By John Strickland
Although Keagan felt like running, felt like screaming, felt like dissolving into a heap on the floor, he did in fact look quite dignified. The jacket, strapped tightly to right down under his butt, made him walk very upright, the high collar held his head up high.
By John Strickland
“Get your straitjackets out, guys!” said Kellan suddenly.
“What?” they both said together.
“Let’s get some pictures of you tied up in ‘em!” he said.
“We got pictures…….” started Stefan.
“Yeah, – but not with both of you tied up at the same time,” interrupted Kellan.
By John Strickland
an excerpt
Zac wrenched ineffectually in his straitjacket. His skills as an escape artist would do him no good in that maximum security prison restraint.
He didn’t know whether to find help or to hide. He just stood there bewildered for a while, his bare feet cold on the damp sidewalk.
A car went by. It didn’t even slow down. No-one in that car had noticed his plight.
By John Strickland
an excerpt
From behind, Zac tugged Keagan’s T-shirt over his head.
“Hey!” exclaimed Keagan. “My T-shirt!” he said.
Keagan had a great body. He had filled out a lot since the last year to become athletic and muscular.
“You don’t need a T-shirt,” said Stefan, already picking up the straitjacket. “Leather lining!” he said. “You sure you’re ready for this, Keagan?” He noticed Keagan’s nipples were erect. He noticed Keagan’s crotch was bulging.
By John Strickland
an excerpt
Zac sat down on the wooden steps leading up to our deck. I sat down next to him, my leather pants creaking.
“Come sit down, Keagan!” Zac said.
Keagan plonked down a step lower. The sun glinted off the buckles down the back of his jacket and gleamed off his PVC-covered thighs.
Zac and I were both studying Keagan’s straitjacket. It was the real thing, – a Posey asylum jacket with a red trim to the top of the jacket.