Category: R.J. Ridge

Learning to Pup (Waggy Tails #1)

Young man Max has recently moved into Phil's apartment complex and he loves helping out his new boss. Phil knows Max's true self, that he's a pup at heart. One day on a walk in the hills, Phil helps Max embrace his pup-self, running around on all fours and acting just like an eager pup should do on a walk. Phil buys Max his first pieces of pup gear, and pup and his Handler have their first play time together where Max is learning the ropes of how to pup.

Learning to Pup is a 6,700 word short story.

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Puppy Max prided himself on being a very good boy. Like all puppies, he loved to run around, he loved to paw at things, to sniff things, and of course, play with his owner, Handler Phil. Puppy Max was quite new to being a pup. In human years, Puppy Max had just turned twenty-one. Handler Phil liked to say Max still had a lot of growing to do. He was quite short, about five foot eight inches, and light enough that Handler Phil could easily scoop Max up in his arms when it was time for a bath, or to get put to bed.

Although he was twenty-one in human years, Handler Phil liked to say Puppy Max was only three in doggy years. But the truth was Puppy Max was even younger than that. About six months. That’s how long he had been a puppy for. Not only did Puppy Max have a lot of growing to do, he also had a lot to learn about being a pup.

Max had been a stray pup. He’d been left behind by those people who were supposed to care for him, and not treated very well when they did remember he existed. That was back in the country, with its open roads and endless fields. Lots of places for young Max to get lost in, but it was lonely being the pup no one wanted. So, Max had run away to the big city. He’d lived in alleys among the cats of the big city, but at heart, he was a pup who just wanted a loving home, and someone to love him in return.

By chance, Max had stumbled into Handler Phil’s life. Handler Phil owned and ran an apartment complex downtown. It was nice and modern with a pool and a gym for guests who would stay a week or two, sometimes a month or two. Max had stumbled into Handler Phil’s open office door one day. He’d been following a help wanted sign, but Handler Phil had known in an instant Max was truly a Puppy. Like many pups without homes and handlers without pups, they were quickly drawn to each other. For instance, Puppy Max’s pup-tail had instantly grown stiff the moment he saw Handler Phil. Like at the pound, in that brief interview in the office, Phil had seen how excited Max’s pup-tail was, he practically wagging it at the thought Handler Phil might take him home.

But Handler Phil was a good man. Although he knew Max was a pup, he also believed pup’s had rights and should have independent lives. Handler Phil offered Puppy Max a deal. It was hard to run a twenty-apartment complex by himself. He needed some help. He needed a pup who could sniff out bad people, clean up the crumbs left by the other guests, and, one day, grow from a pup into a fully-fledged guard dog. Maybe in the future with some pups of his own.

Handler Phil gave Puppy Max his own apartment in the complex, on the ground floor near the gate and the pool. That was so Puppy Max could learn to keep a watch out for intruders and bark at them if needed, while Handler Phil was back in his office or asleep in his penthouse apartment. They called Max’s apartment the kennel. It was the smallest of all of them, but pretty. It had a lot of light, a kitchen, a bedroom, a playroom and all the amenities a puppy could want in his very own kennel. Not to mention it didn’t cost Max anything, and Handler Phil paid Max a wage for his services cleaning the common areas, the apartment, and keeping an eye on the guests when Handler Phil was out on business.

Soon after they’d found each other, Handler Phil bought Puppy Max his very first puppy hood. Max didn’t know what it was when the wrapped-up gift was on his doorstep. He found it with a note which said: Come and play?

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Bottoming for the Enemy (Highly Classified #1)

A former British army officer recounts his past experiences of sex in the military. In this story, he recalls a situation in the early 90s when their base in Germany hosted a delegation of Russian forces, and he was required to keep a couple of horny Russian teens entertained… and satisfied.

Bottoming for the Enemy is a 7,000-word short story.

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Fyodor’s soapy hand was suddenly around my cock. It was small, I had not been hard like the other two, but that ended in a matter of seconds. He smiled, but blankly, as if this was just a thing he did to all his comrades, jerking them off. But fuck, it felt good. Sasha, meanwhile, was actually at the entrance, keeping a look out.

“Don’t worry,” I called over. “No one is coming here at this time of day.”

He came back, and Fyodor had got to his knees under the running water and was happily sucking my dick.

“Fuck,” I said, unsure if to hold the back of his head or do anything else but watch him as he gripped the base of my penis and worked his mouth from shaft to tip. In my couple of years in the army thus far, I had sucked a fair few dicks. Been fucked by a number as well. Always secretly, always after extensive surveys of quiet bathroom blocks, long, tired nights of cruising, and often shaken heads and men turning away from me as I offered my mouth or ass for them to use once or again.

I had not been sucked in the army, at least not on base. And perhaps not since my ill-fated night out in Berlin several months ago, when a blowjob from a young German I’d met at a gay bar that I’d dumped my mates to sneak off to, had ended when a drunken mob of those same mates had clattered into the back street we’d been in and had nearly caught me getting my dick sucked.

“Fuck me that’s good.” Sasha was standing beside me now, starting to run a hand over my chest, down my abdomen, then around to my ass and squeezing each cheek. I kept my hands on my hips as I thrust into Fyodor’s willing mouth, careful not to push too far and choke the poor lad, but enough that I could feel a rising from my balls.

Sasha’s cock looked just as delicious and large as the one now resting on the tile between Fyodor’s legs. I broke an invisible barrier and reached out to touch it, wrapping my hand around a hefty, white shaft, smooth and polished and uncircumcised. Most Brits were not either, while most Americans were. For some reason I was, and the extra skin fascinated me. I slid back the foreskin around his cock as he grinned in appreciation. My natural instinct with a cock in my hand was to lean down and put it in my mouth. But something about these boys felt different. Fyodor at least seemed determined to get the entirety of my chubby seven inches all the way down his thin throat. His Adam's apple pulsed as the tip of my dick caused him to choke.

I wondered what Adam’s apple would be in Russian. But only for a moment. Sasha’s dick was standing straight out, the skin twisting and twirling at the tip, and I leaned over to gulp it down to my Adam’s apple. 

A deep, Russian groan emanated out of his throat as I sucked from the odd angle of being sucked at the same time. A few words of Russian came from Sasha, directed at Fyodor, while Sasha’s hand fingered down to my ass. The vaguely familiar feeling of fingers exploring the gap between my cheeks, then the roundness of my hole. Much like the guns on base, they were fingered regularly, but hoisting it up and firing a shot was another matter.

Sasha seemed determined to make a bullseye hit. One wet finger breached the outer rim of my body as Fyodor popped off from my dick, still holding it, and replied to Sasha: “Da.

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Selling My Teen Boyfriend’s Virginity (Locker Room Daddies #3)

Frankie and Alejandro are on the run after a horrific evening with Alejandro's father. But Frankie has a plan to get these two teens off the street: he's going to manipulate the daddies at the local gym. But it seems the daddies have their own ideas for the boys, whether they like it or not.

Selling My Teen Boyfriend's Virginity is a 16,000-word short story

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“First thing’s first,” Harlan said, happily looking down his bespeckled nose at both of us. One leg was crossed against the other, dancing gently as if our lives weren’t in the balance. “I am to be addressed as Sir at all times. Understood? As is any gentleman who accompanies me.”

“Yes…Sir,” said Alejandro, gulping out the salutation like he’d never said such a thing in his life. 

I just nodded. 

“Wonderful. Now boys, on your knees.” Alejandro glanced my way, unsure what to do even though I’d dropped to one knee already.” 

A flash of anger cut through Harlan. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the carpeted floor. “Rule two. Do as I say, when I say it!”

That was enough for Alejandro to sail straight down. We knelt, hands behind our backs. Execution style. 

“Good. Now I can see you boys properly.” Harlan peered through the glasses on the end of his nose. 

Alejandro looked as uncomfortable as I’d ever seen him. So obviously on display. 

“Lift your arms, son,” Jon said to Alejandro, sliding to the edge of his chair. 

Alejandro did so, quietly gulping at the same time. His biceps were on full display. The muscled shield of his chest and armor-plated pecs flexing with the movements. 

“Very nice,” Harlan said, looking genuinely pleased. Alejandro smiled and started to lower his arms.

“Keep them up!” Jon snapped. “When did you first have hair under your arms?”

“Um…I’m not sure. Thirteen, fourteen?” 

“Uh huh.” Jon was already on his feet, holding one of Alejandro’s arms up like a catch of the day.

“That tickles!” Alejandro squirmed as Jon poked at both of his pits. He drew two fingers under his own nose, sniffing in Alejandro’s scent. Then he offered a snifter of his fingers to Harlan, who nodded approvingly. Abdul was next to join in the strange ritual. He wandered over but didn’t bother with Jon’s fingers. He yanked up Alejandro’s arm and took a deep sniff of the hairy armpit himself. 

I quickly took a sniff of my own pits, feeling a tad left out. The men ignored me. They were too busy admiring Alejandro from every angle. 

“Penis, please boys. Both of you.” Harlan said it like a school principal demanding the key to a naughty boy’s locker. 

Jon and Abdul both stood waiting with all seriousness, arms folded. This was the part Alejandro had clearly been dreading. 

I offered a quick half smile and took the lead. I was the opposite of hard. I yanked down my shorts and underwear to my thighs, then pulled up the tank top I always worked out in, holding it under my chin.

The men rubbed their chins as they stared at my exposed body. My cock as soft and flaccid as someone waiting to be prodded by a doctor. I’d shaved only a few days before, so my dick sat beneath bare skin, not even flopping between my thighs, just there like a button on an espresso machine. 

It was Abdul who came forward. He squatted down in the manner of a father about to tell off a tantrum-prone child. His big, brown, hairy hand reached out, a gold sovereign around his pinky. He held my balls in his hand, gently fondling like this was a physical. I shivered in a breath as one ball was squeezed, then the second, then the sac tugged on. I expected to have to cough next.

“Turn head and cough,” Abdul said. 

“Seriously?” But a cold look stopped me in my tracks. I glanced away from Alejandro and forced out a dry cough. Satisfied, Abdul glanced over my shoulder at my bare buttocks. He reached around and cupped each smooth cheek, forcing me to suck in a noseful of dark-skinned scent. Black tea and desert sun. Mint and natural musk. I felt my dick get harder. Not much, but enough to not be utterly embarrassed. I knew what was coming next.

“Alejandro,” Harlan said. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Abdul took the liberty before Alejandro could move a muscle. He yanked down the shorts to reveal my black jock strap. But that didn’t faze him. He pulled that down as well.

Inshah-allah!” Abdul cursed, falling backwards to Harlan’s feet. Shocked, both he and Jon helped Abdul up before the noticed the unfurled dick they’d unleashed.

“My God,” Harlan said. 

“Is it real?” Jon asked, in all seriousness. 

I gulped, knowing the grown-up version had been forced inside me less than a day ago. I knew this was the ace in my hole, but I couldn’t help but think this was the wrong way to cement a relationship between Alejandro and me. 

“Do you have an erection, son?” Harlan asked.

“No…Sir. This is…normal, I guess.”

I saw Abdul bite his bottom lip. Harlan gazed on in quiet wonderment, but it was Jon whose eyes seemed to flash with dollar signs. He whispered something incomprehensible to Harlan, who grinned.

“Lift up your penis, please.” Harlan crouched down, shifting his glasses up. 

Alejandro complied, the head of his engorged cock pointing above his belly button. Harlan gave his balls a light tap like a kitten, and Alejandro immediately trembled at the tap. 

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When Dad Forced My Boyfriend (Locker Room Daddies #2)

Alejandro has just turned 18 and has been shipped off to live with his estranged dad who forces his son to toughen up at Hadrian's gym. But it's in the locker room that Alejandro meets young Frankie, and the boys explore their young love in the locker room showers. That is until they're caught in the act, and once Alejanadro's dad learns of this shame, he'll stop at nothing to teach his son a terrible lesson.

When Dad Forced My Boyfriend is a 12,000-word short story.

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Frankie took my hand and guided it straight between his ass cheeks. Whatever nerves I might have had about touching another man’s ass for the first time melted away as I stroked the soft, hairless edges, playing with the fountain stream running between them. This wasn’t any strange man’s asshole. This was Frankie. I’d known him for an hour but knew him deeply by touch. My finger danced around his hole, knowing I wanted in but not quite sure how to do it. 

Frankie helped. Our mouths parted, and he grinned at me widely, holding my one hand with both of his as he edged backwards onto my hooked finger. Those wide eyes flickered just as I’d imagined.

“It’s warm in there.”

“Mmmm,” came his response. Mouth sealed tight as he reached back to my epic dick between us, stroking it like Aladdin unbelieving he’d come across a genie-stuffed lamp.

“I told you it got bigger.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Alejandro. I’ve no idea if this will work. But I need you.”

“It’s okay.” I hugged his head into my chest. “I just like being with you. We don’t need to rush.”

But Frankie was already turned around. He lathered up with a handful of shower gel from the dispenser, slathering both my cock and his ass with it. I didn’t know what to do or how to help. But I held onto his hips, tightly as if he might slip and fall from the odd angle. He was arched forward, the only thing he had to hold onto the flat tiled wall. So, I held him. My cock resting on his back above his ass. As big as a forearm and a fist. I touched his hole again, slippery now from the shower gel.

“You’re so tight, Frankie. There’s no way I can fit. We don’t have to do this now.” But Frankie was already angling my dick straight onto the littlest of openings. “Frankie, you don’t need to do this. Honestly.”

My protesting ended at the very moment the head of my dick breached his perfect hole. True, I’d only had an orgasm with my own hand, but the very touch of skin against skin was better than every self-inflicted masturbatory emission throughout all my life. I was nearly the one to fall, as Frankie reached behind to hold my body back from going any further.


“But the tip’s barely in.”

“That’s just the tip?”

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The Berlin Underground: 4-Pack Bundle

The Antinous Society is an elite club of Berlin’s most powerful men who engage in their most carnal desires. Peter craves nothing more than to take his place among these men. But to become one of them, Peter must not only survive the dreaded Dungeon Games, he must come out on top.

From public fisting, to wrestling for the right to top, to entering into the hot, sweaty, dark, and testosterone-soaked dungeon, Peter faces sexual trials he could never dream of and has his limits stretched beyond what he ever thought possible.

The Berlin Underground: 4-Pack Bundle is a 49,000-word collection of four previously published stories following Peter’s journey through this erotic underworld.

Included in this bundle are:
- The Secret Fisting Academy
- Wrestling for Dominance in the Dungeon Games
- Enter the Dungeon at Your Own Risk
- No More Safe Words

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“Number four-nine-five!” a voiceover said in English. People started to look under their drinks. 

“I’m four-nine-seven,” Mark said. “Quick,” he said to me. “Check under yours.”

Sure enough, under my glass was a small strip of plastic stuck to the bottom with the lucky numbers.

“Oh God,” I said, “what now?” Dolf had inserted a random fan’s beer bottle into his ass, and given it back for him to drink. Although I could respect his talent, if having a wide-open hole could be considered as such, but I was hardly a fan. I had a flashback to Noah and my night at a Berlin bar when a young twink got fisted on stage. My body shivered with the thought Dolf might do the same to me. “I don’t want to get fucked on stage,” I yelled to Mark. 

“Just get up there,” he said, and started pointing at me so the whole warehouse knew who the lucky winner was. Gulping, I had no choice but to make my way to the stage, surrounded by perfect bodies and mean, jealous eyes.

“What’s your name?” the famous Dolf asked me. He smelled like lube and poppers.

“Peter.” The crowd applauded, but I could feel their hate. I was more nervous to upset them than disappoint Dolf. The dildos had been cleared and Dolf mounted the table, readying himself on all fours, snapping the straps of the jockstrap cupping his round ass.

“Roll up your sleeve,” said his leather-bound assistant. With nowhere to run, I did just that. He unfurled a black silicone glove, long enough to birth a calf. With all the tenderness of a doctor’s office, the assistant raised my arm and slid the leather sheath over it. The crowd edged closer as I saw Dolf take a blast of poppers and realized what was about to happen. They wanted me to fist Dolf.

“Are you ready, Peter?” Dolf yelled to the crowd.

“Um…” My glove was slathered in lube as Dolf shuffled backwards. His hole beckoned. It didn’t look very open, but the crowd was starting to chant and clap their hands in time.

“Come on, Peter, give me your best shot. Who wants to see me get fist fucked?”

The crowd cheered. I had no choice. Sucking in an anxious breath, I approached with one gloved finger. It slid straight in. Dolf arched his back and pushed into me. I didn’t even have to move for his ass to expand around my knuckles. 

“Fist him, fist him,” the crowd chanted. 

“Punch my hole open, Peter.” 

What was I to do? I withdrew the half of my hand already inside, and more lube was squeezed on. Dolf pulled his cheeks apart and showed me the open target. I made a fist to the crowd, and they cheered. Tightening my grip, I held onto one of Dolf’s ass cheeks for support, then hurled my fist straight at his hole.

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Seducing My Teen Gym Buddy (Locker Room Daddies #1)

When dad of four Bobby starts hitting the local 24 hour gym, he runs across Frankie, a skinny high school teen trying to build up some muscle. After months of stolen glances across the locker room, Bobby and Frankie finally form a friendship, working out together as Bobby shares his years of life experience. But like any teenage boy, Frankie has plenty of questions about girls. Bobby realizes he has a responsibility to educate the young man, and pass on his wisdom about sex to the curious teen.

Seducing My Teen Gym Buddy is a 14,000-word short story.

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“Bobby, do you use lube when you jerk off?” Frankie asked as casually as if I’d seen the game.

“Uh, sometimes.” I was doing everything in my power to will away my hard-on. Frankie’s questions weren’t helping.

“I guess pussy feels way better than a hand, right? Once I put, like, half a tub of lube on my hand and hold it still, like this.” He was showing me. Arm held still, while gently fucking the circle shape he’d made with his fingers.”

“Uh huh.” I tried to keep the same level of interest as when my son shows me gross-out comedy. Even if I liked it, I shouldn’t encourage it. It was wrong. Not how dads should act.

“Are pussies always tight? Because I get worried I’m jerking off and holding it too tight, you know? I kinda get freaked out I’ll screw up my first time.” Fuck. I turned away, my raging boner slapping against the cold metal pipe. It didn’t help. I wondered if I could beat a load out in the three seconds before Frankie’s next question. “Do girls really like giving blow jobs? That’s why I shaved everything. My friend Trent says girls won’t suck a really hairy cock. They like only a bit of hair, you know? Like how when a girl gets her bikini waxed, she leaves this strip at the top. So you know you’re fucking a woman, that’s what Trent says.”

“Is that a fact.” This was worse than being stuck in a traffic jam with my son Bradley and his three friends speaking in literal tongues about a video game they couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard of.

“Do you think my dick is big enough, Bobby? Bobby?”

I shivered under the water I’d set to freezing. It scoured my back like a whip. Frankie was the greatest temptation ever sent my way. And I’m no saint.

“Let me have a look again.” I turned around, making a show of peering at it from every angle. Frankie willingly turned to the other side, then lifted it to show me his balls, as if I this was a physical. “Son, you have absolutely nothing to be worried about. God, maybe it’s even bigger than mine.”

“Nah,” Frankie laughed. “You think? But yours is way thicker.”

“It comes with age, son. And use.”


“Trust me, you’ll grow into it. You don’t need to put it into every hole that comes your way, but have fun with it. That’s the point.”

“This part gets so sensitive, though. I get freaked out that I’ll blow my load as soon as I put it in her.” Frankie was quite literally rubbing the head of his cock to show me. He leaned over, holding it up, inspecting it as he rimmed the rounded edge of his cock head, stretching as if he might be able to suck himself.

“You gotta build up some stamina.”

“How do I do that?” He genuinely wanted to know. I stepped out of the cubicle to check the corridor. No one was around. Why would they be so late on a Tuesday?

“Look,” I said, standing out of the shower and closer to Frankie so he could see exactly what I was doing, and hopefully wouldn’t have to show him again. I held my still rock-hard dick in one hand, just like he was, watching as if I was teaching him to drive stick shift. I held my palm flat in front of my cock head, and he made an unsure attempt to do the same thing. “Take your dick and rub it against the flat of your palm, like this, see?” Frankie followed my lead and shivered with a goofy grin.


“Yeah, so do that a few times, up and down, side to side, see?” I remained side on, stroking my cock head against my flat palm for him to see.

“I don’t think I can. I’m gonna…”

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No More Safe Words (The Berlin Underground #4)

Peter and Lukas are forcibly brought before the Antinous Society for a final, harsh test by master Richard. But far from a final round, the boys are just beginning their journey into the depravity of the secret society's initiation. An abandoned hospital in the Berlin woods will be the venue where men must hunt, or be hunted. In this fight for dominance and survival, there will be no more safe words.

No More Safe Words is a 15,000 word short story.

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The door slammed closed. I did not touch it.

Even the green bulbs of our watches did nothing to change the absence of light. There was a black hole sucking it all up. The faintest drops from under cuffs and coats escaped, dabbing only the occasional outline of a hand, a bed frame, a naked back, to prove this was not the void. I listened for breaths, there were many. Some rapid and heavy, others smooth, relaxed. A sound like water gurgling through a blocked pipe picked up. A dick was being sucked, deep-throated, from a different corner of the room where the bed began to squeak again.

I was conscious of what happened in the bathroom. This place was either fuck or be fucked, and I didn’t care to lose my only point. I stepped forward blindly, hands out, hoping to not trip over anyone already on their knees. It was my leg that stopped me. My shin hit the bedframe and I bit my lip instead of breaking the silence with a curse. Body heat was near. My eyes kept adjusting, suggesting lines of muscles moving, sliding, fucking.

The heat rose like in a sauna when water is cast over the rocks. Sweat buffeted my tastebuds, the scent of bare skin was near. I edged forward as the slurping from the other side of the room became a gurgled choke. I reached out a hand into the unknown and touched a body. Impossible to know if he was standing up or lying down. Knee or shoulder, I couldn’t tell, but I kept tracing the invisible lines, making my way down to a leg or an arm. An elbow. His wrist. The watch tucked under a thick sweatshirt. He was standing, but moving. His bottom half sliding in and out of another creature I didn’t dare reach out to touch but assumed was there.

I crept behind this other top, catching the beat of his breath in the menagerie of this busy, cramped dark room. I touched bare ass. Round, hairy, filmed with light sweat. Low balls swung like a pendulum, out of the man he was fucking and into my hand. I was now fully behind him, his furry ass cheeks stealing the chill from both my hands. I reached around slowly, gently grasping the thickness of his cock as it slid in and out of another body. Hairs from the unknown tingled against my hand. It could have been a beard or an ass, I would never know.

The top kept me in place behind him. He angled his bare ass deeper into the nook of my crotch and gently returned my hand to the tightly trimmed base of his cock. I hoped we were communicating that I was next for a turn on this hole. To seal the deal I loosened my trousers, shuffling them down to just beneath the hip, letting my cock grow hard against his ass cheek. That’s when he let out a groan. It spiked the room, unusual in the enforced silence, as if the location of this secret place should never be shared. If he’d came, he kept on going. Not dropping a beat.

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The Berlin Tales: 4-Pack Bundle

Peter has come to Berlin to do what he’s always wanted to do—give in to his most base sexual desires.

What starts with an anonymous hookup in the dark at a sauna is actually the first step Peter takes on his journey into the sexual underworld of Berlin. As Peter goes deep into kink and forbidden desires, he comes to learn of the very secret—and very erotic—Antinous Society, an elite club of Berlin’s most powerful men engaging in their most carnal desires.

The Berlin Tales: 4-Pack Bundle is a 41,000-word collection of four previously published stories following Peter’s descent into this erotic underworld.

Included in this bundle are:
- The Chastity Cuck of Kreuzberg
- Servicing My Dominant Chastity Boss in His Office
- Slaves Have No Right to Say No
- A Bull at the Forced Chastity Cuck-Fest

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I was a few steps behind, but he led me to a part of the sauna I hadn’t discovered yet, and wasn’t sure I would’ve found on my own. The dry sauna was near the showers, and the sandy heat wasn’t my thing. But he led me down a dark corridor that turned into a surprising six-man shower block, then a translucent door to the steam room. The twink hung up his towel outside and slipped in, watching me as I hung my towel up too. Unsure of whether to fully commit (the story of my life), I hung my own towel up and stayed under a cool shower for a good few minutes, trying hard to let the apprehension wash away.

Surprisingly, the steam room was empty. I wondered if the twink had evaporated, but then I noticed a dark door inside the steam room itself. I went into a stifling hot, pitch black room. It seemed to be an open space rather than a maze, but I staggered with my hands out just to be sure. Yet my eyes were useless in the hot steam and thick blackness. I had to listen, to taste the air. Without a doubt there was more than just the twink and I in this hidden place. In fact, it seemed to be the reason why the men I passed by in the corridors before disappeared into nothing. They were all here.

I felt a body next to me, large and hairy. My eyes adjusted to the man standing with his back to the steamy wall. He had his towel around him and was doing nothing. Deeper in I could hear the sounds of cocksucking. There was someone on their knees, and someone else jerking off into their mouth. Then I hit the back wall with a bench. It was too hot to sit, but through the steam I picked out another man, long armed and long legged, sitting on the bench.

I didn’t make it to the other side of the dark steam room from where groaning sounds and growing sights were also coming, because the tall man reached out a long hand and grabbed my cock. In the darkness there was no need for permission, and no chance to be rejected. He smacked my balls like a cat pawing string as I discovered the outline of his large dick laying against his thigh. I’d found what I never knew I wanted.

Passion overcame me. And the thrill of being alone and utterly unseen. Dropping to my knees on the hot floor, I tongued the tip of his cock, salty and thick, exploring the shaft with my wet lips and having him moan out loud as I did. Maybe this was a signal to however many others were here, the twink included, because as I worked his cock, the heat coalesced around me, as if the men were moving to the back corner of the steam room.

But I concentrated on sucking this ever-expanding cock. His balls were so heavy they rested on the hot tiles themselves, and it took both hands to twist and play with them. He liked that, lifting a heavy leg over my shoulder to draw me in closer. With his hand pushing the back of my head almost to the base of his cock, wiry pubes scratched my nose and it was getting harder to breathe. Eventually I had to retreat from his cock, the hot, wet air reflating my lungs. But he wasn’t letting me go.

I had to stand and stretch my back and click my sore knees, so his hand found my ass. He squeezed and slapped it, ringing the bell out to the men around who I sensed were nearer. I saw the door at the other end of the dark room, the crushed light flicking in the moving shadows of naked bodies. More seemed to be coming in than going out.

He was sitting forward now, jerking his cock as two thick fingers explored my hole. Perhaps he was content to do just that, but I had not come this far, over seas and mountains, carrying luggage and drinking from strange water bottles, to not take what I’d come for. Maybe tomorrow I would wake up feeling different. Maybe I would retreat back to my own world, but I couldn’t come all this way, come to Berlin to have sex, and run away the second it presented itself.

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Enter the Dungeon at Your Own Risk (The Berlin Underground #3)

As the fabled Berlin dungeon games take place, a first-class ticket to the Antinous Society final trials is at stake. The men will stop at nothing to win. Despite the raucous crowd and mean-spirited master, Peter is forced to fight off his rivals to secure a place in the final round. Losing is not an option. To fall at this stage is to be subjected to the tortuous instruments of the most extreme dungeon in Berlin. What fate will the losers face in the dark, twisting world of the Berlin Underground? Peter is determined to never find out.

Enter the Dungeon at Your Own Risk is a 9,500-word short story.

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My balls ached from the ruined orgasm. I’d been one of the last to cum from being bound to the chairs, and so secured my place in the next round, but at what cost? I was an empty shell. What should be the soothing energy of a post-orgasmic glow instead screeched through my body like a spanner jammed into the mechanism. Sparks flew, but angry ones. Frustration built in the back of my throat, and I wanted to scream.

There was enough screaming rippling through the room we’d just left, though. The five losers of round two of the dungeon games were presently tied to chairs, hooded, cuffed, their holes torn apart with whatever abuse the horned-up Berlin audience chose to subject them to. And who could complain? We’d all signed up to this, even if we’d not all read the fine print of the contract.

“You’re not alphas and betas anymore,” Stefan, the dungeon master said as the five of us who've made it through to round three stumbled punch-drunk and exhausted down a chilled basement corridor. Lukas, my arch-nemesis, trotted up front beside the hairy-armed Stefan decked out in a tight tank top. Bareiß, the senior politician turned winning sub walked alongside him, whispering together, and obviously about me. They turned back, looked me up and down, and carried on whispering. “Round three is a free-for-all. Three-for-all, get it?” Stefan groaned as none of us laughed, or even paid much attention to what he was saying. The concrete corridor froze my feet, and my body shivered from being naked and streaked with cum. 

Double doors greeted us at the end of the corridor, with a sign above reading Extreme Dungeon: Enter at your own risk. But Stefan blocked the way forward, arms folded. We all stumbled to a halt. I walked straight into one of the others’ naked backs; a young, slim Indian guy who even if I didn’t know that Lukas and I were the only alphas to make it through, I’d assume he was a sub.

“Sorry,” I whispered. He smiled in response. The thin act of kindness a welcome change to the Lukas-Bareiß axis of evil constantly on my ass. “I’m Peter,” I said, craving the slightest chance of an ally.

“Vivek,” he replied, cautiously covering his cock even though we were all naked. He stood in stark contrast to Bareiß and Lukas, like two jocks swinging their cocks in a locker room. Our fifth winner was a muscled Black man with a shaved head and tattoos covering most of his torso. He could’ve passed as a professional wrestler. Who he must have lost to in round one to end up as a beta I didn’t want to imagine. Perhaps I was lucky to have faced Bareiß. The Black guy’s cock hung low and heavy, like a weapon. If round three was a dick measuring contest, he would win hands down. 

“The audience in here are the elite,” Stefan said, nodding to the closed door. “Long-standing members of the dungeon. Some of them underground masters themselves. Now, does anyone want to take advantage of the pussy clause in their contract? If so, you can fuck off now.” None of us did, although I sprung gingerly from foot to foot, watching Lukas and Bareiß watch me. I breathed quietly but harshly; my gut twisted like I needed to pee. Maybe I did, the wrecked orgasm played havoc with my balls. “Go get your sorry asses cleaned up and ready,” Stefan said, nodding not to the double dungeon doors, but to an unmarked door to his right. 

We crowded into a small shower room. Three pipes, cracked tiles and a pile of threadbare towels gone gray with too many bleaching’s were stacked on a bench. I was about to ask if we should take turns, but the other four went straight in. I joined Vivek on the right, while Lukas and Bareiß shared the left and the Black guy squeezed himself alone under the middle shower head. The water was harsh and hot. Sharp streams hurt my balls and still-sensitive cockhead as I tried to wash away all the lube and unseen memories of being blindfolded on the chair. 

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Wrestling for Dominance at the Dungeon Games (The Berlin Underground #2)

Peter is now an official candidate for the Antinous Society, but that doesn't make life any easier. As he dismisses romantic overtures from Mark, Peter joins an app to find a quick and easy hook up in the public toilets. But the man behind the divider is not just an up and coming politician, he's a direct competitor in the dungeon games, an exclusive event which will determine rankings for the coming trials to join the Antinous Society. Peter faces stiff competition at the dungeon games, forced to fight for a place as an alpha or beta. But will it even matter, as the competition's betas are expected to turn the supposed doms into quivering submissives as Berlin's fabled underground dungeon games begin.

Wrestling for Dominance at the Dungeon Games is a 12,000-word short story.

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“Please welcome,” the referee announced into a booming microphone, “number two!” A round of cheers and applause—twice as loud as for me—erupted as a man jogged confidently into the ring and waved to his adoring fans. My heart plunged. Who else would it be but Andreas Bareiß. The politician waved to his fans with powerful muscled arms, smoothing back blond hair while flashing a vote-winning grin. Bareiß didn’t even acknowledge me. Perhaps he didn’t remember? Certainly he hadn’t seen me as I’d sucked his ample cock through a glory hole, and during our interview in the car, he’d spoken more into the selfie camera of his mobile phone than directly to me. 

“Ranked number two in the entire dungeon underground,” the referee said, “the protege of the Dungeon Master himself will face off against the unranked newcomer for tonight’s Dungeon Games opener.” I wasn’t listening. Bareiß was doing warmups: stretching his legs and arms and cracking knuckles. I copied him exactly. Move for move, and looked like a fool in the process. I didn’t quite know what losing meant, or even what I had to do to win, but there was one seat left by the hooded and cuffed men, and one seat next to the victorious-looking ones. I knew which seat Bareiß intended to take.

“Standard penetration match rules,” the referee said, locking the hexagon’s door, with him on the outside. “You win by inserting your penis into your opponent’s mouth two times in a row, for at least ten seconds. Or once into your opponent's anus for a full thirty seconds. The penis must be inserted up to the testicles and must remain fully inside your opponent until the whistle is blown. A double whistle means the challenge or attempt is invalid, and you must return to the starting position. Ejaculation results in immediate disqualification.”

“Um, excuse me,” I chased him around the outside of the cage. “How do we forfeit?” The referee just laughed. I supposed ejaculation. 

“Gentleman, place your bets now.”

There was a flurry of activity from the crowd. Karl was leading a small but boisterous group who were all yelling and shouting down the rest of the crowd who clearly backed Herr Bareiß. As scared as I felt, if Karl and his crew hadn't been there, drumming up even the smallest amount of support, I would have vaulted over the mesh walls and made a run for it. 

Bareiß had me in his sights. A glowing look of recognition passed through blue eyes. A blond eyebrow raised. I felt he was about to say something when the whistle blew. The crowd cheered and I was thrust into some Roman-esque games more at home in a Colosseum than a Berlin sex dungeon. Bareiß edged around the mat, dancing on bare feet, arms up. No one told me this wasn’t a contact sport, so I rested on my years of forced rugby at high school in London and made a running tackle. In a flurry of shocked shouts from the crowd, the man who might be the next Chancellor of Germany fell flat on his back. I was on top, legs straddling his body. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Instinct told me to punch him in the face, but Karl, who’d rushed down to the front, shouted:

“Put your dick in his mouth!”

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