Tag Archives: protocol

Story

Sir Finn and His Boy – Part 02

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By ChrisTheHiker

Chapter 2: A journey that gets off to a bad start…

May in northern Italy is my favourite time of year. The temperatures are mild, jackets are stowed away in the cellar, but the stifling heat of summer has not arrived yet. And above all, the winter greyness that hides the sun for weeks on end has vanished for good until next winter. I live in a small village called Santa Sofia, a few kilometres north of Pavia in Lombardy. For me, it is the most beautiful region, even if all Italians will tell you otherwise… To give you an idea, we are 45 minutes from Milan, in the Po Valley, the river that crosses northern Italy from west to east, linking the Italian Alps of Piedmont to the Adriatic Sea south of Venice. This fertile plain is where agriculture and industry produce Italy’s main wealth.

But I have not even introduced myself yet. Alessio, Ale to my friends, 35 years old, 1.76 m, 63 kg, lean but muscular. Brown eyes. Thick, bushy black hair, typically Italian. I always keep it a bit tousled, probably because I cannot be bothered to spend too much time styling it. I am reasonably hairy, mostly on my legs and chest. Several guys have told me I should wax, but I am happy the way I am; I like that masculine look, though I will admit I do shave down below—but more for comfort than for the look.

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Story

Morning Routine

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By Pup Aros

*buzz buzz. buzz buzz.*

BZZT. BZZT.

I am literally shocked awake. Groggy for a moment, but not long, I wince from the morning routine shock to my neck that wakes me daily. I never get used to that feeling, like someone’s attached thousands of threads to each muscle fiber in my face and yanked them all down towards my neck. Sir has allotted me 5 minutes to gather myself and prepare myself before my cage door opens, and I’m grateful for it. Every night, He shuts the door to my cage. Depending on how well I’ve served Him, I may have a blanket and mattress and pillow. Yesterday, I’d made several mistakes with my protocol, and so for five minutes, I sit on the steel bars of the floor responsible for my fitful rest.

The lock on the cage buzzes, clicks, and the door swings open. My room in Sir’s house is a modest concrete cell. The cage is in one corner across the room from the door. On the wall to the right of the door, there’s a wall-hung cot heavy with straps and the black mass of my sleepsack, which is my alternate sleeping arrangement.

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Story

My First Shibari Experience

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By @bdsmsubrex

Three months ago, I surrendered myself to Master S, binding my will to his as his submissive. That moment reshaped my existence, filling every corner of my life with purpose, desire, and a profound sense of belonging. But the lockdown, that unyielding global force, ripped us apart. Master S was forced to leave my country, stranded across borders, and I was left with an aching void where his presence once anchored me.

He instructed me to continue my rituals, daily acts of devotion to keep me tethered to him, and to document every detail with photos or videos. I obeyed, meticulously recording each task, but the act felt hollow, a pale imitation of true submission. How do you serve a Master when his eyes cannot see you, when his voice cannot guide you in the flesh? The videos I sent were offerings, but they lacked the weight of his approval, and my heart yearned for the command that only his physical presence could deliver.

This morning, my phone buzzed with a text from Master S, its sharp brevity cutting through the monotony of my day. Be at a specific address by six o’clock this evening. Plugged. Locked in my chastity cage. Collared. My pulse surged, a heady mix of nerves and excitement igniting my senses. Lockdown restrictions still suffocated the city, limiting movement to essential purposes, but Master S had anticipated this. He had enlisted a friend, a man with influence, who owned a company classified as essential. Through this connection, Master S secured an exemption letter, a document granting me freedom to travel without scrutiny. I texted back, my fingers trembling with anticipation, asking if there was anything else I needed to prepare.

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Story

7 Days in Berlin – Part 04

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By Takeo

Day 1 – Tuesday – With my Sir

I have no choice but to wait in this position. Anyone who has ever tried something similar knows that being like this on your knees, sitting on your feet, doesn’t look difficult from the outside, but is far from obvious when you’re strapped in and can only move a little. Fortunately, my rangers are rigid enough that I can sit on my heels without mobilizing the flexibility of my ankles too much. On the other hand, this also means that the pressure on my knees is greater, and Franz was careful not to provide any soft support, so I’m kneeling on the concrete floor.

As time goes by, I am surprised by the effectiveness – despite the simplicity – of the bondage. I am not constrained in the sense that my movements aren’t totally hindered as they were previously when I was in the cage, but the chains linked behind my back keep my arms in a fairly strict upright position, and prevent me from standing up or leaning forward. My only means of relieving the strain on my bonds would be to flip over onto my side on the floor, but I want to hold this position so that Flo finds me presentable, and not stranded on the floor like a worm.

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Story

i am His

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by pwnedpuppy

When i fly out to visit Sir, my servitude really begins before i even leave.

The clothes Sir orders me to wear for the flight are pretty simple and remain the same regardless if its freezing cold outside or we’re in the middle of a heatwave. In a way, it’s my uniform.

Plain white t-shirt, 501s, white socks, no underwear. A pair of plain black Vans slip-ons. No hoodie, no jacket, no alterations to the prescribed outfit. i am unremarkable in my appearance.

In my backpack, a simple haul – an envelope containing the chain and collar Sir has sent which i’m to wear after clearing security. No key. my wallet minus my photo ID (which i need to get on the plane) is put inside an interior pocket of the rucksack. So is my cell phone. They are not to be removed for any reason. That’s it.

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