There’s a new story by POW available on his website, POW’s Fiction, that he wrote with insight from slavebladeboi. It is called The Manrider Program:
To read The Manrider Program, click for POW’s Fiction but note that this author’s stories often contain extreme elements that might be disturbing to some readers, so proceed with caution!
To read stories by POW on the Metalbond site, click here
And for slavebladeboi, click here
By slavebladeboi
I stood for a couple of minutes trying to hear what was going on as nothing else seemed to be happening, but he soon returned. He led me out of the room with his hand grasping my neck. I knew more or less how to get to the dungeon play space even though I couldn’t see but this was just one more bit of authority he held over me.
I heard the locks snap shut on the wrist restraints as he fixed them to the bar. It must have been the bar he was setting in place that took those first few minutes and he’d adjusted it to a height that meant I was reasonably stretched if my feet were flat on the floor but needed to be on tip toe to relax my arms slightly. When he kicked my ankles apart, so he could link them to the chains at ground level, I found tip toe was my only option.
Then silence.
By slavebladeboi
I’ve always been sort of handy with tools, especially woodworking tools. Nothing fancy or complicated but I can generally solve simple problems that need to be fixed and involve bits of wood. Hanging doors, shelving from scratch, even laying a new wood floor have been part of my areas of rather limited expertise, so when Boss said we needed to replace a bit of kit we used I was up for the task.
Not groundbreaking science, nothing anyone else with a bench, tape measure and a saw couldn’t undertake, but it had to be accurate. Boss needed a new suspension bar he could hang me from. Its measurement had to be precise to fit exactly where the old one was positioned, as it slid in between some other kit we had. It also had to hold my weight at the times I was made to swing from it rather than support myself on tip toes, a position we normally used. I said I’d do it, save some money that we could use at the biker stop.
By slavebladeboi
It was a long night for Nate once he returned home after supper with Mike. They had chatted into the small hours about their lives, their fantasies, and the down-to-earth facts that often get forgotten when you’re swept up in the heat of your desires. Nate’s brain was swirling with images of the recent past and expectations of an exciting future. He couldn’t wait to return the next morning and dive into whatever Mike had thought up for him. But he did, eventually, fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
He was awakened, later than he intended, by a text message from Mike. “Sorry, Nate. The guy I’m working with on a new project has gone sick and I’ve got to cover for him. We’ll get back to where we left off when we can. Cheers. Mike.” Nate sat up. He felt like a concrete block had just been strapped to his back, and he bent over, simply staring at the screen. All the energy had been knocked out of him in the few seconds it took him to read that simple message. He got out of bed and looked across the street through the slats of the blinds. He wouldn’t be standing there wanking today, all his motivation and inclination had drained away.
The rest of the day followed the same lethargic pattern. He considered the list he had made of the jobs to do around the house, plus any assignments he had to finish before college started again.
By slavebladeboi
Mike held the crop with two hands and stood back from the fuck bench. The three deep red lines it had just made on Nate’s ass stood out against the pale-pink skin that covered the rest of the boy’s rear end. He was quite surprised that, so far, Nate had chewed down hard on the gag and not made more than a fast exhalation of breath when the crop had bitten into him. Mike was also aware that he was using the length of the riding crop more as a cane than simply smacking Nate with the leather tip, increasing the pain somewhat, to make sure Nate understood the difference between punishment and an erotic beating. Seven more to go.
Stepping back into position, Mike raised his arm once more. There wasn’t any perceptible swishing sound cutting through the air as he very forcefully brought it down, and Nate suddenly jerked forward in his bonds as it landed. His head jolted against the collar, and this time he made a throaty yell through the gag, pulling at the cuffs that were fastened around his wrists.
Mike didn’t pause for long between strokes, maybe two or three seconds, so number five fell almost directly after number four, this time with a louder muffled yell together with a spray of drool and the sound of rattling steel as Nate’s wrists again tugged at the cuffs. Nate was audibly panting. His eyes were screwed tight. Mike knew he needed to make a point but was also aware of not pushing Nate too far too soon. He continued with the thrashing, using slightly less force, but still hard enough to produce a fine set of ten red welts across the tight, up to now pristine, perfect boy ass.
By slavebladeboi
For a second night Nate sat up in bed and looked down at the cage that was very effectively stopping him playing with his cock. He had also spent the previous evening fiddling with it, playing his fingers around it, trying to get some sort of satisfaction from this new sensation.
After leaving Mike’s he had not been able to focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. Whatever he did or thought about, the cage once again slipped to the forefront of his mind and his hands wandered down to touch it. He certainly felt cross at first, cross that someone had taken his free will away, in as much as he thought his cock was absolutely his to play with whenever and however he liked, but this was diluted to a large extent by overwhelming feelings of pleasure and expectancy at what was to come.
That first night after his experience in Mike’s playroom he slept with belts securing his ankles and thighs and with his wrists handcuffed together in front of him. He thought it would help overcome the horniness he felt, but it only made it worse. His cock leaked precum and, the restrictive cage made erections uncomfortable if not a bit painful. He eventually fell asleep, but the morning brought little comfort. A cold shower helped, but the relief didn’t last for long. Sitting to piss was a new experience, one he initially refused to accept, but, having to clean up after splattering the bathroom floor with the overnight contents of his bladder, he decided it was for the best.
By slavebladeboi
Nate gave a final wave as the car carrying Alex and Greg disappeared around the corner of the street. He walked quickly back into the house and placed the addresses they would be at, together with their phone numbers to call in case he might wanted to join them after all, under a fridge magnet where he couldn’t miss seeing them. He stood in the kitchen and took two or three deep breaths to calm his nerves, knowing now was the time to take Mike up on his invitation to have a serious chat.
Mike met him on his doorstep and invited him in. “Go through to the kitchen, Nate, take a seat and I’ll fix us one of my special brews.” He said the last words as if they were in capital letters. He opened the fridge and poured the cloudy liquid into two tall glasses. Then, sitting down opposite Nate, he looked him straight in the eye. “I think we are both wondering what’s next, aren’t we?”
Nate almost did his usual “look down at his feet” move but stopped himself halfway and looked back at Mike. Mike continued to look at him, but, in the end, as Nate didn’t volunteer anything, he said quite quietly, “Be open, Nate. There’s not a lot left to be embarrassed about. I’ve seen you sobbing with regrets, you’ve told me things you probably haven’t ever put into words before. You know things about me not many other people in this world know, plus you’ve seen more of me than most other people have, so let’s just both open up and say what we need to.”
By slavebladeboi
Getting over his feelings of mortification, Nate slowly climbed out of bed. He pulled the cord and shut those window blinds completely. He knew they wouldn’t stay shut for long. He would soon open them and get some air in the place.
Glad that he didn’t have to face Mike again for at least a week, by which time he’d have determined exactly how much he was visible when standing at that window, he finished in the bathroom and pulled on a pair of shorts, another T shirt and some trainers. Once downstairs he collected Mike’s keys that were still on the floor in the hallway and let himself out.
It seemed strange being in Mike’s house alone. He carefully and quietly walked into all the rooms, all except one that is, although he did give the handle a turn to see if it was really locked. It was almost as though he wasn’t supposed to be there, as if he was a burglar making sure the house was empty. After his “tour” and gaining a bit more confidence, he opened the back door going out onto the rest of the garden and the garage. Letting himself into the garage, he stood looking at that dust sheet and what it covered. He longed to peep under it. He contained himself, for now.