Hour after hour Alex turned the generator handle in total darkness; sensorily deprived except for jolts of electricity surging through his balls, some tickling and some agonising depending upon the voltage being produced. Throughout this torment he was aware that his cock for the most part remained rock hard. The more he thought about his situation the more it appealed: his was now a life of abject sex slavery, having to satisfy three brutal masters as and when they desired.
He even found the prospect of being severely beaten this evening exciting, as were the not-so-tickling belts of current that his genitals were suffering every few minutes. How much more physical abuse could his body and mind take? His sexual appetite seemed insatiable.
The more he thought, the slower he turned the generator handle until Zapppp! He grunted as the electricity fried his balls. More electricity…more zapps…more…He roared as he orgasmed once again, followed by a very short period of euphoria until he sensed his cock hardening once again.
Continue reading Raptor – Chapter 4
Note: This story originally appeared on the RubberZone site. It is re-posted here with permission.
Matt instantly pushed his tongue past his lips and deep into his roommate’s asshole, probing, licking, sucking, worshipping. This wasn’t how Matt would have spent a Thursday evening just two weeks ago. But now, in twelve short – correction – twelve long days, it had become routine. Expected. His life.
Matt was lying in the middle of his living room floor. At least, he thought that was where he was. He hadn’t actually been allowed to see anything while inside his own house for five days now. But if his bearings were right, he was lying on the floor between the couch and the T.V., tightly enveloped in a snug rubber sleepsack and hood. As had become the practice, his roommate had ensured that every hole in Matt’s body was properly controlled – plugged, catheterized, covered or stuffed. His ass was firmly plugged by an electro-butt plug, his piss-hole was controlled with a catheter sunk deep into his bladder, his ears were filled with effective plugs, his eyes were covered by the rubber hood and his nostrils were filled with the hood’s rubber breathing tubes.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 1
Don’t let anyone tell you that life as a slave trader is easy. As with any other business there are challenges and I discovered one of many, very early in my slave trading career.
My clients, as I’ve said, spend a great deal of money with me and expect perfection. Unfortunately, “perfection” is often in the eyes of the beholder and although I always do my best to interpret my client’s briefs, it’s a sad fact that many of the slaves we procure just don’t appeal to the customers. Think about it this way, you can have a pair of twins standing in front of you and, although they are near enough identical, one will always appeal to you more than the other. Every new intake requires client approval before training begins. This way we don’t waste money on training if the client rejects them.
Marco is one such reject. The client ordered an Italian (with accent), early twenties, gym bunny, low BMI, cocky, ladies’ man, the type to play soccer with the lads on the weekend and bang his girlfriend at least twice a day. The cock was specified to be thick and at least 10 inches long when hard. The testes had to be tough and low hanging as the client enjoys ball busting.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 06
By Hotch Rider
With Jack’s command, I got out of the glass-walled room into what looked like an old storage facility. It wasn’t terribly large, maybe 60 feet across in both dimensions. There were lockers, hangers and cages all around the room and they were filled with your typical dungeon equipment: whips, chains, cuffs, gags, hoods, dildos, rope and then some. The floor was polished concrete and there were windows at the ceiling, which was almost 20 feet high. It smelled of fresh leather.
“Walk to the middle and face me.”
He was watching me take it all in. I knew he could see my mouth hanging open and cock twitching. I walked toward the middle of the room, where there was a yellow circle with a drain in the middle the size of a manhole cover. I stood on it and faced the man.
Continue reading Never Done This Before – Part 3
When his alarm clock went off, Davis batted at it with one hand and rolled out of bed. He put his head in his hands as it pounded with a headache caused by lack of sleep. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he did last night. He knew he had had an appointment, he knew he had been drinking, but he couldn’t remember where or who with. He sat on the end of his bed and then with a deep breath stood up. His cock was bobbing before him with his usual morning wood, held up and in place by the studded leather cock and ball strap.
He walked to the shower and removed the strap and left it on the side as he stepped into the stream of hot water and lathered himself all over. As he soaped up his hairy body, he enjoyed the feel of his hands running over his muscles. They were clearly growing and he flexed experimentally, enjoying the way they bulged and moved under his hands. His cock enjoyed it too, and with a few lathery strokes, he soon shot a load of cum against the shower wall. He grunted with pleasure and finished his shower. After he towelled dry, he grabbed the cock and ball strap and strapped it back in place, locking his cock into its semi-proud state.
Continue reading Training the Sergeant – Part 5
By Tommy Guns
Because I was so tired from the previous night’s action, it wasn’t long before I drifted off into a restless sleep. I woke up several times with residual pain in my ass, and a desperate need to take a dump and a whiz. I don’t know how long I was out, but it must have been several hours. It was completely dark in the bedroom the first time I awoke. My best guess is that I had been locked in the stocks for about eight hours. I thought, indeed hoped, that Richie would be back soon, but he didn’t come back until just after I saw light creeping through the curtains on the bedroom window. I realized I’d been in the stocks for at least 18 hours.
I had long given up any idea of being able to hold off relieving my bladder, and I just pissed into the cod jock and let it flow wherever gravity would take it. I would have taken a dump if I could, and tried to force the butt plug out at least a little to allow the release of some built up gas and shit. But it was too firmly planted and I was really beginning to experience severe spasms of pain in my gut. To make matters worse, there had been quite a bit of seepage around the butt plug. I could feel and smell the odor of dried shit on both of my inner thighs. There was absolutely nothing erotic about my situation, just the sense of hopelessness, along with a total and inescapable loss of control.
Continue reading Billy and Me – Part 6
By Joshua Ryan
The executive lounge is on the top floor of the Freer Building. It’s very comfortable. There’s even a deck outside where you can catch a few rays or look at the stars if you’re working late. It was a good view, but not many people stepped outside to enjoy it. Like Peter said, how much ass can you scope in an industrial park? And at breaks, everybody sort of expected you to keep with your group. There was one guy who stayed in his cube and read, and he was regarded as totally antisocial. I didn’t have enough guts to do that. But I was tired of Peter and his stupid jokes. So I started using the deck.
I knew he’d be watching out of the corner of his eye, so at first I just strolled around, glancing over the railing at this and that. But then I looked for what I really wanted to see. Down below, at the edge of Phase Two, the convicts were moving closer. Already the pile of rocks had come about a third of the way along the fence. The cons in the harnesses pulled the bin across the field, and the cons on the chain pulled out the rocks and laid them in line. Then you could see what looked like guys with hammers, going after the rocks to get them in shape.
“Making little ones out of big ones,” Peter said, on the one day when he surprised me by leaving the group and coming out on the deck. “Same thing that an old queer does when he’s naked.”
Continue reading The Convict – Part 03
Several weeks passed. Clark found himself surfing more and more and built up quite a collection of photographs of men in severe steel bondage. At night, he often lay in bed, thinking of how it had felt to be helpless in restraint – and of Vickers and his threat (promise?) of a longer test next time. He still approached his work in the same way, though several times he found himself ruminatively running his hands over the sets of prisoner transport chains and wishing they were heavier. On one of these occasions he caught Morrison watching him, and vented his frustration by slamming his baton across the back of Morrison’s knees several times as he escorted him back to his cell.
He had almost given up on Vickers, when he received an email from Arcturus35. It was short, with an attachment. “Interested?” The attachment was a picture of a metal yoke laid out on what Clark recognised as Vickers’ carpet. Clark had seen yokes before, but they did not interest him. The originals were basically a carved wooden bar that went across the back of someone’s neck. Chains or leather straps then secured their neck and hands to the yoke, with the hands stretched out at least 1 foot from the neck. The idea was to keep the person helpless, while still able to move around – and in some cases be used to drag carts or ploughs. Modern versions all seemed to be made of very thin steel. To Clark, they looked more cosmetic than anything else and not for a collector like himself.
Continue reading Busman’s Holiday – Part 03