This story is password protected for newsletter subscribers only.
Want to get in on the fun? Click the button below the password form to sign up for future newsletters.
Category: Gay romance (Page 1 of 3)
Last Night on Poundr
Zane and Micah lay tangled in the rumpled sheets of their Boystown loft, still sweat slicked and buzzing from the night before. The haze of cigarettes and cologne lingered in the air, commingling with the faint trace of poppers. A third body had once been part of the heap, some perfectly forgettable twunk named… Kyle? Keegan? Kian. Definitely Kian. But Kian had stumbled out sometime before dawn, leaving only a cock ring and a half-empty can of IPA on the windowsill.
Zane yawned, stretching his lean, tattooed arms. “Check your phone yet?”
Continue reading
The rectory was still, lit only by the faint golden spill from a desk lamp. Father Brad Whittaker sat at the edge of an old oak armchair, the burner phone hidden in his palm like contraband. The screen glowed in the dark, casting a blue light over his knuckles, which were white from the way he gripped it.
He scrolled an app he swore he’d delete after just one more look. Profiles, a mostly anonymous and faceless parade of torsos and gear, harnesses and collars, whipped past. One profile pinged.
Continue reading
Thom, a brooding American singer and songwriter, never expected to win Sweden’s national song contest and earn the right to represent them at Eurosong. With a stripped-down love ballad and zero choreography, he defied the odds and became a global glitch in the system. But SwedeTV wasn’t sure Europe would vote for him, so they’re not taking any chances.
Plunged into the surreal world of Europe’s largest televised music competition, Thom is renamed, re-costumed, and reprogrammed. His emotional song becomes an obscene, hypersexualized pop anthem. His guitar is replaced with flashy dance routines. His name becomes Toomas. His accent is rewritten. His bulge is enhanced.
What starts as minor “orientation” spirals into full-body reconditioning: vinyl suits, autotuned vocals, sensual compliance training, and eroticized surveillance. As the days count down to the Grand Final, Toomas must decide if he’s still Thom somewhere inside or if he’s just another bulge-suited product engineered for continental affection.
Darkly funny, disturbingly erotic, and piercingly satirical, Eurosong Protocol is a body-horror pop odyssey that asks: what’s left of you after fame finishes sculpting?
Eurosong Protocol is a 26,400-word novella. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.
Catch up on chapter 2 of “Eurosong protocol.“
The Voice Cage
Thom didn’t know what day it was anymore, but it had been at least a week since the suit. It hadn’t come off. It hadn’t even loosened.
He’d stopped trying to escape from it after the third day. With the collar locked in place and no zipper, it had been an exercise in futility. He showered in it. Slept in it. Woke up each morning to the same high-necked yellow gloss staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. When he dressed over it—SwedeTV-approved trousers and geometric pullovers—the suit made every layer sit too tight, too high. His skin no longer felt like skin. It felt like packaging.
And, of course, there was the bulge. Or what was left of it.
Continue readingCatch up on chapter 1 of “Eurosong protocol.“
The Measurement Room
The handler didn’t speak.
Nor had he the night before, when he delivered Thom to his new residence just past 23:00. He handed Thom a keycard without explanation and disappeared into the corridor like a shadow from a forgotten nightmare. This morning was no different. Tall, angular, and dressed in SwedeTV-standard black with white piping, he walked precisely five steps ahead of Thom, maintaining just enough distance to preempt conversation.
Thom had counted three right turns, one left, and then a ramp with no apparent descent before he gave up. The broadcaster’s headquarters were impossible to navigate—white on white, matte surfaces broken only by the occasional glowing icon pulsing on a wall panel. No signage, no windows. Even the lighting was unnatural.
Continue readingThe Winner
Tune in over the next several weeks as American folk singer Thom discovers what it really takes to represent Sweden on the biggest stage in Europe.
The carpet was too soft. Every step Thom took sank just slightly, like walking over memory foam. The corridor walls stretched too long and curved just enough that he couldn’t tell if they were leading him deeper or circling back. The production assistant hadn’t said a word since they’d left reception. The tall, expressionless man in a black polo shirt with the SwedeTV logo embroidered on his chest—no badge, no name—just pressed on.
Continue reading
Chapter 1: Caged Silence
The silence roared in my ears. The rubber hood amplified my pulse, the hiss of filtered air slipping in and out of the breathing tube, and the subtle, maddening sound of latex creaking as I shifted the barest fraction of an inch.
I was sealed in, encased from scalp to toe in black rubber, bent at the knees, and arms folded tight to my chest in the smooth, padded hollowness of a hidden chamber. Anyone glancing at it saw nothing more than a piece of designer furniture, a custom walnut bench beneath the living room window. Seamless, elegant, and dead silent.
Continue reading
Charlie once ruled boardrooms in sharp suits and sharper words, a self-assured executive with everything under control. Until Brian. Charismatic, calm, and unshakably dominant, Brian didn’t take Charlie’s control away. Charlie gave it to him.
What began as flirtation turned into a bond deeper, and darker, than Charlie ever imagined. From whispered rituals to permanent chastity, from obedience to objectification, Charlie’s descent is tender, terrifying, and utterly complete.
Now, stored beneath a polished wooden bench in the middle of a suburban living room, sealed in rubber and silence, Charlie listens to the man who owns him laugh with guests just inches away. He is no longer a partner, no longer a man. He is furniture, and he has never loved more completely. A devastating, slow-burn tale of erotic surrender and identity erasure, Stored is a haunting journey into submission, devotion, and the beauty of being unmade.
Stored is a 7,000-word short story. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.
Jack cradled the overloaded plate like it was fragile porcelain, even though it was just the same scratched-up dinnerware they’d used for years. Still, there was reverence in how he handled it, maybe because of what it carried. Balanced precariously beside a pastrami and Swiss sub the length of his forearm was a half-empty bag of kettle chips and a box of peanut butter cookies.
He was shirtless, his salt-and-pepper chest hair matted in patches from sweat, and the soft swell of his meaty pecs jiggled slightly with each step. His thighs pushed against the fabric of his lounge shorts, and the waistband dug just beneath the curve of his soft, furred gut. Warm, round, and lightly swaying, his belly brushed the counter’s edge as he pivoted toward the living room.
Continue reading