Category Archives: Story

Story

The ‘Just Bondage’ Session

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By Anonymous

A chance meeting at a local sauna sparked a conversation that uncovered our shared secret: a deep craving for heavy bondage. I admitted I can’t recall a time without this pull, a need so strong it drove me to years of stupid and reckless self-bondage experiments that cheated death but I was still hooked. He shared his own tale, voice hushed, eyes distant. His first taste came with an older woman who bound him in rubber and leather restraints, her head-to-toe latex igniting a lasting obsession. After they parted, he bought his own rubber gear in secret, experimenting alone until a self-bondage accident went so wrong it scared him so bad he locked his gear away. Neither of us sought romance or sex—just the raw intensity of bondage. We knew the risks of going solo, so we built a partnership grounded in trust to explore this together. One chance meeting gone right.

It’s 9 AM, and the room is set. A glossy black rubber sheet hugs the bed, anchored to the frame were 13 straps that would hold him in place. An electric blanket beneath and three infrared lamps above cycling 30 minutes on, 30 minutes off, would keep him warm.The air carries a faint scent of rubber and silicone lube, sterile yet heavy. A bag for the piss tube hangs discreetly by the bed, and my tablet displays real-time data from his Bluetooth oxygen sensor and heart monitor. A large bag of electrolyte hydration drink hangs on a small stand, its tube connected to the bite gag for when he needs a drink. Everything is prepped, negotiated and tested—this is his fourth session, and thinks he is ready for a 10-hour plunge, from now until 7 PM.

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Story

It started with Mitts –Part 09

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By bondagegimp

To start at the very beginning, click for Part 1

The party

Bob had already changed into very, very short leather shorts that just barely covered his powerful butt and ended where his thigh muscles began to bulge. On top, he was wearing only a tank top that showed off his muscular upper arms. It was, once again, incredibly sexy. What worried me was that if he was going to the party like this, he wasn’t making much of a secret of his fetish. So what would he pick out for me?

Bob leads me on a leash into one of the rooms next to the cell—another tiled room with shower facilities. Near one wall, a chain hangs from the ceiling, attached to a winch. He attaches the ring on the front of my muzzle to it, directly under my nose. Then he tightens the chain over the winch. I have to follow the chain; at first, it pulls my head up so that I have to look up, but Bob continues until I have to stand on tiptoes, facing the wall. Now he loosens all the restraints, but I hang completely helplessly from the head harness. He then takes off my PVC suit, my diapers, and removes my plug, catheter, and all the other cock rings, etc.

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Story

The Deputy Sheriff

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By Rubrpig

As always, this slave is writing while wearing Wesco big boss double buckle engineers, locked in a Carrara chastity belt, padlocked wrist restraints, and a locked posture collar.

Adam shrugged his heavy muscled shoulders to ease the stress, and his body armor creaked as he flexed.  His biceps strained the short sleeves of his tan uniform shirt.  His shirt was soaked under the armored vest.  The vest was heavy and made heavier with all the equipment he had attached to the vest.  He was tired but he was near the end of his shift on highway patrol.  Just then a leather clad man on a Harley passed his cruiser but he was just below the speed limit, so Adam just looked at the rider.  The rider was obviously heavily muscled under the heavy black riding leathers.  The rider wore a matte black full-face helmet so Adam could not check out the rider’s face, so Adam lost interest and headed back to the sheriff’s station to end his shift.

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Story

Retail Slavery

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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.

Master Steven logged into his laptop and found that his online slave was already online.  The two men had met through BLUF and over time Master Steven convinced his now slave that he was pretending to be a Leather Sir when he was meant to be a slave.  His slave finally stopped resisting several months ago and was now identifying as a slave and had even updated his BLUF profile to indicate what had happened and what he was.

Master Steven had happily accepted his slave’s submission and had issued several standing orders for his slave to follow.  The slave was now strictly prohibited from using any furniture in its apartment but was allowed to use its bed so it could rest properly and maintain its health and employment.  When it was at its job, it was required to be in a suit, dress shirt and tie with polished dress shoes.  It was also required to wear an engraved with the word SLAVE engraved on it.  Under its shirt it wore a padlocked chain collar.

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Story

It started with Mitts –Part 08

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By bondagegimp

Changes

We lie in bed for a while, tightly embraced. We’re silent. A thousand thoughts should be racing through my head, I should be worried, but I’m simply enjoying the moment. I’m not thinking about yesterday, I’m not thinking about tomorrow. I’m simply here, in Bob’s arms.

Bob’s head is very close to mine. “I don’t know where this journey will take us yet either. But I have a certain idea of the direction we’ll be going. I will take you on this journey, show you the way, and sometimes force you to do things you’ve yet to learn. I will train you and mold you according to my wishes. But I’m only bringing out of you what’s already in your nature, what you forbid yourself from letting out. Perhaps it will even frighten you when you recognize it. We’ll start very carefully. But there will also be hurdles you’ll have to overcome. And we’re starting with that now.”

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Story

It started with Mitts –Part 07

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By bondagegimp

Seduction – an interlude

I must have been sobbing loudly in my sleep, because I wake up to Bob shaking me. “What’s wrong, kiddo? Another panic attack? Do you want me to get you out of the sack?” Bob sounds really worried! I have to collect myself first, my voice actually sounds tearful. I’ve lost my composure in my dream, I must have really been crying. With my voice still choked with tears, I say: “It was just a nightmare, I had a bad dream. But I’m fine, I didn’t panic.” I feel safe in the sleepsack and in Bob’s arms, I don’t want to get out at the moment, on the contrary. I bury my head in Bob’s muscles. He hugs me, kisses me, comforts me.

He nestles his head against mine. He just holds me tightly, very tightly in his arms. As if he doesn’t want to let me go. Like in my dream. As I realize this, a tear rolls out of my eye. Bob stays awake, holding me close until I regain my composure and fall asleep. When I wake up again, bright morning light is already coming through the curtains. Bob is still holding me tightly. He notices that I’m awake and hugs me even tighter. I rub my head against him – it’s the only reaction I can show. After a while, Bob says he’s going to get us breakfast. I lie down alone. The dark feeling in my stomach quickly returns. But it gets lost in the mix of emotions, and the sadness from the dream that still hangs over me is the heaviest of them all. I crawl in bed to where Bob was sleeping, crawl my head under his blanket, smell him. It calms me down.

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Story

It started with Mitts –Part 06

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By bondagegimp

Rubber room

The cellar stairs? He was talking about a padded cell in his cellar! In the car, everything was still a bit playful, but gradually it became more serious. But this now? Like a dungeon under the house??? Now that’s some serious shit! I wriggle on his shoulder, trying to squirm. Luckily Bob is so strong, we could have tumbled down the basement stairs. He shakes me just once, a signal for me to hold still. But I can’t. I’m really scared shitless now, I don’t want to be locked up in some dark cell!

Bob ignores my wriggling. When we reach the bottom, he puts me on my feet and pulls the chain – I’m supposed to shuffle along behind him. No! I drop to the ground; I’m not going along with this! Without hesitation, Bob picks me up, throws me over his shoulder and walks on unperturbed. Sometimes left, sometimes right – it’s really hard to follow the path when you’re being carried blind. Then he turns in circles a few times until I completely lose my orientation and puts me back on the ground. My feet sink in deeply, as if I’m standing on a very soft mattress, but the surface is very uneven, as if it’s made up of lots of plump, thick cushions. Bob gives me a gentle push. With my feet bound and on the soft floor, I can’t move fast enough, lose my balance and fall like a sack. I instinctively try to catch myself with my hands, yank at my chains, but it doesn’t help. After all, the ground is really very soft, I don’t hurt myself.

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Story

My First Shibari Experience

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By @bdsmsubrex

Three months ago, I surrendered myself to Master S, binding my will to his as his submissive. That moment reshaped my existence, filling every corner of my life with purpose, desire, and a profound sense of belonging. But the lockdown, that unyielding global force, ripped us apart. Master S was forced to leave my country, stranded across borders, and I was left with an aching void where his presence once anchored me.

He instructed me to continue my rituals, daily acts of devotion to keep me tethered to him, and to document every detail with photos or videos. I obeyed, meticulously recording each task, but the act felt hollow, a pale imitation of true submission. How do you serve a Master when his eyes cannot see you, when his voice cannot guide you in the flesh? The videos I sent were offerings, but they lacked the weight of his approval, and my heart yearned for the command that only his physical presence could deliver.

This morning, my phone buzzed with a text from Master S, its sharp brevity cutting through the monotony of my day. Be at a specific address by six o’clock this evening. Plugged. Locked in my chastity cage. Collared. My pulse surged, a heady mix of nerves and excitement igniting my senses. Lockdown restrictions still suffocated the city, limiting movement to essential purposes, but Master S had anticipated this. He had enlisted a friend, a man with influence, who owned a company classified as essential. Through this connection, Master S secured an exemption letter, a document granting me freedom to travel without scrutiny. I texted back, my fingers trembling with anticipation, asking if there was anything else I needed to prepare.

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