Two vicious Masters unite to damage this feeble sub. Derek and Edward find their sub alone and naked and scream abuse at him and order him to suck Master Edward’s hardening dick. With a belt in hand, Master Derek threatens the worm and then has the runt lick clean the stinking arsehole of his mate.
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By ty dehner
I found the dirt parking area off the wooded road and pulled off as I was instructed to. I sat for a few minutes to catch my breath and think about what I was about to do this afternoon. Alex and I had talked over time either via the internet or on the phone. We were both interested in gear and all the fun stuff one does in it. We also both got into very intense scenes that few would actually do. After viewing his Tumblr page I was surprised how far he wanted to go. I asked him about it, and he became very open and pushed for me to be where I am, parked on the side of a lonely road out in the woods. He also has me in my football uniform that I got from the local NFL team.
As I start to think what might happen, my cock stirs in the cup that is under the UA shorts and pads of my blue football pants. The socks and cleats match it all with my jersey tucked in. I am in a long-sleeved black UA shirt that is under my jersey and the full heavy lineman gloves. Alex is really into football gear, and he wanted me to start off in the right mindset. The only things missing are the full shoulder pads and helmet. But he knew that would be difficult to drive in.
Opening the door, my cleats step into the muddy ground as it rained earlier. He had instructed me to put my wallet and keys in a plastic bag and duct tape it to the back wheel well. It was a crazy move as I ripped a piece of tape and covered the plastic bag. As I reached into the back wheel well I heard a motorcycle. Looking up, I saw the hottest dude in full leathers and helmet ride by. I hope he hadn’t seen what I was doing. If he did he didn’t stop. He continued down the road.
Continue reading Things Change
My roommate Zack and I, just before he moved back to the midwest to a different college, used to hang in the living room, drinking sherry (of all things) and shooting craps. We were way into it, and would have some fierce, marathon games, sometimes lasting until dawn. We sorta played by Hoyle, but some rules we made up as we went along. We were very competitive, really rubbed it in when the other guy lost. Zack was especially sadistic when I lost, calling me a wuss and a loser and stuff. We played with stacks of nickels, and the game was over when one guy won all the other guy’s nickels.
Now, Zack is very ticklish, but only his armpits. He is a muscular, wiry guy, 5’8″, 150#’s, smooth, clean-shaven, real handsome, with several tats. Very tough, hot, macho little 24 y.o. dude. Smooth, muscular chest, light wisps of blond hair in his armpits. Hated being tickled. No, I mean really HATED it. Used to tell me horror stories about his baby-sitter tying him up with electrical cord and tickling him until he pissed himself. Also, about his mother and older sister pinning him down with his arms over his head and tickling his armpits until he was screaming and crying. I listened to his stories with mock dread, and always seemed to feel sorry for him. So, yeah, I knew he was ticklish. And I knew he hated it.
But I also knew what a prick he was when I lost to him at craps.
Continue reading Roommate Tickle Wager: Craps You Lose
The prisoner sits, chained to the cold wet room floor, his breath slowed by the gas mask as Sir warms up his balls with the toe of his boot. As the prisoner begins to jack off, Sir fills the gas mask hose, narrowing the air passage and filling the prisoner’s airway with the aroma. The prisoner masturbates furiously as Sir crushes his balls with his boot.
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By ty dehner
In a flash, I was face down in the heavy, creamy mud! I could still breathe thanks to the gaps in the helmet that protected my head, but I could feel the wetness of the mud soaking my lightweight jersey. As I recovered from the shock of being dumped, I started to struggle to right myself to get my face out of the mud. But the more I struggled, the more I seem to sink into it. I totally forgot about my Master and his truck, so I paused for a moment and I didn’t hear anything. Did he drive off and just leave me to worm my way in the muck?
I could feel the mud making its way into my helmet, and if I didn’t roll over I would end up suffocating in this stuff. There was nothing firm to grab onto with my bound hands, so it was really difficult to move. My heavy boots worked as they could but were bound together with the tape. I know the mud is caking on my new gear, and I could feel it soaking now into my pants and gloves. The goggles were covered with mud, so I couldn’t see anything. I tried reaching down with my hands deep into the mud but didn’t find a bottom. This really freaked me out, for I could end up sinking into this never to be seen again.
I tried with all my might and got myself shifted on my side. Raising my hands, I wiped some of the mud from the goggles so I could see. It wasn’t a clear view, but I could see the building under construction just beyond me. As I rolled over my legs went deeper into the mud, allowing me to bend at my waist a bit, but when I tried pulling my legs up they were stuck. I would not be getting out on my own. I turned, looking for Master, and found him not far. He was standing on the tailgate of the truck that was only a few feet from me. He yelled my name, and I looked up at him in his USMC desert ACUs and he had his cock out. The first splash of his piss struck the top of my helmet and ran down, mixing with the mud.
Continue reading New Gear – Part 2
At Iron Lockup, a new prisoner is welcomed to the facility with a full cavity search by Sir Pan as he goes through intake. The Prisoner is then pissed on in the pit where he is left to edge himself and cool down until removed by Sir Pan and placed in his cell to await the next scene and consider what he has gotten himself into.
Here are the surveillance pictures:
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Clark stared straight ahead at the clock – not that he had much choice. The collar of the helmet was rigidly locked in place, and the helmet was so tight around his head that he couldn’t move inside it. Vickers had left the room in darkness except for the spotlight on the box and a smaller one illuminating a clock face opposite Clark. Apart from closing his eyes, Clark had no choice but to watch the clock slowly counting down the minutes.
The hands of the clock seemed to move like someone wading through tar. By the time Clark had been in there for 15 minutes, it felt like far longer. Already he knew he was in trouble. With his arms locked behind him, his muscles were cramping painfully. His heavy biceps and shoulders worked against him and made the bondage more secure. He tried to move, but he could do little but twitch inside the box. The chains restraining his chest and waist were heavy and solid, and he couldn’t move them an inch. His legs were locked securely in place, and their positioning meant that his back and arse were forced further into the rubber of the chair. He couldn’t even wiggle his arse, as the rubber tube that had been pushed up inside him was also solidly in place.
Continue reading Busman’s Holiday – Part 08