Fetish + BDSM Fiction

Enslaved as a Urinal (a daydream without an ending yet) by amam9000 For those curious, I haven’t given up on the Wrath of the Frat story, but these take a lot of time to write properly, and I may not get around to the next entry for awhile. That’s also part of why this is only half a story – it’s all I have time for right now. (This is also a little milder than what I usually write.) The other reason that its only half of a story because my trip isn’t until next week, and who knows how this might turn out? :) ---- I had a little time to kill. I had a conference in San Francisco later that week, but had flown in a few days early to give myself a small break from work. And now I was wandering around taking a look through the bondage district out of curiosity. (I’m sure it wasn’t actually called that, but I’d already nicknamed it in my mind.) I’d never been in a leather shop before—they’re not exactly common in southern Indiana—and I decided to take a look around. I’d seen a lot of these ...

by: grovelslave Jack was fed up with His ‘slave’. It had started well as Master/slave relationships tend to do but the old problem of monotony and ‘i’m too tired tonight to be a slave’ had become all too familiar. Plus, in the early stages, there had been hints of being up for ‘darker action’, which would be ‘only a matter of time’ that were now seemingly forgotten and abandoned. Jack had made no secret of His desire for scat action as being fundamental to Him and the slave had promised that it was into all of that too but that the time had to be exactly right, the mood right, the sub head space right, the moon in its proper phase and the stars aligned most likely, for any of that to take place. The greatest danger of all was that Jack found His dominance being slowly drained out of Him. The slave now was calling the tune. OK, not exactly with regard to what happened within a session but definitely WHEN that session would take place and essentially, what would go on in it, too. The sla...

Part 8 Tyler and Brown Hair were just moments away from trying to round up another one of their frat brothers to make use of the contraption that they had locked me in, when this guy walked right into the bathroom from the hall. I couldn’t turn my head to look directly at him, but I could kind of see him from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t an imposing guy – maybe 5’8” with short blond hair and an athlete’s build, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt with the school’s name on it, still wearing a grey and neon green Under Armour backpack as though he had just gotten home from somewhere. Probably somewhere around 19 years old. Half the guys in the room let out an excited “hey!” while the other guys greeting him with “Ben!” which I guess was his name. “What the fuck is that?” Ben asked pointing at me. “He looks like a freaking duck.” The guys all laughed and Ryan explained again what it was and how it worked. “You gotta go?” Ryan asked him. “He’s still got another two hours and ten minute...