By slavebladeboi
“So,” he said rather menacingly, looking straight into my eyes as he held my chin in his fist, “think of a number between one and twenty five.”
Shit, another mind fuck no doubt.
“Yes Sir,” I answered. “Six.”
What the fuck is he thinking now?
“Well done, boi. Good answer.”
Why. How’s that good?
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re getting 25 with the crop.”
By Miles Pierce
The backpacking trip had ended in disaster.
It was meant to be a reset. He had just left his job and broke up with his girlfriend and the two weeks he planned in and around the Lassen Volcanic Park were meant to be the beginning of a fresh, new phase in his life. Jake had planned his route and food meticulously and looked forward to this solitary trek.
Ten days into his hike and deep in the backcountry, he ran into a decent-sized black bear while cooking dinner.
No stranger to the California wilderness, he took the necessary precautions and strung his pack and food up. He also went back to the shore of the lake to wash off any cooking smell he might have on his clothes and body, leaving the entirety of his gear tied up high off the ground with a bear line.
It wasn’t enough.
Continue reading The Bear Encounter: A story inspired by The Bear Trap
By FirefighterSIR
Part 11: Summer Nights
Summer nights dragged on more than winter nights it seemed. It was not that the night was so long, but the sounds mixed with the heat lingering in the camp kept the slave up long past the time he should have slept. Crickets whined all around the fenced compound where the Captain’s tiny cabin stood and the wicked laughter of coyotes echoed through the canyons near and far. The sound would first be of one lone coyote calling out in short howls then he would be answered by a yip or a bark.
Then more voices would chime in and gather. Then silence, until the pack had cornered some wayward jackrabbit. At the kill excited howls and barks would become a frightening garble of voices that would cut off suddenly, total silence. That is when the slave would worry, looking, imagining red eyes glowing at the edge of the dark brush, looking to find a way into the compound, to him, as he lay vulnerable, caged like a chicken in a coop.
By FirefighterSIR
Part 10: The Lion
The slave first sensed the change of season as he looked up from inside the cage, kept under the spreading blue oak just beyond the Captain’s cabin. A few red leaves shined in the early morning on the wild grapes that clambered up the pergola shading the doorway. The color was bright against the dusty grays and browns that dominated the Fall landscape of the Bear Trap Ranch.
The daily routine of hard work and hard training had been unrelenting for months since the slave had left his car and phone in a rented SUV in a parking lot in King City. The slave had been transformed from a gym-toned IT manager for a large international corporation into a bronzed, lean, muscled, bearded animal grunting under the labor load of the rough acreage of the ranch and the demands of the Captain.
Each day began at the pre-dawn light in the same way, kneeling before his naked Master, taking His piss, and cleaning the firefighter’s cock. Good days included an intense session of hard face fucking or ass rape in His bed, often until the sun was pouring in the big glass doors of the cabin. Only then would the slave be unshackled and allowed to conduct the many duties of the morning while the Captain also prepared for the day.
By FirefighterSIR
Part 9: Work
“Only 3 more feet!” shouted the Captain just before he began swinging the pick again. The slave did not look up but continued to shovel the dirt and rocks out of the trench he was buried in up to his knees. The sweat ran down into his face and made it hard to see. But when he did take moment to look up, he could see the Captain was right.
They had almost finished the trench, its end marked by a tiny yellow flag snapping in the warm breeze blowing down the length of the canyon. The Captain had taken the lead on the digging, swinging the pick to break up the soil enough for the slave to shovel it out and carve the trench. The only fortunate thing about the project is that it was almost done and that the day had not been hot. The slave had been trying to focus on each shovel full of dirt, pushing himself to complete each toss, not looking up, should he lose focus and strength on another grueling day as the 24/7 labor muscle slave at the Bear Trap Ranch.
Arranged just beyond the tiny flag were 8 concrete piers that the Captain and slave had cast days earlier.
The Captain had decided to build a new truck shelter with a solar array on the roof. That meant digging and casting foundation piers and digging a 200-foot long trench across the dry grass from the camp compound to the new structure. What that meant for the slave was days and days of backbreaking work. The soil of the Bear Trap Ranch had long since given up the last of its moisture to the summer heat and even now, in September, months since the slave had been collared on the ranch, the ground was more like rock than soil.
By FirefighterSIR
Part 8: Long and Slow
Sullie is a black-and-white Springer Spaniel that loves birds. He was barking and jumping on the wire fence and his short tail worked enthusiastically, his full attention on the covey of quail that were moving in the short, dry grass at the edge of the camp clearing. Sulllie barked again and then the other dog ran over to see what was happening, eager to join in any excitement that could be had in the evening shadows.
The quail pecked at seeds and ants in the golden grass and fluffed themselves in the dust dry soil, just along the fringe of dark scrub brush that lines both sides of the canyon where the camp was sheltered. The canyon faced north in a series of brushy ridges in the inland ranges of the Santa Lucia Mountains, a remote location where few ventured.
Late summer evenings, when the sun was setting and cool air flowed down every canyon, was a time when all of the wildlife would come out on the Bear Trap Ranch. A coyote padded down the road toward the gate and deer looked for some tasty green buds hidden among the spiny dry brush.
By FirefighterSIR
Part 7: Destiny
Ben idly scratched his thick beard as he turned over inside the cage, the midnight moon covering the garden and hills beyond the grid of bars with silver light. He reflected on the last few hours.
The Captain had returned from a week away on a large fire that had been burning in the mountains to the west, a range that cut off the Bear Trap Ranch from the blanket of cool moist fog along the coast.
The Captain had drove into the canyon camp late in the day, just as the heat gave way to cool evening shadows, His huge pickup covered with red dust and ash. He jumped out, and came through the gate, where the slave was kneeling, excited at his return. He tousled Ben’s thick mane of brown hair before stripping down and taking a long cool shower under the big blue oak tree, with the slave kneeling between his legs.
By FirefighterSIR
Part 6: Punishment
The slave turned over on the floor, pulling the thick blanket close against the chill at the foot of the Captain’s bed. He was trying to get his sleep-addled brain around what was happening.
The Captain had jumped out of bed suddenly, quickly as a cat, and was now standing in the open door listening intently and scanning the midnight darkness of the Bear Trap Ranch. A silvery light outlined the edge of the canyon high above and was moving along slowly, dropping down toward the camp. A low engine rumble could barely be heard over the chorus of crickets and cicadas in the chill air. A truck was making its way along the road above. Intruder!
Even as the slave tried to rub the sleep from his bleary eyes, the Captain had already pulled on his dirty Carhartt pants, scuffed boots, and slipped a wrinkled tee over his head. His handgun was out and strapped to his leg in a quick movement. He slipped out of the door and through the camp gate, disappearing into the trees, his movements marked only by the flicker of his flashlight.
