As it turns out, by the time I’d slurped my coffee, sent a few emails, made a few phone calls, collapsed in front of the television to relax, and relaxed a bit too much and fell asleep, I left fuck-face being tortured by the unsympathetic computer somewhat longer than I’d planned.
I awake with a start. Checking my watch, I realise that fuck-face has been tormented by the tireless machine for a full nine and a half hours. “Oops!” I say out loud. “Guess I should have set an alarm. The scally-lad will be well-done by now; charred around the edges I expect.” I smile.
Rubbing the sleep from the corner of my eyes, I muscle myself out of the too-soft sofa, and stroll back to the rack-room.
Not quite sure what to expect, I tentatively open the door, enough to squeeze my head into the room to assess the damage. First impression is of an overwhelming smell of sex, testosterone and musty sweat. I open the door enough to step through and hesitantly step towards the prisoner’s prone body.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 13
By Greg Alexander
The brothers of Delta Psi were out, and they were getting hammered.
Trevor was downing his 6th beer of the night, and compared to most of the other guys, he was taking it easy. Across the table from him, Hank, his face flush with red under his Stetson, was gulping down another pint of Guinness. Collin and Reid were grinning and slamming their glasses together forcefully as they gulped down their Logger’s ale. Bryce, for his part, was doing shots of vodka, and although the bottle of absolut in front of him was more empty than full, he seemed only mildly affected. Wes and Shane were the only two pledges who had been invited along. Wes was downing shots with Bryce, trying to keep up, and obviously not succeeding, he was already completely smashed. Shane was sitting next to Trevor and tapping his flip-flop to the beat of the background music in the bar. He had also had his fair share of shots, and his tongue was loose.
They were at Dirty Nick’s, the frat’s favorite hangout. Midterms were finally over, and nobody in the frat had seen their GPA so low that they were in danger of being kicked off any of their teams. It was reason enough to celebrate.
Continue reading Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 11
By Tommy Guns
I was on my daily run, wearing nothing but a pair of red nylon jogging shorts and tennis shoes, when a panel van first passed me and then turned abruptly to block my path. Two guys jumped out of the side door and tackled me. They forced me to the ground and handcuffed my wrists behind my back. I tried to kick out at them, but they quickly snapped a set of short chain leg irons on my ankles.
They then lifted me roughly shoved me into the van. Next they forced a penis shaped rubber gag into my mouth, fastening it with a strap behind my neck. A leather hood was pulled over my head and was laced tightly behind it, and a locking collar was fastened over it to keep it in place. They then forced me on to my stomach and attached a short chain from the leg irons to the chain between the handcuffs. The final assault was when they cut off my shorts and shoved what I could only guess was a huge butt plug up my ass I would have gasped out a scream of incredible pain, but all that escaped my gag was a muffled and unintelligible sort of grunt. I was hogtied and could neither speak nor move a muscle, and my asshole was on fire. Resistance was futile.
Continue reading Billy and Me – Part 1
Defile (transitive verb) to befoul; to pollute or corrupt; to violate (Chambers 20th Century Dictionary 1983 edition)
I walked round, assessing what needed to be done. How long would it take? What instruments would I need?
I gave a few prods and punches to the object hanging there in the middle of the room. I suppose it could be described as a perfect specimen of masculinity, secured by chains from its wrists to an electric winch attached to a beam across the ceiling. It was naked except for a tiny pair of red lycra shorts that left very little to one’s imagination: if its penis became erect the shorts would be of little use as far as modesty was concerned.
This boy (for that’s what he was) was, I suppose about twenty five, six feet four with a swarthy complexion, zero crop hair and with about a week’s beard growth on his face. He also looked as though he had spent every day for the last eight years in the gym.
Continue reading To Defile
Clark stared at the computer in disbelief. Grumbling, he headed into the shower and started to lather himself down. He could barely believe what had happened to him – or what Vickers had made happen to him. He was abused, violated – and yet, on top of it all, he was still horny. A pain from his crotch reminded him of the cage still on him – a pain caused by his cock trying to get erect. He smiled ruefully as he realised that he had enjoyed the experience.
As he stood in front of the mirror towelling off, he looked at himself. His new haircut looked strange, but combined with his clean-shaven chin made him look 10 years younger. His body looked off without his covering of hair, but it gleamed and shone as he towelled down, and he wondered what it had looked like with the posing oil on. As he thought this through, his cock swelled again in the cuff, and he looked down, wondering what it would look like now that his pubic hair was gone. His muscles still held the marks of the harness chains, and there were red marks all over him from the bondage. Although he hadn’t been doing any exercise he ached, and with a towel wrapped around him he went back into his room and crashed out on the bed.
Continue reading Busman’s Holiday – Part 20