If you ask me, sex is always better when handcuffs are involved!
Today’s handcuffs picture is courtesy of the men over at COLT
Monthly Archives: December 2016
Enough to make a prisoner go insane
Video: How to tie an arm Binder
Thanks to Knotty Brent and his model, Spencer Fox of the Bound Jocks site for this helpful information!
Boot worship
Dan thinks he’s too good for wiping up pub tables and collecting glasses. The lazy man struts around in his tight trousers slacking off, but now they’re going to teach this sexy straight guy how to properly serve. He meekly serves his new master wearing nothing but tight white briefs. He’s spent enough money and gone through enough pain to cover his body in ink – he might as well show it off. Dan is burning with rage, but he’s incandescent when Dave smacks him hard across the face. The shamed lad must wriggle out of his underwear and continue serving by kissing his master’s boots. While he’s groveling pathetically on the floor, Dave strokes Dan’s round arse and slides the tips of his fingers over his tender anus.
Dan is leashed by Adrian and turned into a human footstool while he desperately licks and kisses the pervy men. His tongue slides on the filthy soles of their boots, filling his mouth with grit and filth while his arse is lashed with a cane. Fully naked, Dan is laid out flat on the stinking sticky tabletop right in the middle of the pub. The men take turns fucking his mouth, screwing his throat so deep that Dan gags. His throat is relentlessly invaded. As he stares up, all he sees is angry men with raging hard cocks thrusting into him. Both men empty their loads into his mouth, coating his tongue and throat. Now this useless slag knows what it means to really earn his minimum hourly wage.
To see more, go to BreederFuckers
Busman’s Holiday – Part 15
By lthr_jock
Vickers was ticked off. No, scratch that, Vickers was angry. Angry at Clark, angry at Carl and Greg – but most of all, angry at himself. It started from the moment at the party when he realised that the hunky man secured in the straitjacket and muzzle was actually Clark. He had dreamed of getting Clark in that kind of position, but had been moving things forward slowly, carefully. But Greg and Carl had got Clark into the gear within just a few hours. Vickers had enjoyed getting Carl restrained inside the vac rack, but all that day his attention kept getting drawn across the aisle to Clark. The sight of his body in the tight leather harness with his arms locked behind him distracted him, aroused him – and made him jealous as hell.
After the conference, Vickers continued talking to Clark by email and text and monitoring Clark’s workouts. It was clear the man was still working hard at the gym, though his measurements had stabilised and he seemed to be improving definition rather than just putting on bulk. Vickers had several thoughts about where to go next, but whenever he broached ideas with Clark, Clark seemed distracted and gave brusque off-hand replies. Vickers also noted that he was curious about Greg and Carl and the conversation often returned to them.
The last straw came when Greg and Carl invited him to their latest open house to display their latest creations. Their venue was in an abandoned warehouse, and the main showroom was circular and high-ceilinged. High on the walls were video screens, and on this occasion they were showing slideshows of men wearing various items of leather wear. Vickers grabbed a drink and wandered around. As usual, their gear was high quality and piqued his interest – but tonight his attention kept getting drawn back to the video screens. Despite the fact that the leather being worn kept changing, the model looked the same. The photos never showed his face, but as he looked on Vickers realised that they were all photos of Clark. This was confirmed by the last set where he was wearing a leather version of his guard uniform. Vickers felt his cock swell and gulped down his drink as his jealousy spiked.
Suspended in a meat locker
Tied up by a hot cop
VRansomwear – Chapter 3
VRansomwear
By POW
CHAPTER 3
Sunday began with Colin trying to wipe away the crustiness of dried sleep-gunk in his eyes. Still only half-awake, he went to rub them clear and found his fingers’ way blocked by the confining rubber of the hood. For a brief moment overnight, it seemed he had been able to somehow forget that he was a prisoner in a form-fitting cell. His waking had been gentle; he rose smoothly and gradually from the depths of sleep. The lingering vestiges of a pleasant but already fading dream left him with a general sense of well-being. He was comfortable in his bed, the temperature was mild… and so when his hand failed to wipe his eyes the memory of his captivity came crashing back all at once. His mood instantly plummeted.
It was a tight fit, but by using more of the talc supplied in the gym bag he was able to work a finger into the mouth hole of the hood and worm it all the way up to the inner corner of his eye, clearing the tiny but infuriating chunks away. He worried the suit might zap him for tampering, but it allowed his action without interference. Even so, the effect on his mood lingered, and didn’t get better as the day went on.
He had promised Eva he would spend the afternoon at her sister’s birthday party. Prior to a few days ago, he would have told anyone who would listen “I’d do anything to get out of going!”. Now, today, he realized that there were limits on what “anything” might mean; an afternoon with Eva’s family started to seem downright appealing in comparison. Still, there was no way he could show up there. She wouldn’t like it, but he had to tell her he wasn’t going.
Texting seemed best, although it was awkward with rubber-coated fingers. Eva would have preferred he call, but that would have meant a 20-minute-long bitch session he was in no mood to listen to. So he sent a quick “Sorry got 2 cancel 2day. Will make it up 2 u promise.” She took a while to respond, but when she did, to his relief, it was to say “Thats ok, know u don’t like this kind of thing,” which was much better than he expected. He sent back “Thanks, ur the best” in appreciation.
Then it was a scrounge for breakfast – food was running low; he would need to grab some groceries soon. Preferably downtown, far away from home. There were no visitations from muscle-bound deities, so he was on his way by noon.