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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 02

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Chapter 2: The Pit’s Clamps

Threads Snap – Flesh Yields

By Restrained4U

Leo’s fingers clutched the thick black card, the size of a business card, its crisp white letters stark under the dim light as his grin faded to a stark, silent stare. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, his eyes dropping to the card with a slow, deliberate heaviness. Jamie leaned forward, smirk wiped clean, his breath catching as he stared at Leo’s hands, fingers twitching nervously on the table’s edge. Ryan’s snarl faltered, his steel gaze narrowing intently, a ripple of tension creasing his brow as he leaned in slightly, trying to read the moment. Marcus lounged back, his grin curling slow and predatory, a glint in his eyes like a wolf circling a wounded catch, dice clinking softly in his palm as he savored the thickening air.

The silence stretched, taut and heavy, the room holding its breath. Then, like a switch flipping, Leo’s lips twitched, a shit-eating grin splitting his face as he looked up, eyes wild with mischief. “Gotcha, fuckers,” he said, voice dripping with glee as he read the card aloud, barely holding back a laugh. “Roll a single die – remove that number of clothes. Socks count as one, shoes count as one. If your roll’s higher than the pieces you’ve got on, you take a punishment.” He flicked the card onto the table with a sharp snap – SHED OR SUFFER stamped in white – and leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug nod. “Easy peasy – thought I’d make you squirm first.”

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 01

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Chapter 1: The Pit’s Call

Steel Bites – Shadows Grip

By Restrained4U

The bitter cold of a November night gripped the air outside Marcus’s cabin, secluded deep in the woods. Inside, a grand fireplace roared, its polished stone mantel casting a golden glow across the cedar-paneled room, mingling with sleek, warm lights recessed in the ceiling.

Four friends lounged across top-tier furniture – Marcus sprawled in a tufted leather club chair, Jamie, 31, wiry and sharp-featured with a short, carefree black mess of hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of a storm, a glint of restless naivety in eyes that had seen scraps and storms without learning the scars, sprawled across the plush depths of a charcoal-gray sectional.

Leo, a lean, 25-year-old surfer who chased waves and thrills with equal reckless abandon, his sun-bleached blonde hair catching the firelight as he perched on a cushioned barstool by a gleaming marble kitchen island.

Ryan leaning against a wall beside a towering abstract artwork – a six-foot strip of molded black leather, its taut curves framed in glinting stainless steel, stretching vertically in a silent challenge against the wall.

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Story

Letters from Prison – Part 03

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Day 3

Saturday, March 8, 2025

It’s morning again.  There is a crow or some other squawking bird that wakes me up today.  Again, the light, the sun, is just starting to rise and illuminate my cell.  Yes, I’m still locked in a cell – 3 concrete walls painted institutional off white, the grey steel door and grey bunks.  Even the floor is grey.  And the stainless-steel sink/combination toilet without a toilet seat.  I have to sit on the rim.

This pen sucks.  The rubbery feel and movement make my writing so hard.  I have to think about each letter and write slowly and with precision.  The result doesn’t look like that.  Sorry.

I didn’t sleep well.  I think the chain gang work and being in the direct sun took a lot out of me.  I was awake when one of the flashlight cell checks happened.  I’m not sure if the guard caught I was awake or even cared.  I’m just a number here.  A count to be made.

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Story

Letters from Prison – Part 02

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By Socalbd

Day 2

Friday, March 7, 2025

Good morning,

Light is barely coming into the cell from the window.  It’s dawn.  I thought I would write my thoughts throughout the day as they came to me so this might be disjointed.

The sound of a flushing toilet woke me.  It took me a couple of hours to get to sleep last night, but I finally did sleep.  I woke up to realize I’m still in prison – and alone in solitary.  The coarse blanket they give us is one of the many reminders I’m in prison.

Another toilet flushes.  It’s never quiet even when it’s quiet.  The constant hum of the air vent pushing air into my cell never stops.  It’s doing time, too, just like me.  The humming is always there, and the air is never still.

More toilets flushing.  Will I stay in solitary today?  Maybe I’ll get to see and talk to someone.  Anyone.  I can’t believe how lonely it is.  It’s lonely.  I’m lonely.

A couple of months before this the corrections department assigned two people to me – an inmate liaison and a guard.  They were to help me “transition in” by being able to answer questions.  It was all through text messaging – when I had a phone.

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Story

Letters from Prison – Part 01

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By Socalbd

Background: I recently spent four days as an inmate during a live action roleplay.  The event took place at a closed but partially refurbished maximum-security prison.  This was my first time doing something like this, and I knew I wanted to keep a journal about my experience.  However, I wanted to stay in the headspace as much as I could.  More about that below.  To say it was the experience of a lifetime would be an understatement.  But more than that, the community of men I spent four days with was incredible.  I was honored to share this experience with them.  My thanks to the organizers for their countless hours of preparation.  Special thanks to those that had my back, physically and mentally, and allowed me to ride the range of emotions that challenged, scared and comforted me over the four days.

The letters:  I arranged with the captain of the guard prior to the event to be able to “write” letters home to family.  I would be provided with paper, pen and envelopes in my cell.  When there was time, I would write my letters.  Each evening, I would place the letter in an open envelope and have it delivered to the captain of the guard.  He could read the letter, check it for any information not permitted to be revealed about the prison (he would line out any such writing), he could write comments in the margins if he wanted, and would then “mail” the letter for me.  Mailing meant placing the letter in my duffel bag that was being stored during the event.   At the end of the event the letters would be waiting for me inside the bag, and I would be able to go back and read them along with any edits the captain of the guard made.

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Story

My Pal Jock and the Guy in the Diner

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By Hunter Perez

“Bingo, did you ever get the feeling that you were being watched?” said Jock while we were in the midst of a late-night meal at a roadside diner just outside of town. Jock was enjoying a Greek salad and a cup of green tea while I indulged in a pizza burger deluxe with French fries and a large Coke – yeah, I’m a slob.

“No, of course not,” I responded as I mopped up a drop of pizza sauce with one of my French fries. “What brings that up?”

Jock laughed and shook his head. “You eat like an eight-year-old. Seriously, there’s a guy at a table across from us who hasn’t stopped staring at you since we got here. Don’t tell me that you didn’t notice him.”

“Oh, please,” I responded between bites of my pizza burger. “No one is staring at me. If anything, the guy’s probably staring at you. And can you blame him? With that tight t-shirt showing off your muscles, you’re the life of the party. You don’t expect a runt like me to steal your spotlight”

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Story

Human Cattle – Part 11

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By Pickle

I don’t know how long I was hanging there before I heard the barn door creak open.  I didn’t bother to lift my head.  The sun streaming in behind them cast a bony, elongated shadow of each of the four men, as they each entered single file from the far side of the huge space.  Their shadows were remarkably similar to the shape of the aliens on the ship.  It freaked me out!  Even though I didn’t want to let these guys know I even cared they were coming back to mess with me, my curiosity got the better of me.  I had to sneak a peek. Just to make sure it actually was my buddies that had me in this splayed-out “fix” and not something much more sinister.

Hanging here, I began to wonder if I actually HAD been struck by lightening, however many nights ago it was.  I was half-hoping I was in a coma, and that all of this shit that both Steve, and the aliens had put me through, was just some place, a slightly kinky guy’s brain, like mine, takes him when he’s in that weird medical state.  Part of me wondered, “Am I dead, and this is what eternity will be like?”

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Story

Human Cattle – Part 10

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By Pickle

The fluid that was being pumped into my mask by the aliens who had captured me continued to surge down my throat and into my lungs. Remarkably, it became a pleasant warming sensation.  Actually comforting.  In my brain I knew I should be drowning but this “therapy” seemed to be improving my breath capacity and feeling of general well-being.

The alien let me know my lungs and throat were being renewed and changed in such a way that would enable me to survive another little adventure they had in store for me.  The fluid continued to surge into the mask, and now throughout my entire system in a non-stop ebb and flow.  Time meant nothing anymore.  I had no idea how long they kept this up.  I no longer cared though, since it had the sensation of being massaged from the inside out.  I was completely relaxed and was feeling totally euphoric.  I no longer gave a flyin’ fuck that my control was no longer my own.

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