Tag: Berlin underground

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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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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The Secret Fisting Academy (The Berlin Underground #1)

After a night spent with Mark and his friends at a live porn show where Peter wins the chance to fist the famous porn star Dolf, Peter is one step closer to deciding to join the Antinous Society. But it's not so easy. He must first impress one of Berlin's underground masters in order to progress his application, and decides the fisting route is the least bad of all the options on the table. All Peter has to do is survive a night at Berlin's secret fisting academy, but that is easier said than done.

The Secret Fisting Academy is an 11,800-word short story.

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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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