By Pisslurper
Today as I was scrubbing all three toilets and bathroom floors, naked and locked in chastity, I was thinking about “Bondage Camp” and its less than satisfactory work details. If I had to set up these scenes, here is what I would do:
Tag Archives: KinkMen
Copdar – The MP
The MP
By Cuffsandcops
I have had a lot of good luck finding items that tickle my fetish fancy on social media marketplaces. In the Spring, I scored 3 pairs of handcuffs from an officer leaving the field from Delaware. A few weeks ago, I found a flat leather duty belt with a black buckle that belonged to an NYPD officer. After talking with him, I ended up buying a handcuff case, radio holster, glove pouch, flashlight holder, key case, and a hidden key clip. He even threw in a NYPD patch and one for his specific unit which was the Counterintelligence Bureau.
Police related gear is my primary fetish but I also have a liking for wristwatches. Earlier this summer I jumped in the pool with one of my favorite watches on my wrist. It hadn’t been properly sealed after a battery replacement and ended up looking like a fish tank. My jeweler did everything he could to salvage it, but the watch was ruined. I was on the hunt to replace my GShock Mudmaster GG-1000. I found one on marketplace that had a dead battery and was located about an hour away from me, right near the area’s military base.
The Collective
By Steellock and Slavebladeboi
He woke as the morning warm up exercise session started. As usual the strong grip of the rubber sleepsack was His first feeling, how His feet were tight up against the padded end of His Storage Box with the strap holing them firmly in place; the rubber sack, tight and restrictive up His legs gripping them together; He felt his hands in their custom mitts in the end of the arm sleeve, how last night He had pushed them through the narrow rubber wrist gap and each finger had slipped into its own little sleeve, His hand splayed out gripping His upper legs; the straps round him, one over His forearms tight enough to stop movement but not too tight to be intrusive; the top strap round His chest that just stopped any deep breathing so it’s effect on His body was always there.
He loved that strap. He opened his eyes but, of course, couldn’t see anything except the dark, black inside of the thick, padded hood that was padlocked round His neck. It’s three straps round His head also padlocked, two around his head at eye and mouth level and the third holding His jaw firmly shut. Just knowing the locks were there was such a thrill, He never grew tired of it! Hearing them click shut each night relaxed His mind. As He did every morning He tried to move his head and felt the tight grip of the ‘U’ shaped rubber ‘pillow’ that gripped him, holding His head still. He gave a quick heave of his body and – as always – got no movement.
The Kidnapper
By Kidnappedboi
Author’s Note: This story is a work of fiction, but is inspired by the work of a fantastic Dominant Top based on the South Coast of England, JamesbondageSX. This story is rooted in fantasy, and both SIR and i believe in explicit and enthusiastic consent in all aspects of kink and sex.
To reflect my submission to SIR, all pronouns relating to me are in lower case, all referring to SIR in upper case.
CHAPTER ONE
“WANTED: KIDNAP VICTIMS”
The profile blurb almost said it all – unlike so many other profiles on Recon, this one didn’t bother with excessive text, or even too many pictures. Instead, it got straight to the point with a list.
“ME:
- Experienced Kidnapper
- Superior Being
- Brutal Skinhead
- Your Worst Nightmare
Victims:
- inferior fag trash
- worthless bootlickers
- warm fleshlights
- future gimps and prisoners
If you meet My expectations, expect to be abducted, abused, and disposed of. Tears are non-negotiable. Suffering guaranteed.
SIR”
Training Week at the Campground: A Novel – Part 14
By AlphaMetal
Day 7, Evening – The Last Night at the Campground
The four boys were back in the dormitory at parade rest at the ends of their cots, in their prison scrubs and barefoot as usual. They all knew this was the last day and that the week of training was coming to an end. One more night shackled to their cots and then they would go home with their Masters in the morning.
As the boys stood by their cots the Commander motioned to the slave, who left the room and returned carrying the clothes the Colonel had worn when he first arrived at the camp: a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt with “U.S.N.A.” in gold letters.
The slave handed the Colonel’s jeans, t-shirt, underwear, and socks to the Commander, who in turn handed them to the Colonel and nodded. The Colonel slipped off his prison scrubs and boxers and got dressed in his old clothes as the boys watched. Cody hadn’t paid attention to the writing on the Colonel’s t-shirt that first day but when he looked at the gold letters — U.S.N.A. — it hit him: “United States Naval Academy. The man had gone Annapolis. He’s isn’t in the Army, he’s in the Navy.”
The “Colonel” was dressed in his own clothes but Cody noticed that he was standing in his socks; his sneakers had not been returned to him.
Continue reading Training Week at the Campground: A Novel – Part 14
Event Urinal – Part 02
By Nitro
To recap where we left off – the urinal of our story is locked into full rubber, waders, and urinal hood with a built in gag. He has a thick XL plug in his hole, and his dick which has been coated in numbing cream is sealed inside an external catheter.
All of the gear is padlocked on with 12 locks that have been tossed into a time safe for 12 hours.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a commotion – you practically begged me for this didn’t you?” SIR said with that damn grin on his face as he pressed his body against mine.
“MPPHHHHH” i tried to get out thru the gag holding my mouth wide.
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’m going to get ice to make a drink, and I will be back in five minutes. If your hardon has gone down by the time that I get back then I’ll see about making you more comfortable. However, if it hasn’t…. well… then you clearly need more. Now don’t fucking move a muscle until I return.” He said with a sneer as he headed towards the door.
VRealWorld – Part 03
By POW
12: Visiting Hours
Jeff opened the bag from Martin while riding the train back to Brooklyn. It contained a pair of condoms and a small bottle of lube. He snorted. Thanks for the thought, Martin, but you have massively misjudged me if you think I’m going to need these. He stuffed the bag back into his backpack.
It was after 1 AM by the time he got home. Bill’s score continued to slowly drain away, which meant that he wasn’t “entertaining any visitors”, which Jeff had figured out was a very sophisticated-sounding euphemism for “being tortured and fucked by strangers”. That was probably for the best because Jeff was completely beat and wouldn’t have been able to stay awake long enough to go start his rescue attempt. Besides, according to Nightmare, he needed to plan… but that could wait until morning.
He woke up a little after 8, definitely earlier than he would on a typical Sunday. He checked in on Bill, who was up and pacing around his tiny cell again. His score had fallen to 204.
VRealWorld – Part 01
Note: This is a sequel to VRansomwear. To start at the very beginning, click here.
VRealWorld
By POW
1: The Prisoner And The Picnicker
The prison cell is not large, maybe ten feet by twelve. There is a long extension at one corner, almost a hallway, at the end of which is a toilet and a sink. The walls are rough-cut stone, dank and dripping with moisture, spotted with lichen and streaked with mineral trails left behind by centuries of trickling water. The air seems like it should be clammy and cold, but instead it is clammy and hot and Bill often finds himself pressing himself up against the stone to try to have it suck some of the excess heat out of his body.
The lighting is dim. Any color that might exist is washed into formless shades of grey. The light comes from nowhere in particular, which is odd because the cell has no windows and there are no light fixtures anywhere that Bill can find. Yet somehow, he can see, though in a limited, gloomy, dismal way. Depressing as it is, at least he’s not stuck in complete blackness.
He has been locked in this cell for what he believes to be more than a week. It is hard to measure time, of course. He is fed occasionally, though on no schedule he can predict, and there is never any change in the light level to draw a distinction between day and night. The only thing keeping him from going insane from boredom and isolation is the occasional arrival of… well, call them “visitors”. Like the food, the visitors arrive at unpredictable intervals and for as long as they are there in the cell with him, boredom and isolation are very low down on his list of troubles. After the visitors leave, after an initial period where he appreciates and enjoys the restored peace and quiet, that’s when the boredom and isolation start to nag at him once more.
He has tried to find a way to escape, of course, but every attempt so far has been unsuccessful. His last serious effort was some unmeasurable amount of time ago. Perhaps two days, maybe three. Since that failure, he has been unable to think of anything to try next. There is one main reason for that: