The Bear Trap – Parts 7 and 8

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.

Continue reading The Bear Trap – Parts 7 and 8

The Bear Trap – Parts 4 to 6

By FirefighterSIR

Part 4: The Cadre

In the dry hills of California, water is the factor that determines success or failure.

In June, the last wildflowers have gone to seed and the grass in the meadows is gold, dry and brittle. The brush begins to take on a grey tint, and even the huge oaks drop leaves under the hot sun to preserve their lives through the six months without rain. The valley beyond the Bear Trap Ranch begins to resemble a parched African savannah, and one might almost glimpse zebras and elephants milling in the midday heat ripples rising from the valley floor.

Continue reading The Bear Trap – Parts 4 to 6

Trainer’s Bois

By rts

1. It is months now since I agreed to be here. I met Trainer online, a rubber/leather top looking for a boi to help out on his small ranch and looking for some bondage and play time in full gear. This place is a totally isolated 100 acres with a house and large barn. (I have never been allowed into the house, always kept in the barn ) .   When he met me at the airport I saw a well-built man taller than me, head shaved wearing black leather jeans, a tight rubber T-shirt, and red laced 20 hole Rangers.

Continue reading Trainer’s Bois

Bruce died last year while playing solo with a plastic bag

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By Brian

Last year in January, Bruce, a dear friend (pictured above), died because he was playing solo, alone in his bed with a plastic bag on his head and a vial of poppers in his hand.

I only knew Bruce a couple of years, but we hit it of instantly, because he knew EXACTLY what I was thinking when we played, and I could somehow read him too. He’d have me tied down and he would somehow know just when to squeeze that nipple, tighten that restraint, or add something new to the scene to keep the excitement and adrenaline in full swing.

One night after everyone had gone to sleep, I was lying next to him in his bedroom, and he pulled out the bag and poppers and I watched as he suffocated himself to orgasm.

I remember saying, “You did that because I was here, right? You never do that when you are alone?” He told me, reassured me, that no he didn’t do it when he was alone. But there was a pile of plastic bags in the corner there always was, I sort of knew that maybe he did play like that when he was alone.

When I found out that he had died, and how he died, it made me sick. His closest friends, the people he lived with, were constantly warning him — don’t do that shit alone. Oh fuck, I wish he would have just listened.

I think what happens is it starts out pretty benign, you do a little, here and there, and before you know it, it becomes routine. And then one day, the routine ends.

If you must do breath play, don’t do it alone. Not once, not ever, and if you’ve done it alone before, never do it again. No one orgasm is worth giving up a lifetime of orgasms.

I loved Bruce, and I still miss Bruce to this day, damn it. And I’m still angry as hell at him for what he did.

For godsake, don’t do breath play alone.

 

Metalbond would like to thank Brian for posting the above to the comments section a few days ago. It is re-posted here as a main listing, with the blessing of Bruce’s surviving partner, Duane, who sent the following note:

“Time after time I told him not to do this alone! But like Bruce he came to me doing this, and left me this way. I had told him over and over my biggest fear was to find him dead — at least it was in his bedroom and not in the playroom! Try to explain that to all the people that were here that day! This just needs to STOP! Thank you!”

Thanks, Duane, for sharing. Hopefully this information will help save a life or two.

 

 

From today’s New York Times

Designer, 26, Found Dead in Apartment in Manhattan

 

Alejandro Bulaevsky was an accomplished lighting designer whose paths around the nation and world were well chronicled. On Tuesday, the New York police spent the day trying to learn how Mr. Bulaevsky, 26, ended up dead on the floor of his Lower Manhattan apartment — his body wrapped in a latex suit, his hands cuffed behind his back, his face covered by a gas mask.

“It’s a mystery, but they’ll figure it out in the end,” one investigator said.

Paul Browne, the Police Department’s chief spokesman said, “One aspect of the investigation would be to determine whether his death was related in any way to a fetish involving latex.”

To read the complete article, click here.

 

Do not play Russian roulette

Hey guys I have to get serious for a moment.  Really, this is important.

I have just learned that not one but TWO men have DIED within the past week alone, as the result of solo breath play. I don’t know the specific details of either of these incidents, but someone I know and trust has told me about them.

Apparently both of these guys were somehow cutting off their air while also playing with restraints. One of them might have been using recreational drugs at the same time, as well.

As I mentioned, I don’t know the details, just the big picture.

The fact is, breath control play is REALLY DANGEROUS — even with at least two people in the room.  It is NEVER a good idea to do this kind of play on your own.  People die this way all the time, probably many more than ever get reported in the news or within bdsm circles.  Even famous celebrities have died this way.

Listen, I don’t care how powerful your ejaculation might be — it’s simply NOT WORTH THE RISK to yourself and your loved ones. Find another way to get off. Rent porn movies instead, or take up fisting, or hire go-go boys. Just don’t suffocate yourself to cum. It’s not worth gambling your very life over. Can you imagine the HORROR your partner, your landlady, your neighbor or even your MOTHER will feel when they come into your room to find your lifeless body, wearing a gas mask or a hose around your neck and an open bottle of poppers in your hand? Don’t let that happen!

Seriously. And if you absolutely CANNOT GET OFF without strangling yourself, by all means — please — get somebody to be there with you.  If you don’t have a friend you can tell about your kink, make one.

Just don’t do solo breath play, ever.

Never, ever.

 

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