Tag Archives: long-term bondage

Story

Gimp Training, Week 5

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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.

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Story

Gimp Training, Week 1

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By Unowned in NYC

I’m driving home from work with a raging hard-on, knowing my gimp is sitting on the closet floor right where I left him this morning.  It’s only been a week since he quit his job, and since that first day,  this Monday, barely a moment has passed where I haven’t been throbbing in my pants, oozing precum.

I wonder if I’ll eventually get used to having a gimp, take it for granted, forgetting about him for hours at a time, no longer ready to bust my nut just picturing him.

Almost there.  It’s been all I could do to not whip out my dick and jerk off in the car, but I’m waiting until I get home so I can get into my full leather and see the gimp as I shoot my load.  Still early spring, so the days are still short.  It’s dusk as I take the last turn on to my street.  My place sits at a dead end.

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Story

You Wanted This

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By Locked22

“You wanted this, slave.”

The voice spoke confidently through a speaker overhead as Derek stared at the collar.

This wasn’t just any collar. “It must weigh ten pounds” he thought, as he lifted the massive metal object off the floor of the cell he found himself in. It was a beautiful piece of ironwork, with an integrated locking mechanism that removed any need for a bulky padlock. A length of heavy chain stretched from an anchor on the wall to the collar – long enough to allow a wearer to sit or stand, but not long enough for the wearer to get close to the door of the cell.

He knew that if he closed it around his neck, there was no going back.

Not that there was much chance of that as it was. He was naked, save for the chastity cage that had been a constant companion over the preceding month, and alone in the small cell. He didn’t know where he was, or even who he was about to put himself in the custody of.

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Story

Rubbered Prisoner and the Controlling Master – Part 01

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By Rubbered Prisoner

What is the Rubbered Prisoner?

The Rubbered Prisoner is a well-proportioned, muscular, 5-foot-10-inch, 25-year-old white male whose function in life is to earn enough money so he can be housed in an isolated small rural bricked facility where he can be tortured in rubber by the regimen of a distant individual except for 8 hours 30 minutes he is allowed to see through his eyes and type on a computer for a long-term substance living he has.

This is the job he has posting accounts receivables for a remote computerized client. At least 10 hours of the prisoner’s time (not necessarily continuous) must be where sleep is possible but not necessarily anything close to comfortable or continuous.

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Daily Thread

Video: Overnight bondage endurance tests

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Research and development continues at Serious Male Bondage. Could you handle a test like this?

 

This is a multi-purpose bondage bed designed for overnight endurance tests. The subject is restrained and then left in the dark for extended periods of time while being monitored via a remote infrared video link. A chastity device is used to keep the subject focused on the test and not on his fantasies.

See more like this at Serious Male Bondage

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Story

Breaking Boys: Colin – Chapter 3

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By RotherhamMan

Don was left with eighteen hours on the bidding clock after the slave had been left for the six hours he thought long enough to reinforce his new rules. He no longer thought of the meat as Colin, that person was no longer of any significance and he would not be telling the buyers the name either. The only way they would know was if they went and found out for themselves, unlikely, or if the slave broke the rules and told them —something Don would be told about and he had a guarantee that if that ever happened with one of his products he would come out and punish them for tarring his reputation. It hadn’t happened yet.

Six hours had been a long time and despite having sat down to plan the slave’s training he was interrupted by the arrival of a friend who wanted to hang out. He hated people dropping in on him unplanned but he had a social life to maintain as part of his cover as a normal person. He had formed a comfortable social circle of people he found mildly interesting to be around and hung with them enough to appear normal, he might even enjoy himself some times. He felt quite the thrill of entertaining a guest while, unknown to them, he had a person kept in his basement against their will. He had a hard time hiding his rock solid erection and when it was noticed by the friend he played it off as having a day where he just felt horny. The friend laughed with him and departed, assuming Don was going to make a random hook-up to get off. Before he left he used Don’s toilet for a piss, not surprised by the novelty of a waterless toilet, having used it before. He would be surprised to learn it didn’t lead to the sewer but to a tank for the slaves to drink when being punished or trained for such things.

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Story

VRealWorld – Part 01

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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:

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Story

Training Week at the Campground: A Novel – Part 07

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By AlphaMetal

Day 2, Late Afternoon – Pretty Boy’s Fate, Part 1

Alpha released Pretty Boy’s hands from the eye-bolt on the wall and the slave removed the four rubber restraints from the boy’s wrists and ankles. The slave handed Pretty Boy a towel and he dried himself off.

Alpha led Pretty Boy from the shower room back into the room where the intake had taken place. Pretty Boy noticed the black wooden bondage table against one wall, the medical exam chair with stirrups in a corner, and the wall with steel rings and metal restraints at various location. He was naked and there were a lot of places he could be restrained for whatever was going to happen next.

Alpha led him toward the black wooden bondage table and Pretty Boy began to wonder what would be done to him. But instead of being motioned to climb onto the table he saw a folded set of clean prison scrubs and a clean pair of white boxers. Alpha pointed to the clothes and the boy got dressed.

Alpha roughly pulled the boy’s hands behind his back and Pretty Boy felt a pair of handcuffs applied to his wrists, and then Alpha and the slave led the boy out of the intake room and into the room where he sat on the floor when he was first brought to the camp. That just yesterday, Pretty Boy reflected with in amazement.

The slave laid a pair of clean flip-flops on the floor and pointed to Pretty Boy’s feet, motioning for him to put on the flips. Pretty Boy looked at the slave with confusion; the Commander had said he was going to barefoot his whole time at the camp. The slave looked at Pretty Boy and said, “It’s to keep your feet clean as you walk outside.”

Continue reading Training Week at the Campground: A Novel – Part 07 →