In a video at Serious Male Bondage, a gullible young man volunteers to be the subject of an unknown experiment for $50 cash. He becomes a little nervous when he’s strapped down to the table. He admits to the researcher that he didn’t actually read the contract word for word, he only “skimmed” it. But it’s too late! There’s no turning back!
See the VIDEO at Serious Male Bondage
Title: The Experiment
By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 10: So Long!
That was on a Friday, so maybe that’s why I didn’t hear from SLPOUTREACH until Monday. Which is when I read:
“SLP Participant Barlow: You have completed Step 4. Permission to proceed to Step 5 will be transmitted within the next three weeks.”
I was all serious serious serious when I opened the email, cuz I expected to see some big heavy statement, and then I felt like, “Oh. OK. What do I do now?” I didn’t really have anything to do except to keep going to school, which at least got me out of seeing my parents. I read in a book about some guy that was gonna be executed, and they gave him X amount of time to “put his affairs in order.” But I didn’t have any affairs; I just went back to school.
I knew that the SLP would come through with my orders, and I would do what they told me. Maybe you’re wondering, hey, you’re an American, how could they, like, enforce this commitment you signed? I mean, how could they come and get you, if you changed your mind? You’re right—they couldn’t. I had time on my hands, so I looked it up. Under “extradition.” The only way they could get me was if I actually went to St. B. But that’s what I’d agreed to do.
By convict 975468
GREG
Dave and I have been friends since high school. We went away to college but would get together on holidays, so we never lost touch. After college, we came home, and after a few months decided to become roommates. We are both gay, but we never got it on with each other, which was OK – we just seemed to be attracted to different types of guys.
Then we hit the jackpot – literally! We won the lottery – millions. We were very excited – partied for a week. Then the trouble started. Everyone – I mean everyone – wanted our money. Friends and relatives became so much more friendly – being gay was OK now. What was worse was the endless solicitations. Lawyers, accountants, investment advisors, just to name a few. No one would leave us alone. We had to do something.
By Rubrpig
Marc was tired from a long day on the lead trading desk. He stretched and his muscular frame felt stiff so he knew he was going to hit the gym when he finished work for the day. He had received his yearly bonus and since he was the lead trader for his firm, it was larger than he had anticipated so that had put him in a good mood. He looked around the trading room and he spotted the VP of HR heading his way so he knew he was in for another lecture about taking his accrued vacation time.
The VP had been after him for weeks to start taking his vacation time as currently he had 12 weeks accrued. He sat down as the VP entered his office. He held up his hand and told him to hold the lecture and told the VP that he would think it over and let him know in the morning. The VP nodded and told him that otherwise he would be left with no choice but to suspend him from work until he had used up all the accrued time.
Marc sighed and turned back to the computer screens and noticed a couple of trends so he executed several trades and noted with satisfaction that he had come out ahead once again. The New York market closed so he stood up, grabbed his jacket and headed out. After giving some orders and instructions to the night traders, he headed for the gym.
By Wakeysub
My Recon profile made it clear from the outset – inexperienced, overweight and desperate to experience life as the slave I was born to be. The one word which summed it all up was “desperate.” I have lost count of the number of times that I have found myself eyes closed, furiously wanking my pathetic cock while I fantasised about life as a slave. To save my cock from being rubbed raw, I invested in a small nub chastity device and locked my cock firmly away.
The feeling of my cock squeezed tightly in the cage reminded me of my real role. I still lacked the firm, unyielding controlling hand that I so desperately craved. I would start conversations with Tops on Recon but could never find the sort of attitude I needed. I did get offers to meet up, but I could never find the confidence to go through with them. – my logical brain was always holding me back. I was a sad, repressed wannabe slave with no prospect of ever seeing it realised.
Then it all changed, it was a Monday morning, and I was settling down for a typical busy working week when my phone beeped with the familiar tone to say that I had a new message in Recon. I always hope that this will be the one. I opened the app to read it as quickly as possible. It was a short message, but it got me throbbing in my small cage.
Unowned in NYC
It’s been over a month now since my sub became my gimp. While I’m on the job, or out with my buds, the excitement of knowing where he is and how he’s bound, and that he’s not moving until I got home, still keeps me hard through the better part of each day. But the intensity is lessening a little bit, week by week. It’s a relief for me, in a way, because my dick was getting chafed from stepping into the port-a-john to jerk off five or six times a day during those first couple weeks. The other guys had started razzing me about it — was I getting old man’s prostate? Going to jerk off again? If only they knew that’s exactly what I was doing.
That first week, the gimp was on my mind practically every second of every day. Horned up beyond belief, but tempered with a strong dose of concern. Maybe he’d overheat, or there’d be a fire or a gas leak at the house. Maybe he’d completely freak out and I’d come home to a zombie gimp, mentally broken beyond the point of what I wanted. Maybe some freak accident would clog up the air tube in his gag. The gimp and I had talked about all these dangers and more, in those last couple months leading up to his transformation. As far as he was concerned, the chances were so remote for any of these possibilities, that it was a no-brainer.
The potential risks were well worth the reward of him being allowed to truly live as my object. He didn’t have to twist my arm. I had just wanted to make absolutely sure he was aware of what he’d be getting himself into, and that he wasn’t off in a fantasy world, unaware of certain realities. By the time I’d decided I really wanted to do it with him, I wanted to be sure we weren’t going to get a few days or a few weeks into it just to have him try to get out of it or negotiate for something easier.
By Joshua Ryan
Boss Web showed me to my new rack. This time it was a bottom, because Biff was gone. Biff was the one they sent up to the House to replace me. I don’t know how the boss chose him; probably because he was the faggiest and most worthless one he could think of.
Everybody seemed OK with having me back. I was another pair of legs on the coffle, and I wasn’t Biff. Their main idea was to make sure I was still just another workie like them. Of course the news had traveled about Mr. Hamilton’s “friend” being my “friend” before I put on the workie suit, and the decision that the kangaroo court had made, but I had to be stripped of any specialness that the story gave me, so everybody could see how I took it. It started right away. “Too bad brah! You’re back in the minor leagues.” “The problem with aging.” “Harem boys don’t last that long.” “Shouldn’t have changed your hairstyle.” “Another bad career move.” And a lot more.
By Joshua Ryan
Actually, it was like, two rooms, one for the workie and one for the shopper. On the shopper’s side of the room there were two or three nice comfy chairs and a nice wooden table, with something that looked like a big notebook or catalogue that was open on the top. Then there was a polished wooden barrier, about three feet high. Then there was a space. Then there was another kind of barrier. This one went from floor to ceiling and was made out of steel fencing. Yeah, the kind of thing they make fences out of. After that, you were in the workie’s room. Where I was. I don’t need to tell you that there wasn’t any furniture on my side of the room, unless you count the two cams hanging from the ceiling. The lack of furniture made it easier for me to pace up and down, waiting for someone—Mike!–to come through the door on the other side.
By the time he did, I was completely revved up. And he was looking his best. I always liked him in those long, loose sweaters. The drapery showed whatever muscles he had. Surprisingly, his new slacks were perfect. Despite my not picking them out for him.
“Mike!” I said, rushing to the fencing. “I’m SO glad to see you! And you’re right on time!”
