By Greg Alexander
I was so scared I could have shit my pants. There I was, bound, gagged and completely helpless, at the mercy of a bunch of muscular frat jocks who at this moment had every reason to hate me, and every motive to extract their revenge. All I could do is crane my neck and stare up at them, a desperate pleading look in my eyes, as the row of pledges stared back at me, distinctly unforgiving smirks on each of their faces.
“Remember,” Trevor was saying to them, as they all looked down at me, none of them taking their eyes off of me, “the little shit bag has pictures on his hard drive of all of you naked, elephant walking around the basement of this fraternity. Little creep likes to sneak in here and take pictures of us late at night. Don’t ask me how. Now, pledges, it is up to us, the brothers of Delta Psi, to scare the cocksucker straight.”
The pledges were nodding enthusiastically at this.
Continue reading Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 8
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 yelled into the muzzle as he woke up, his muscles aching and his back spasming with pain. The restraints afforded him little movement and while he slept his muscles had locked. Despite his yells, little sound leaked out of the muzzle and didn’t disturb anyone outside the cell. He moved himself to a sitting position and stretched as much as the restraints allowed, staring at the blank wall and wondering what the time was. He thought it was the next day – but he had absolutely no idea. He also had no idea whether Morrison was actually coming back – he thought he would, but if he didn’t Clark would be exposed once the restraints were removed and his bondage ordeal would be over. But that would just be the start of another ordeal as his superiors explored how this had happened. They would go over his life with a fins tooth-comb as he would be suspected of being involved, and everything to do with Samuel would be discovered.
As he thought about it, he felt his cock rising and tenting the front of his trousers. Clark sighed. The bondage was arousing enough and he could reach his cock to give himself some relief. He was tempted to do it so that Morrison would have to pull on his trousers with Clarks sticky load inside, but he didn’t want to have to endure that himself. It had been bad enough when he had used the toilet on the day before – with his hands restrained in front of him he could just about work his trousers down far enough, but it took ages to pull them back up.
Continue reading Busman’s Holiday – Part 21
Unowned in NYC
It’s been over a month now since my sub became my gimp. While I’m on the job, or out with my buds, the excitement of knowing where he is and how he’s bound, and that he’s not moving until I got home, still keeps me hard through the better part of each day. But the intensity is lessening a little bit, week by week. It’s a relief for me, in a way, because my dick was getting chafed from stepping into the port-a-john to jerk off five or six times a day during those first couple weeks. The other guys had started razzing me about it — was I getting old man’s prostate? Going to jerk off again? If only they knew that’s exactly what I was doing.
That first week, the gimp was on my mind practically every second of every day. Horned up beyond belief, but tempered with a strong dose of concern. Maybe he’d overheat, or there’d be a fire or a gas leak at the house. Maybe he’d completely freak out and I’d come home to a zombie gimp, mentally broken beyond the point of what I wanted. Maybe some freak accident would clog up the air tube in his gag. The gimp and I had talked about all these dangers and more, in those last couple months leading up to his transformation. As far as he was concerned, the chances were so remote for any of these possibilities, that it was a no-brainer.
The potential risks were well worth the reward of him being allowed to truly live as my object. He didn’t have to twist my arm. I had just wanted to make absolutely sure he was aware of what he’d be getting himself into, and that he wasn’t off in a fantasy world, unaware of certain realities. By the time I’d decided I really wanted to do it with him, I wanted to be sure we weren’t going to get a few days or a few weeks into it just to have him try to get out of it or negotiate for something easier.
Continue reading Gimp Training, Week 5
After the article appeared, I was inundated with requests for television interviews. I also got requests from a number of people who were into choking guys. One of the ones who was interested in choking me also said that he was an agent for sports figures, and figured that I would have gotten requests for television appearances, and would want an agent to represent me. I decided to contact him before contacting anyone else.
He turned out to be a big burly guy. He told me a number of things. He said that I should start dressing and acting the part of my persona when I make public appearances. That made sense. He said my persona was of a young, somewhat smart-alecky guy who liked to have my clothes be tight around my neck. He said further that on seeing me, he could see that I was also good-looking, which would be a plus in television appearances, and also had a slim body, which could be highlighted with my clothes.
Since I had been in a tight canvas straitjacket, he recommended getting canvas shirts custom-made which had a collar that went up to the top of my neck and was smaller than my normal neck size. When he said that, I told him that I wasn’t turned on by having something going up that high on my neck, that I was turned on by being choked. He replied that it didn’t matter, that my public persona was of someone who would wear clothes like that, and that is what the public expected.
Continue reading In a Romanian Insane Asylum – Part 2
The scream echoed through the cell. Even from behind the muzzle it was loud or at least I thought it was. As I was in a dark cell, isolated with hard walls where the sound bounced around, anything that had a level of volume to it seemed louder. Then again, the pain I was in so quickly from this compression position was more than intense.
At first the immediate concern was breathing. John and Dan did a first-rate job of making sure my knees were as tight against my chest as they possibly could be with the ankles pulled in just as tight. My ability for lung expansion was labored, at best. Being in complete darkness didn’t help. Without sight the head can only focus on touch and the other senses. They become magnified. Like the scream, the sound of air inhaling and exhaling when it’s the entire focus of your existence takes on a completely higher status.
Being chained off and head held up also meant little to no body movement of any kind along with the compression position. Muscles throughout my body were aching quickly.
Continue reading 10 Days in Detention – Part 19
The stories she told were chilling. I was a budding investigative reporter, hoping to find a story to make my mark in the world. My boss knew this, and invited me to hear this woman’s stories. She lived in Romania, and was visiting in this country. She was telling us about how their ruler, Ceaucescu, would use insane asylums to house meddlesome dissidents, and the terrible things they would do to such people.
I was young, still in college. My parents had emigrated to the U.S. from Romania, and they spoke Romanian at home, so I was fluent in the language. I would be a natural for the job of doing a report from inside one of these hell holes. But it would obviously be a very dangerous assignment. The lady said that if I could get into Romania, she could get me the necessary papers as a resident student. My boss left the decision up to me as to whether to do this assignment.
I thought about it, thought about the stories the lady told, and decided I would do it. The paper would back me. I had to start planning everything quickly. The lady would be returning home in a week. She knew the people there who were leading the opposition to the ruler, and would put me in touch with them when I arrived in the country.
Continue reading In a Romanian Insane Asylum – Part 1
By Chain Slave
Once I was strapped down on the table, Basher asked Steve what he wanted to have done on me. I thought about begging Steve not to, but he must have read my mind as he grabbed a big open-mouth gagg and stuffed it between my teeth and locked it in place. He pulled out a used tattoo stencil, the letters were about 4 inches tall and bold — “SLAVE.” I tried to scream, but drool was pouring from my mouth. Before I knew it Basher was getting to work and placed the stencil between my shoulders. It did not take long and the deed was done.
Basher looked at his work and asked Steve about payment. Steve got an evil grin and said, “OK, you can use him till the morning, just make sure he is in his leathers at the station in the morning.”
Basher loosened the straps holding me down and cuffed me tightly before dragging me outside, still gagged, and lifted me into his pickup and drove off.
Continue reading The New Cadet – Chapter 4