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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 13

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Chapter 13: The Pit’s Prize

Latex Rises – Power Shifts

By Restrained4U

The pit growled, chains clinking.

Marcus lounged, jeans tight, boots scuffed. Jamie slumped, plugged, naked, twitching.

Leo gripped Ryan’s leash, cage pressing, chaps creaking. Ryan knelt, leather straining.

Marcus tossed the bag to Leo. “Your turn.”

Marcus tossed the black velvet bag to Leo. “Your turn,” he said. Leo caught it, fingers clawing. “My turn,” he growled, surf drawl sharp. He dug in, pulling a golden card. “Rewards card: take control of the game, new look, new you – reinvent yourself, gear up, own it,” – GOLD’S THRONE – stamped in white, Leo read.

Leo’s grip tightened, eyes blazing. “This is mine – out of this cage, dress the part to dominate Ryan, rule the pit,” he hissed, card shaking. He pictured himself in leather, boots, a Dom’s crown – unstoppable, commanding. “I’d be the badass and own this place,” he boasted, voice rising, cage straining.

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Story

The Prison Writer – Chapter 10

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By Joshua Ryan

Something woke me.  It was the bus slowing down as it took an exit.  There was nothing around but trees.  Tall pine trees.  I knew we’d been going north, but I didn’t realize how far we’d got.  This was the fucking forest primeval.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Junior was awake and looking out the window.  He nodded toward something coming into view.  It was a sign with an arrow pointing to the left.

MASKAWA

Ferry 12 m.

“Maskawa,” I said.  “That name sounds familiar…”

“Worst prison in the state,” he muttered.  He didn’t say it like “I don’t give a fuck.”  He said it like, “fuck, this is bad.”

Then I remembered.  Dean said that too.  He said it was the toughest prison in the state.  When he said I wouldn’t be sent there.

“Maybe we’re not stopping there,” I said.  “Maybe they’re taking us someplace else.”

“Ain’t no other joint up here.  Maskawa’s the end of the line.”

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Story

A boi’s Afternoon

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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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