oak Room more than passable.  We can meet in the lobby.”

“Thank you—but how will we recognize each other?  Should I carry a copy of ‘BDSM for Fun and Profit’?”

“Oh yes, that is a question.  For purposes of recognition, my dear sir, I humbly request a photo of yourself.  You will note that I am not yet requesting an exchange of names.  After all, what, to the world, is a photograph without a name?”

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Story

Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 01

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Island Paradise

In Two Parts

By Joshua Ryan

 

This is a story about adults, and for adults only.  It is entirely a work of fiction.

PART 1

Chapter 1: Greetings from Your Vacation Planner

I’d never heard of the place before Roger mentioned it.  Roger was my online friend.  We’d been chatting about BDSM stuff; that’s how I met him, on a BDSM site.  That night. we were getting into prisons and chain gangs.

“But if you are seriously interested in the study of penal servitude,” he said, “I would recommend that you examine St. Bevons.  It has, allow me to suggest, appropriate ideas on the subject of penal labor.”

That’s the way Roger wrote.   I hadn’t been chatting with him very long, but I’d learned a few things about him.  He came from an Indian family that had settled in the West Indies, and he’d been sent to school in England.  It wasn’t natural for him to use contractions or not to spell an idea all the way out.  “If you are seriously interested in the study of penal servitude . . . . ”  I could imagine the way he pronounced the phrase: in-ter-EST-ed, PEE-nall, SERR-vi-tude.  He never discussed his profession except to say that it involved “international investments, that sort of thing.”  When I replied, “That’s what I did too, before I’d made enough money to quit,” he didn’t rise to the bait.  He wouldn’t say much more about himself—although his reference to “staying in Switzerland for a while—business again” and his comment that “the hot men in Paris always seem to cluster around the Ritz, especially if they have no money” let me know what social class I was dealing with.

“What’s St. Bevons?” I asked.

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Story

New Year’s Party

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By Mister-X/Spartan

Normally at work on New Year’s Eve we are let out early.  But this time I had work that needed to get done that day.  Naturally we had chosen that day to go to a party, and I needed to get home to get dressed for it.  The party was one in which my partner, Dan, was to be dressed as a police officer and I was to be dressed as an escaped criminal that he was returning to prison after capturing me.  He would be putting me in an authentic prison uniform, one that we purchased on e-Bay, covered with a lot of chains.

Dan had a friend who worked in the state prison about 100 miles away, and he had gotten an authentic prison uniform and badge, as well as an authentic prisoner metal collar with the identification of a real-live prisoner on it, one that was in prison for life.  We hoped to win the party’s contest for best dressed.  Dan’s friend told him to make sure that these are not revealed to any law enforcement personnel, or he would get into trouble!

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