Tag Archives: Real Working Men

Silver and Gold

By Cutieboy90

Cutieboy90My name is Todd. Todd Silver. My mate and I met many years ago, when we started working at the copper mine. His name is Ryan Gold, and he’s the cutest, sweetest ginger you could ever imagine. Anyway, we fell in love very quickly, and though we had to stay discreet for our safety, we did exchange vows. We love each other so much. I even went from being a totally dominant, top stud to being a completely versatile switch, but just for him.

It all began on his birthday. I had given him a new set of leather bondage cuffs, a stainless steel cock ring, and a leather muzzle. He was so excited, but instead of putting them on, he said to me: “Todd? I know it’s different from usual, but… Tonight, I would like to tie you up, and fuck you.”

I was a little surprised, but not opposed. So, I said “Absolutely. I love you. Happy Bir-mmmmpph!!” Cut off as he buckled the muzzle over my face.. Next, he strapped me down to our bed on my back, my large, stiff cock pointing to the ceiling. He had to squeeze my balls to make me soft so he could put the metal cock ring on. But soon enough, I was ready for him.

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Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 17

By PredicamentBondage

[[WARNING: This story — and the many chapters that precede it — feature descriptions of extreme elements that some readers might find objectionable. Continue reading at your own risk.]]

Training a sex slave typically takes six months or so. The first three months are spent breaking the subject down, removing all sense of self-worth, taking it to the edge of despair, to create a hollow shell, which can then be moulded into an obedient, compliant servant.

The second three months are spent fashioning the slave’s skill set to the potential owner’s requirements. As the clients vet their purchases, physically, before we even start phase one, when we’re ready to start sex training we can move forward with confidence knowing that the customer will happily accept the product upon completion. We can, therefore, immediately start tailoring the slave to the client’s sexual needs.

These needs are massively diverse, ranging from body modifications, castration, deep-throat training, arse-hole training, foreplay skills, fucking stamina, pain endurance, verbal skills, and so on, and on, and on.

In previous chapters, I’ve explained some of the training techniques employed during the first three months of a slave’s life at the centre. I guess I should also give some insight into how we train our stock sexually.

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The Pit and the Pendulum

By Edgar Allan Poe

Impia tortorum longos hic turba furors

Sanguinis innocui, non satiata, aluit.

Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antro,

Mors ubi dira fuit vita salusque patent.

[Quatrain composed for the gates of a market to be erected upon the site of the Jacobin Club House at Paris.]

I WAS sick — sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence — the dread sentence of death — was the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy indeterminate hum. It conveyed to my soul the idea of revolution — perhaps from its association in fancy with the burr of a mill wheel. This only for a brief period; for presently I heard no more. Yet, for a while, I saw; but with how terrible an exaggeration! I saw the lips of the black-robed judges. They appeared to me white — whiter than the sheet upon which I trace these words — and thin even to grotesqueness; thin with the intensity of their expression of firmness — of immoveable resolution — of stern contempt of human torture. I saw that the decrees of what to me was Fate, were still issuing from those lips. I saw them writhe with a deadly locution. I saw them fashion the syllables of my name; and I shuddered because no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of delirious horror, the soft and nearly imperceptible waving of the sable draperies which enwrapped the walls of the apartment. And then my vision fell upon the seven tall candles upon the table. At first they wore the aspect of charity, and seemed white and slender angels who would save me; but then, all at once, there came a most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic battery, while the angel forms became meaningless spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw that from them there would be no help. And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave. The thought came gently and stealthily, and it seemed long before it attained full appreciation; but just as my spirit came at length properly to feel and entertain it, the figures of the judges vanished, as if magically, from before me; the tall candles sank into nothingness; their flames went out utterly; the blackness of darkness supervened; all sensations appeared swallowed up in a mad rushing descent as of the soul into Hades. Then silence, and stillness, night were the universe.

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Leather Lover Lunatic Asylum

By Mister-Spartan

Ryan and Walt were in bed. Ryan was tightly enclosed in his favorite leather straitjacket, plus leather pants. His cock, as usual, was in chastity. Walt was alongside, his arms around Ryan.

“You’ll be gone for a whole month? What am I going to do during all that time?”

“I’ve thought about that. There’s this place that you can stay at called the ‘Leather Lover Lunatic Asylum.’ You’ll be able to get your leather fetish satisfied while they keep you secure, feeding you, bathing you, taking care of all your needs. They call it a ‘lunatic asylum’ not because it is an official one, but because their guests are kept in leather straitjackets. It should suit you perfectly.”

Ryan thought about it. It sounded like just what he would want. He finally smiled and said, “You’re right. It won’t be the same without you, but it sounds like the next best thing. You know what I like. Thank you.” The two kissed and turned over to go to sleep.

When it came time for Walt to leave on his business trip, he called the facility. In a couple of hours, a white van drove up. Two beefy guys got out that were dressed in all white, looking just like attendants at a mental facility. They brought along a gurney that had a lot of straps attached to it, as well as a pile of black leather gear lying on top of it.

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Montana – Part 03

By ty dehner

The drive to the bar uneventful, watching the empty landscape pass by lit by the full moon. When I adjusted in the seat I could feel the piss slosh around in my boot. On occasion Ty would reach over and rub the Velcro sharply into my tits. He explained that the bar is not a gay bar, but some of his gay buds hang out there as well as his straight friends. He thought it would be crowded with the rodeo in town.

We arrived at the bar that looked busy. As we parked I commented on being thirsty and was glad to be at the bar.

“The boot,” said Ty wryly.

i questioned him and he told me to drink the piss that is in my boot. Carefully I worked it off my foot getting a good strong whiff of the smell as it approached my lips. Laying the leather boot shaft on my lip, i poured the warm piss down my throat. Feeling very humble, Ty chuckled as I finished it off.

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Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 05

By PredicamentBondage

Things are quite leisurely at the training facility with only two slaves in stock. It was wild a few weeks ago because we had eight on the go but, as it is, I feel like I’m on holiday.

Shit-head has been with us a few days now. So far, it’s spent 24 hours isolated in its pod, exercising and learning how to drink from the water dispenser. Following that, it spent the best part of a day hanging in the factory area being broken. Like its peer resident in the next pod (piss-slit), shit-head has also been through its very first training session, lesson one – SPEECH LAW NUMBER 1.

Today, it’s SPEECH LAW NUMBER 2 and shit-head is already in place, eager to begin (I’m sure).

My little brunette fire-plug is standing in one of the classrooms, one foot on each of two large blocks. The blocks are 3 feet apart so its legs are spread wide. Wrists are in 18th century iron shackles and pulled straight up, forcing the slave onto its toes. It still wears the heavy ball stretcher that it’s involuntarily had to endure for several days, making its balls ultra-sensitive and very tender. Around its neck is a shock collar, the remote control handily in my jeans back pocket.

“Good morning shit-head” I say in greeting.

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