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Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 09
By PredicamentBondage
Piss-slit is lying on its back on a padded bench. Its wrists are padlocked together under the bench. The back of its collar is clipped to the end of the bench so its head hangs loose, unsupported. Its legs are bound with a 12 inch connecting chain between its ankles, under the bench. Its balls are roped to a ceiling hook forcing the slave to lift its buttocks off the bench and support itself on the balls of its feet.
The 17” monitor is now positioned 24 inches above the slave’s stomach such that it must raise its head and look down over its pecs to read the screen.
I’ve been dreading this. SPEECH LAW NUMBER 3 is more complex than the first two, and piss-slit is a slow learner. I need to be careful not to damage the slave in the process of improving it. I take a deep breath and begin. I need to get this done quickly, as I had a call from The Snatcher this morning. He’s on his way with three new trainees. Things are about to get busy again.
The Journey to Hull – Part 5
By Wakeysub
The room around me was pitch black apart from a single small red light which pulsed slowly and steadily. My brain was overloaded with sensations but I soon realised that the light pulse matched the slow, rhythmic pulsing of the electrode attached to my cock – the light must be on the electro control box. I focussed on the light hoping that it would take my mind off my tortured nipples and the aching pain in my stretched balls. How long had I been here, more to the point where the fuck was I and what had I let myself in for.
Suddenly I was aware that the light was flashing more quickly. At the same time, I became aware that the pulsing in my cock was increasing in speed and the power level seemed to be increasing too. It wasn’t a massive increase just a constant build and I was conscious that what was before nothing more than a gentle pulse was turning into a more determined throbbing sensation. The only things I could focus on were the small red flashing light and the throbbing sensation enveloping my cock. I felt myself involuntarily trying to push my cock to fuck the chastity cage and increase the intensity of the electrical sensation. This made my ass grip the electrode more tightly which had the desired effect of increasing the intensity.
The Journey to Hull – Part 3
By Wakeysub
Session 2
The timer in front of me came back to life but this time showed “60:00” – what the fuck. I had struggled with 30 minutes and now I was faced with 60 minutes of God knows what. I heard the click and the timer started to count down. My second session had begun. The nipple clamps were still viciously biting into my tortured nipples but the massive rubber cock in my mouth was jabbing into my throat and making me gag repeatedly. This made me thrash around as much as the tight restraints would allow. This just drove the nipple clamps to bite harder and harder.
He leant forward and brushed the nipple clamps lightly. At his touch the pain shot deep into my chest.
“Your tits seem to be enjoying it, you fat slut. Don’t want them to get bored – lets replace the clamps with something you’re really going to love. I bought these especially for you when you told me you had sensitive nips. You’re going to love these clamps they looked so fucking hot in the adverts. First, let’s remove these pathetic toy clamps and get you ready for your new best friends.”
VRansomwear – Chapter 2
VRansomwear
By POW
CHAPTER 2
Colin stayed in the changing room for about forty-five more minutes before working up the nerve to leave. He regretted now that the day had been warm; his clothing consisted of baggy jeans, a T-shirt, socks, and sneakers. No matter how he arranged things, there would still be a lot of exposed rubber. Of course, his face was covered by the rubber, too, so that gave him a certain anonymity. Still, everywhere he went he would be a freak.
That realization was what finally drove him out: he was only a few blocks away from Times Square. If there was any place where a freak could blend in, it was there. Especially ten days before Halloween.
He put on everything he could and packed the few other items into the gym bag. Easing the door open, he slipped into the empty hallway and started down the stairs. Here in the early afternoon the locker areas only held a few people; rush hour was when all the commuters from New Jersey and Pennsylvania would swarm through on their way in or out of the city. Now there were only a handful: a white woman in her fifties, a dark young guy, Latino or possibly Arabic, a Wall Street wanna-be in an expensive suit, and a father with his daughter of about six. Colin emerged from the stairwell and strode through the hall with more confidence than he felt.
The six-year-old stared, of course, but that would have happened without the rubber. The rest ignored him in that practiced way New Yorkers have. He kept his own eyes forward… not that any of them could see his eyes… from their point of view his face was a blank mask.
Used and Bruised
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The Convict – Part 08
By Joshua Ryan
One of the officers carried my briefcase, and the other one led me by the arm. When we got to the top of the hill there was a woman jogging through the park. She had a cell phone on her someplace and she was talking into the air, the way they do, like they’re crazy people, and when she saw us she jumped back and put her hand on her chest like she was having a seizure. She looked at me like I was raping her at that very moment. Then she ran off, fast. No one had ever reacted to me like that before.
There was a black police car parked at the curb. One of the officers put his hand on my head and guided me into the back seat. His hand was gentle, in the way that hands are when they don’t want to touch something that they have to touch. The car door slammed. In 20 minutes, they were leading me into the Justice Center downtown.
I was surprised that they never read me my rights, but then I remembered — they didn’t have to do that anymore, now that the courts had approved all the new anticrime laws. There had been a conversation about that. I recalled it. A conversation in a bar. It was the night I first met Joey Madison. He was coming on pretty strong, so I told him, “You’d better back off. Otherwise, a cop is gonna show up and read you your rights.” “They don’t do that anymore,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “They just drag you off to jail.” We both laughed.
The Convict – Part 07
By Joshua Ryan
I had to get in to work really early that day, because I was the person who was supposed to handle the year-end calls from the branches in other time zones. When I finally got to the lounge at 9 for coffee, the first thing I did was go to the deck and look at the convicts. I wanted to see if one of them was standing by the fence.
“Whatcha lookin for, Jason?” It was somebody’s voice. I remembered. It was Peter Tomlinson’s.
“Uh . . . nothing. . . . I . . . uh . . . Great day, huh?” It was another one of those days we have in winter when the sun is so bright you’d almost think it was spring already. At 9 o’clock in the morning, it must have been 55 degrees on that deck. It was sort of like the first day when I met the convict.
“Not really. Channel 10 says it’s gonna snow tonight.”
“That true? We almost never have snow in December.” What are you talking about? I asked myself. My eyes were searching the fence, searching . . .
“It’s true. Look at those clouds. Cirrus. We’ll have snow all right. Lotta snow.”
“Too bad. I wanted to wash the car.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” I couldn’t believe I was making jokes.
“What are you looking at, Jason?”
“Just watching the convicts.”
“Huh?”
“The convicts. Down in the field.”