Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

Benjamin Howe walked into the Lamplighter, sweat dripping from his quaking chin. Slowly, hesitantly, he made his way past the men at the bar- each massive man glaring at the skinny young fuckup. For years he had screwed up deals. For years he had pissed off the members. For years he had insulted the legacy of his father. This time. It was different. The air in the room was noticeably tense as he shuffled to the black velvet curtains, breathing heavily and shaking visibly. Their eyes shot daggers at his back, as he pathetically stood there, delaying the inevitable. Benjamin slowly walked through to the back room, and was met with a sight he dreaded. Mack was the beast of the League. He towered over every single man, and tripled their size. For 38 long years, he was the loyal, obedient enforcer for Benjamin's father: silently and ruthlessly carrying out whatever orders came from the top. He was feared, but he was respected. He had paid his dues, he had hearts and minds of the League,...

Warning: Hard Kink (BDSM, Hyperscent, Gay Skinhead)      Gagged, tied to a pipe in the grimy tiled room, you hang from your wrists devoid of any energy to fight back against them. Your friend lays barely conscious across the room, tied in equal measure to a broken valve. You gasp for air, the pungent yellowed sock stuffed in your mouth not only nearly obstructs your already stressed airway, but it fills your mouth with the sour, slimy taste of it's owner's rank footsweat. You haven't been formally introduced as of yet; the last thing you could recall was walking home with your from the bar perhaps one too many Whiskey Sours in. There was a loud cracking noise, and a sharp pain on the back of your skull before everything went black. Thus, upon opening your still muggy eyes, you were met with the sight of the current sight before you- restrained, silenced, and only now realizing it, naked.      You try to call out to your friend, who is slumped over and breat...

Danny smiled his signature perfect smile, posing stereotypically as the phone sat propped up on a sidewalk trashcan with a timed camera counting down. While it was his 21st birthday, and he’d invited nearly twenty people to come out clubbing with him in New York City, he wasn’t entirely shocked when everyone had some lame excuse as to why they couldn’t come. Victoria was in the middle of watching Yellowjackets and couldn’t be bothered to get up off her couch. Taylor was stuck at the airport in Nashville, unable to board his connecting flight due to “inclement weather.” Felicity couldn’t find a dog sitter for the night (bullshit), and Kyle just didn’t even respond to the text. This was relatively par for the course for poor Danny, who’d gotten all but used to the feeling of his “friends” ditching him when it was plans of his own. There were absolutely reasons in their mind as to why going out with Danny was less than an ideal evening: he was a wallflower. Sure, like everyone else in his...

Waiting outside the door on the weathered, splintering porch, Robert took a deep breath. He was ignoring the various this and thats which littered the old veranda now covered in snow. A well to do gentleman like himself, college educated and next in line for partnership in his father’s property development firm, he couldn’t help but stifle the immediate gut reaction to the working class accommodations he was surrounded by. When he’d met Penelope, she was just some bartender at a local haunt. He never expected for things to escalate between them past a simple one night thing. Four months later, and countless late night calls to her, he found himself preparing to have dinner with her and her father. While he certainly could have anticipated the socioeconomic level which she resided in based upon the caliber of bar she worked at, as well as the countless hours she needed to work to merely break even, it was still a culture shock which he was neither prepared nor interested to foray into. ...

Cory took a deep breath as he turned the corner, eyes tightly shut. Passersby likely stared with aloof confusion, but he didn’t care. This was the moment he’d dreamed of for almost fifteen years. Broadway, Nashville: the dream strip of country music nightclubs, southern apparel, moonshine, whiskey, and instruments. The gentle hum of twangy ballads tickled his ears, played by talented singers in the honky tonks along the street. It was now home. And as he opened his eyes, that dream was now reality. The street was bustling, even in midday. Tourists, buskers, musicians, and surely a few stars strolled past entranced in their own worlds they’d taken for granted. It took everything for Cory to get here- or rather it had cost him everything. Not that he minded. The move, to him, represented the beginning of the life he’d always dreamed he would lead: becoming the man he fantasized in his head. With his first steps, they were the first steps toward that goal. Walking slowly, he made his way ...