Tag Archives: slavebladeboi

A boi’s Afternoon

By slavebladeboi

“So,” he said rather menacingly, looking straight into my eyes as he held my chin in his fist, “think of a number between one and twenty five.”

Shit, another mind fuck no doubt.

“Yes Sir,” I answered. “Six.”

What the fuck is he thinking now?

“Well done, boi. Good answer.”

Why. How’s that good?

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re getting 25 with the crop.”

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Real Estate

By slavebladeboi

Dan looked down over his real estate, or at least that’s what he called it. It measured a mere 5 foot 10 inches, had hazel eyes, light brown hair, 29 years old, and was moderately muscled in a healthy way rather than with a full-time gym membership.

At the moment it was lying on a bench that Dan had made specifically for the purpose. Good thick timber legs holding the 8-foot length at waist height, the bed of the bench being planks covered in a thick rubber layer with just enough “give” to show an indentation if you stuck your thumb into the surface. Sturdy leather straps held the limbs and body in more or less any position you wanted as long as what you wanted was either arms at the sides as if it were standing or outstretched as if it were being racked. This was enough choice for Dan.

The piece of furniture and its occupant were both reasonably new to the cellar in which they were situated, having been in one case made there, in the other brought there, just two weeks ago.

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Jaz and H

By slavebladeboi

Jaz opened his eyes, or at least thought he did. It made no difference to what he saw. The soft, cushioned leather blindfold stopped even the merest chink of light from penetrating his darkness. He felt around him as far as he was able to, being restrained in a somewhat loose spread eagle by wrists and ankles to the bondage bed with just enough wriggle room to prevent cramp setting in.

The restraints were expensive leather ones with the same sort of cushioning on their inside which held you tight without pinching or chafing, a bit like having four strong, warm hands holding you in position. He moved slightly and felt the contrast of the cool rubber surface of the bondage table as opposed to the hot sweaty area his body had made throughout last night.

The night? Was it now really morning? Jaz had no way of telling. Even without the blindfold the playroom could be pitch dark being, as it was, ten feet below the living room floor, the only daylight coming into it from the top of the stairs if someone had left the hall door ajar. He had slept, but for how long? They had played for what seemed like hours and hours, he and Harrison. H, as he liked to be called, had certainly demonstrated his expertise during that time. Jaz saw nothing and could protest little, the inflatable pecker gag putting paid to conversation that was more than a squeal, moan or swift noisy exhalation of breath.

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It’s Not Over Till I Say So – Part 02

By slavebladeboi

“FUCK YOU!”

“Probably” I said looking at his angry face.

“Just Fuck!”

I continued to look at him, red faced and pacing the room.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Greg thumped the table with a tight fist, sat down and then slumped forward with his head in his hands.

“I was thinking of the weeks living with you whining and pleading about wanting a no safe word scene.”

“I could have died in that bloody cellar. You….”

“Oh stop being so dramatic Greg. Of course you couldn’t have died in there. I spent over 9 hours watching you bitch and moan. Do you really think I didn’t know what was happening to you?”

“You’re a bloody sadist”

Continue reading It’s Not Over Till I Say So – Part 02

It’s Not Over Till I Say So – Part 01

By slavebladeboi

As my bondage goes it was reasonably simple. A collar, a length of chain and a few accessories. Of course, the devil, as they say, is in the detail.

The collar was solid steel, thick, heavy – it weighed several pounds and you certainly knew you were wearing it although several subs have told me afterwards they thought it was wearing them.

The chain was also steel and no light weight. It connected to the front of the collar and ran tightly straight down Greg’s chest, over the abs and connected to a ring round his cock, then to a 5lb ball stretcher weight, after which it forced its way between his ass cheeks where it kept the electro plug well and truly secured before returning with no slack whatsoever to the back of the collar. Quite near to the shoulder blades a couple of links ensured his wrist restraints could not move downwards and he had no desire to lift them, something of a physical impossibility anyway considering their position.

Oh, and a blindfold.

And that was that. I left his legs free to do as he wanted but eventually had to use a gag on him. Moaning and pleading can get tedious for the listener, even over the intercom.

Continue reading It’s Not Over Till I Say So – Part 01

The Collective

By Steellock and Slavebladeboi

He woke as the morning warm up exercise session started. As usual the strong grip of the rubber sleepsack was His first feeling, how His feet were tight up against the padded end of His Storage Box with the strap holing them firmly in place; the rubber sack, tight and restrictive up His legs gripping them together; He felt his hands in their custom mitts in the end of the arm sleeve, how last night He had pushed them through the narrow rubber wrist gap and each finger had slipped into its own little sleeve, His hand splayed out gripping His upper legs; the straps round him, one over His forearms tight enough to stop movement but not too tight to be intrusive; the top strap round His chest that just stopped any deep breathing so it’s effect on His body was always there.

He loved that strap. He opened his eyes but, of course, couldn’t see anything except the dark, black inside of the thick, padded hood that was padlocked round His neck. It’s three straps round His head also padlocked, two around his head at eye and mouth level and the third holding His jaw firmly shut. Just knowing the locks were there was such a thrill, He never grew tired of it! Hearing them click shut each night relaxed His mind. As He did every morning He tried to move his head and felt the tight grip of the ‘U’ shaped rubber ‘pillow’ that gripped him, holding His head still. He gave a quick heave of his body and – as always – got no movement.

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Lockdown

By Damian and slavebladeboi

I raised my head off the pillow and looked at him, still sleeping, about 6 inches from me. I suppose the movement, plus the sun which was now flooding the room, woke him as he slowly opened his eyes and grinned. Tanned face, perfect teeth, slight stubble yet, I thought, I ought to be cross.

“We need to talk.”

“Nooooo…” he ducked under the duvet and grabbed my cock giggling away like an idiot. I threw off the cover and pushed him over onto his back, straddled him and sat on his stomach, squashing his cock under my arse. Grabbing both his wrists, now that he’d given me a complete boner, I lowered my face to meet his and whispered

“You took a fucking risk.”

“But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Now I felt like a parent not knowing whether to scold his offspring for doing something daring and dangerous or praising him for achieving it.

“I could have lost you, you know that don’t you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t did you. And as we’re supposed to be locked down how else was I supposed to get here. It’s been almost three weeks.”

I looked into his blue grey twinkly eyes, lowered my face to meet his and kissed him deeply. Then I came to my senses again, sat up and looked him straight in the face.

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Thief

By slavebladeboi

He sat there, although there was very little else he could do in the circumstances. Right wrist cuffed to right ankle, left wrist cuffed to left ankle and a short metal rod between his ankles which meant he could roll onto his side but that was about all. When his back ached too much he pulled his knees up to his chest, when his legs needed a stretch he straightened them again as much as he could. The cycle repeated itself in shorter and shorter spaces of time. He’d had his clothes on at first but they came after a while, cut and tore his shirt off, laughed as they pissed on him, pushed him over onto the wet concrete where the puddles accumulated and left.

He’d more or less dried off when they returned. This time they rolled him over and began to cut off his jeans. He’d protested at this only to hear one of them sigh. The same one, when the cutting and tearing had ended with him now only wearing his 16 hole boots, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal spring loaded clamp. They forced his mouth open and fixed this to the end of his tongue making his protests noisier but less coherent. The final addition was a thin chain, one end fixed to the clamp, the other to the centre of the ankle bar. This pulled on his tongue relentlessly unless he pulled his ankles tightly to his body but even then it wasn’t enough to get it back into his mouth. And of course it made his legs ache even more.

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