Tag Archives: slavebladeboi

Story

It’s Not Over Till I Say So – Part 02

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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”

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Story

It’s Not Over Till I Say So – Part 01

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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 →

Story

The Collective

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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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Story

Lockdown

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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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Story

Thief

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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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Story

Edge Failure — Chapter 03

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By Bikermike

Note: This is a story by Bikermike and slavebladeboi. For the first part by Bikermike, click here. For the second part by slavebladeboi, click here.

Edge Failure Aftermath – Chapter Three – by Bikermike

He pulled the duct tape from my mouth, removed the gag then released me from my wrist chains, one wrist at a time, then He unshackled my aching balls and held me as l sank to the floor, broken and spent.

‘There’s more to come boy,’ He said, ‘Now it’s my turn to come. Get up on your knees and work your tongue over my boots and up my legs, then you will fellate me slowly and properly until I ejaculate into your mouth. If you fail to satisfy me in any way you will feel this…,’ He brandished the now bloodied whip in His hand, ‘…across your arse!’

He must have seen my slight look of horror at the prospect of a further whipping so He said ‘I will fix your wrists and neck in rigid irons and control the speed of your fellating, so you will need to work your tongue to the best of your ability up and down my cock.’ He dropped the whip and left me kneeling while He walked over to the table and picked up a heavy looking rusty solid manacle, with provisions for the neck in the centre of the bar and wrist shackles at either end. At the prospect of once more being shackled immobile, my cock involuntarily hardened once again.

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Story

Edge Failure — Chapter 02

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Note: This is the continuation of a story that was started by Bikermike. For the first part, click here.

By slavebladeboi

Good single tailed whips are not cheap and this one was not even close to cheap. I was no expert in these things when I purchased my first one but took a deal of time to find out what I could and get advice from those who knew. I ended up with what I thought was the perfect beast. Actually beauty and beast. The craftsmanship was exquisite, perfectly balanced from end to end. I could grip it and feel the power running down its length, almost feel the pain it could unleash in the sub’s muscles or, if I wanted, the gentle kiss of the leather as it stroked the skin of whoever was tied stretched in front of me.

I stepped behind the boi, judging his reactions as he turned his head slightly to follow the sound of boots on concrete. I’d play him for a while, let him think it was all I had before showing him reality.

It took very little effort to bring the tip of the leather into contact with his shoulders, the merest arm position and wrist action. He winced, no noise. A few more and his breathing became more obvious but still no other noise from his throat. Small red lines began to appear on his summer tanned back, hardly noticeable really. I positioned my feet for a better balance and swung my arm. This time it made an impression. He obviously had decided to clamp his jaw shut but the Hmmmmph he made showed me that he was feeling more than the kisses he’d been given so far. A few more, I left about 20 seconds between each one.

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Story

Edge Failure — Chapter 01

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By Bikermike

I contemplated how I had failed as I hung there naked, my wrists in heavy metal shackles suspended from the ceiling; my balls stretched taut by a steel ring, connected to a chain attached to the floor. Thus, my body was fixed there in a tight X shape, my ankles being about three feet apart. There was to be no “stopword”, no release, just the enevitability of a severe beating. l was rock hard and awaited my fate.

I had failed the “edging” test: He had bet me, on the pain of a flogging, that I would ejaculate before an hour of His edgeplay had expired. I will narrate here more or less what happened.

We had met in a nearby bikers’ caff several weeks before. Somehow, our conversation had turned to sex, our fetishes and our perversions. I had confided that I liked man-man sadomasochism; fifty-fifty dom or sub. He told me that while he had “subbed” on a few occasions He considered Himself to be mainly a “top”. He certainly looked the part: He rode a Fireblade and wore a leather race suit that exactly matched the bike’s paintwork. As always, He sat outside the caff with His leathers undone down to His navel, exposing His muscled chest and occasionally allowing a glimpse of His pierced nipples. At six foot four, I somehow could not imagine Him ever “subbing” for anybody!

Continue reading Edge Failure — Chapter 01 →