Tag Archives: long-term bondage

Story

The Story of Dax – Chapter 3

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By TheBadOne

Chapter 3 – Habituating

I can feel that my hair has gone completely wet with sweat. My abs are sore, like I’ve done a thousand crunches, or held a plank position for an hour. I haven’t been able to open my mouth thanks to the duct tape, but even still my voice is hoarse from all the screams I stifled early on.

And yet, I’m handling it.

Call it my submissive super power. When I’m on the edge of my limits, when I want to take it but it’s just a bit too much, something happens. My brain, that is, my rational thinking process, just splits off from my physical body. I still feel everything, but my reactions are now within my control — no more violent jerking, no more endless agony. Every few seconds, a jolt of lightning shoots through me the same as before, but I’m busy being programmed.

At some point, my response to Master Shephard owns your body switched from “Master Shephard owns my body” to “Master Shephard owns this body.” I don’t remember deciding to do that, but it makes intuitive sense. If he owns it, it’s not my body. It, and I, belong to him.

As if on cue, as I have that thought, Master enters the room. When the final cycle through the most intense shocks completes, it stops completely. I feel him unlock the sack and remove the electro gear. I feel completely numb as he handles me, then locks the sack over me once again.

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Story

The Story of Dax – Chapter 1

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By TheBadOne

Chapter One – At Attention, On Display and Isolated

I’m standing at attention. I don’t know what that means for the army, or anyone else for that matter, but when Master has decided that I’m to stand at attention, this is what it means for me.

First, I strip naked if I’m not already. I can’t just throw my clothes in a pile, either. I have to fold everything as I remove it and make a tidy stack, so that it draws out the undressing process longer. My posture is ramrod-straight, every muscle tightly holding me in the most upright possible position. My eyes are straight forward and not to move, even slightly, no matter what else is going on. My legs are apart- only slightly more than hip width apart. Not wide enough that it’s an obvious show of submission, but enough that it’s wider than I’m used to, and he has easy access to every inch of my body. And, I hardly need to add, I’m to keep my lips shut until I’m given permission to make any sort of noise.

It sounds hot, and easy. Which, sure, at first it’s easy. In the beginning you feel your sexiest and most confident in your submission when you are at attention, and master is appraising you- praising you, too, for your successful fitness routine, your painstaking grooming to make sure you’re a specimen both while at play and in the general public. One day he leaves the room while I’m at attention, coming back shortly with a glass of water for himself. A few days later, he’s pulled away from minding you for a business call. He puts you at attention in the corner while he takes a fifteen minute call. You feel like a sexy statue, your erection saluting your master for every second as you focus on your posture.

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Story

Waiting

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By boyryan54

boyryan54Time has lost meaning for me. I have no idea what time of day it is, or even what day it is. I know I haven’t been here longer than a week, but I have no idea how much time has passed. Master has kept me in the dark this whole time. Most of what I am aware of is darkness, stillness, and what some people consider quietness. In my time spent here isolated, I realize nothing is ever quiet. I can hear my heart beat, the slight noises of Master’s house settling. Occasionally, I hear the AC system turn on and off. Most of the time it’s boring, but this is what I begged for.

Due to my lack of external stimulus, I have grown to be aware of my body. I can feel the slight air bubbles moving under my latex suit, the calming weight of the chains, the sound my breathing makes though the gas mask, the occasional beam of light that sneaks past the covered lenses.

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Story

No Mercenary

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By A Lost Boy

You might have questioned my state of mind as I pricked my index finger with a lancet, printing my identity onto a foot-long contract in the passenger seat of a man’s car I’d met via Craigslist.

You might have even pitied me upon reading the terms of agreement in question.

But I can assure you… I was sober within this act & without the haze of lust; in possession of every of my facilities.

Until recently, I was the posterchild for privileged. The kind of guy who wears a tie to smart-casual. An Oxford Alumni, willing to kiss whomever ass required to rise up through the ranks… a real piece of shit in hindsight.

I deserved this, my thoughts declared as I peeped over the first edition document towards the driver with a sinister grin; the sinister grin, I had misread as welcoming. A movie star smile with a twist, carved amongst a sea of hedge-cut facial hair.

I remember admiring the man of forty, a sharp nose; an equally as sharp chin under there somewhere. He donned a full-set of salt & peppered hair, cropped with precision.

“Are you certain?” The man said with words unambiguous as I handed over the parchment.

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