Seamus O’Reilly endures bondage and water torture

This is a video from 30 Minutes of Torment called “Extreme Water Torment and Bad-Dragon Dildo”

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In this video from 30 Minutes of Torment:

Seamus O’Reilly is suspended over a tire and his body is covered with clothespins. Seamus feels the clothespins pinch against his balls, chest and face before Van gladly whacks them off using his trusty crop. Seamus already feels the sting on his now callous body. How much more is a he able to take? Seamus is bound and dangled upside down with new restraints. Seamus then feels the onslaught of Van’s cat of nine tails. The bite of the cat of nine tails makes Seamus beg for relief, which is given with a help of a good flogging. After some zapper torment, Seamus believes the worst is over. Van promises to stick a dildo in Seamus’ little hole, but soon Seamus ass is stretched to the limit by the Bad-Dragon Dildo, and Seamus is mercilessly pummeled by the high pressure water coming from a nearby firehose. Van covers Seamus’ face with a pillowcase before repeatedly drenching Seamus with high-pressure water. Seamus then gets the chance to feel twice the sting, as clothespins are reattached, and quickly blasted off with the water hose. Seamus only relief is the chance to shoot his cum all over the wet floor.

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Models in this video: Seamus O’Reilly, Van Darkholme

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Follow-up letter from an inmate

The inmate who did time at Hampton Jail in Iowa wrote another letter, and this time he enclosed a picture! See below:

 

Dear Metal,

Well, I got discharged a few days ago. It was a complex experience, and there are some things that you always knew, but become so real in the lockup.

The place is absent of any measure of time. There are no clocks, nothing to mark the passage of time. Sure, there is a clock tower nearby, but the building air conditioning and the sound of other inmates drowns out those reminders. You wonder, is that the morning light that you see through your narrow line of sight, or is it just the nightlight? I was fooled more than once. Natural daylight has a different hue than light from a bulb, but the grayness of the cellblock paint seems to be very effective in taking what warmth from natural light and turning it into something a bit more soulless.

Many of your senses are dulled, but others just seem to be heighted.

When I got home, I could smell it — the lingering odor from the jail uniform. The uniform, made of a heavy cotton almost denim like quality. The smell stays with you. You can smell it on your skin. And with that smell, you carry the marker of a prisoner — an almost DNA-like connection to all the other men who have worn that uniform before you. You might think of it as a brotherhood, but that is not really it. It is more of an ethereal chain gang that connects us all, the smell of the steel doors and the aged paint, the inklings of dust.

Also, you come to understand the power of the cell door, both as an element of confinement as well as symbol of security. The security to keep you where you are, and the security perhaps of where you are supposed to be. The night in the hole — which I spent because of my bad attitude — was jarring. I slept, but I kept being constantly awakened. Each time, I would test the door, to see if it was still locked — somehow thinking by magic it would not be. Oddly, though, it would be a disappointment if it was unlocked.

The jail experience is one of constant redundancy and routine. I stopped counting the number of times my hands were cuffed and uncuffed. I learned to accept the ankle shackles as the way things are going to be. But also, you find that you yearn to be cuffed, as a proxy to just interact. When the jailer leaves, he closes the door behind him. You are there on your own, in a mental solitude that is just a controlling as a physical confinement in solitary. Your mind wanders, and then in time you begin this odd sense of bonding with your jailer. He holds all the keys, all the power, and all the options.

My experience was at times unpleasant, gripping, soul-searching and frustrating. I learned that doing time means that time moves very slowly.

Your actions, your choices, or decisions not to decide are all in front of you. You make your prison. You realize that you think you are own person when you go in, but in the end you understand that you are just something to be counted, controlled. You are just a number.

 

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Metal would like to thank the inmate for sharing this information and picture!

Dominated by a security guard in black leather gloves

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Meanwhile at MEN At PLAY, Dato Foland is a hot security guy looking to give Jake Bolton a hard-handed fucking. Dato finds Jake in the men’s room cubicle and decides to carry out a full-body security search. But despite Jake protesting his innocence, Dato is determined to get to the bottom of things, even if it means stripping Jake of all his clothes. He orders him to pull his trousers down and gives his ass a close inspection, rimming and probing his with his gloved hands. Then he pins Jake against the urinal to give him a deep, hard fucking.

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See the video HERE

Site: Menatplay

Title of this video: Frisked, Editor’s Cut

Models in this video: Dato Foland, Jake Bolton

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The Jacket – Part 7

By Rubrpig

Sir and I finally managed to arrange vacation time so we could take the planned trip up the coast and onto Portland. As Sir did not have a vehicle we were taking my SUV. I spent the evening prior to our departure packing our gear into the SUV and getting things sorted out. Sir was relaxing as he watched me pack the gear he had decided to take with us and so I finally got everything packed and stowed in the vehicle.

The trip up the coastal highway was relaxing for both of us. We stopped at night and stayed at coastal inns and enjoyed ourselves. Each night after we had finished dinner and got back to the room, I was either in my straitjacket or zipped and laced tightly into the sleep sack. Sir had introduced me to the sleep sack a month or so ago and I had gradually got used to spending longer and longer time in it. I was now able to spend the night in it with only minor discomfort in my shoulders.

Continue reading The Jacket – Part 7