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Story

Roommate Tickle Wager: Arm Wrestling

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By Jack

One of my recent wagers was with my buddy and roommate Rick. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I stacked the deck against him, and I feel just terrible about it.

We always used to hang out around the apartment drinking, playing cards, horsing around, bull shitting. Rick is a well-built, masculine guy, a carpenter, like me, with an in-your-face cocky attitude. He is about 5’9″, muscular, 160 lbs., with size 9.5 feet. He also shared my interest in bondage devices, and we had even tied each other up a few times. Nothing major, just Ha Ha, You’re tied up, now let’s do something else. Being straight, there was never anything sexual involved with Rick. But the last time he had me tied up, he used my handcuffs, some chain and padlocks to get me into a very tight hogtie. He was none too gentle with the cuffs, and they dug into my wrists real painfully and cut off the circulation, which didn’t seem to faze him, despite my protests. I plotted to get a little revenge for that.

I knew from horsing around with him that Rick was very ticklish, especially his feet and pits. And he HATED to be tickled. I had never mentioned to him my interest in bondage and tickle torture, so he never suspected a thing.

Late one night, after knocking back several Stoli martinis each, and several games of cards, he started to get rowdy and run off at the mouth about what a tough stud he was. The time was ripe.

I challenged him to an arm wrestling match, loser to get tied up. He was drunk enough and cocky enough to accept.

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Story

Nine Words

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By Arealltallboy

Somehow it dawns on me. I’m awake. There isn’t much else making sense right now, but I know that I’m awake, conscious. This isn’t a dream. The next thing that dawns on me is my head, and particularly, me headache. It’s throbbing, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Every beat of my heart feels like a mallet pounding away at the front of my skull. It’s almost enough to drown out the noise around me, which leads to the third realization–noise, of which there is very little. Calming down, working through the pounding sensation in my head, I listen, and aside from a dull hum, I hear nothing. Moving my eyes around, another realization–I’m blindfolded. The surprise leads me to jerk my head forward, only to be met by the sensation of a strong strap holding it down. I’m lying down. There’s no doubt about that. Not only is there a strap holding my head down to this stiffly-padded table, but other straps are holding down my chest, belly, biceps, forearms, wrists, thighs, above and below the knees, and my ankles. I can struggle, but there isn’t much play, nor am I able to extricate myself from this position. There’s something strapped over my nose and mouth. I’d know if it was a gas mask, but this isn’t one. Definitely a blindfold over my eyes, and some sort of breathing mask tightly enveloping my mouth and nose. Meanwhile, this headache.

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Story

The Convict – Part 19

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By Joshua Ryan

Documents Relating to Convict 353308, Rossetti, Jason Scott

Inmate, Southern Regional Longterm Correctional Facility

 

Document 8

 

DATE:

051019

 

SENDER:

351699 Cleveland

Inmate, SRLCF

 

RECIPIENT:

Mrs. Heather Johnston

1112 Detroit Street

Milestone IN

 

STATUS:

Approved for Transmission

 

***CONVICT TRANSMISSION NOT TO EXCEED 400 WORDS***

 

Dear Sis,

I’m sorry you’re not able to come out to see me this year, but I understand. I think it’s great that you and Frank are buying that cabin at Pleasant Lake.

You asked whether me and my cellie are still getting along. You bet. It’s funny, you know, because he was a college kid who was also a Business Executive before he was put in stir, but as you probably predicted Ive been showing him the ropes. Actually, I was worried because I was celling alone and who knows what would happen when they put some other con in with me, but J is exactly the cellie I wanted. Do you know what I mean? :-) I think you do.

Continue reading The Convict – Part 19 →

Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 12

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By lthr_jock

Without thinking, Clark stood up which made Greg curse angrily and use his crop on Clark’s leathered arse. Clark reflexively knelt down again and flushed bright red as Vickers laughed. Greg glared down at him and paused before looking back up at Vickers.

“Hold on, did you just call him Samuel?”

Vickers grinned an evil little smile and nodded. Greg let out a roar of laughter which made several people close by look up from their own conversations.

“You mean to tell me that the man I have been pestering you about for 2 months is right here kneeling at my feet.”

Vickers joined in the laugher. “Yes – and from the look of it Samuel has had quite the evening.”

Greg chuckled and stroked Clarks hair, ignoring the increasingly urgent grunts that were coming from the restrained man.

“Damn. I’ve wanted to get him into some of my gear for ages. See – I was right – it suits him.”

“I never doubted it would.”

“MPPPHHH!”

Greg didn’t look down, just rapped the tip of his crop against the faceplate of Clark’s muzzle. “Quiet, boi, your betters are talking.”

Clark ignored this and continued to grunt into the gag. Greg frowned at him and with one hand behind Clarks head, used the other one to pinch his nose shut. Clark then realised how secure he was trussed up as he struggled vainly within the straitjacket, his booted feet slipping on the floor. He could get some air in past the gag in his mouth, but his struggles increased his need for air and Gregs control over his nose meant that he couldn’t get it. He struggled harder and harder until Greg released his grip. He gasped air in through his nose, coughing and spluttering around the drool in his mouth. Greg knelt down so that he could hear him whisper.

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Story

The Convict – Part 18

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By Joshua Ryan

Documents Relating to Convict 353308 Rossetti, Jason Scott

Inmate, Southern Regional Longterm Correctional Facility

 

Document 1

 

DATE:

011319

 

SENDER:

351699 Cleveland

Inmate, SRLCF

 

RECIPIENT:

Mrs. Heather Johnston

1112 Detroit Street

Milestone IN

 

STATUS:

Approved for Transmission

 

***CONVICT TRANSMISSIONS NOT TO EXCEED 400 WORDS***

 

Dear Sis,

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you, its been very busy here. You remember how I said I didnt have a cellmate? Well now I’ve got one. Too bad, eh? Not really. His name is Jason and I like him a lot. He was in college so I guess I’m sort of in over my head, but he’s teaching me a lot of stuff. :-)

Thanks for the birthday gift, which they finaly gave me. You know they only let us have a couple books at a time, so I had to get rid of one of my books before they gave me another one. Big deal, huh? I like that story about the guy that had everything except the one thing he really wanted to have. But listen, the next time you send something I wish youd send me a big book about science, cause Jason is gonna teach me that. (He didn’t say so but he is.) I want to learn about astronnomy so try that. I always liked stars.

Well its Sunday night and I gotta be at the office early tomorrow morning. (Smile) Anyway it’s time for me to sign off for now.

Write soon,

Jacob

Convict #351699

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Story

Arrested and Jailed

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By Mister-X/Spartan

Russ looked at the time and realized he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. He lived alone, but was at work and didn’t feel like going home to fix dinner. He decided to walk down to the fast food joint a couple of blocks away. They had a Tuesday night special going. As he was about halfway there, he heard a car screech to a halt behind him and a couple of guys rush out toward him. They looked like policemen. He looked around to see what they could be going to, but couldn’t see anything else where he was standing. By then they’d come up to him and stopped.

“Russell Smith?”

“Yes. Why?”

“We have a warrant for your arrest. Walk over to our car and put your hands up against it while you spread your legs and arms.”

Russ knew that he was going to be arrested and jailed at some time, but he didn’t know when it would be. As he was standing there he started thinking about what he had ahead of him in the next few days that he wouldn’t be here to take care of.

“Move it!” The guy started pushing Russ over to the car. Soon Russ had assumed the correct position and he was being patted down. Other passersby were looking over at the scene. Soon one of Russ’ wrists was brought behind his back and a handcuff was ratcheted on, the back of his hand facing where the other would soon be. This was followed by the other. The back door of the sedan was opened and Russ was ‘helped’ to sit inside. The door was closed and the two got into the front seat. Russ had been aroused by hearing the creaking leather of the officer, as well as being put into the cuffs.

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Story

The Convict – Part 17

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By Joshua Ryan

“This is Officer Nolan,” he said to his cellphone. “Open A292.” I heard the bars slide back.

“Inside, convict.”

I opened my eyes. There was a gap in the bars. The cell door was open. It wasn’t very wide. It was just the gate to a cage. I could tell that I’d have to tilt my bedroll to get it through. I lifted one side, maneuvering it. I would have to be careful not to let anything drop . . .

Then I saw it.   There was something long and thick lying on the lower bunk, something brown that was shaped like a man. There were letters and numbers stamped on its surface.   It was a convict, lying face down in my cell. Wait a minute! Couldn’t the officer see that the place was already full?

I almost blurted that out. Then I remembered: there were two convicts stuffed in all those other cells. That bundle of clothes on the bunk was only one convict. I was the other one.

I stopped in the doorway. I was scared to wake up that thing on the metal shelf. Jesus, it was dark in there, especially after the spotlight I’d faced outside. I could see a naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn’t turned on. The only light was the gray stuff leaking in from the walkway. That was enough for me to see that the whole cell wasn’t much larger than a medium-sized closet. It was a lot smaller than my bathroom at home. What used to be my home. Half the cell was bunks, one shelf above the other on the right side, against the wall. A lot of the rest was toilet — a metal toilet squatting against the back wall, a toilet without a seat, with something that looked like a little sink built into the top of it. The thing was gleaming at me in the faint light. Christ! I thought. They wash in the shitter. A wave of contempt ran through me. Probably one of them crapped while the other one washed his face in the crapper. They were like cats in a cage, with a little litterbox all their own. And now I was one of them.

Continue reading The Convict – Part 17 →

Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 11

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By lthr_jock

Clark reacted with shock as they headed towards the door – surely Greg didn’t mean to parade him in public like this. He held back and the leash tightened. Without looking around, Greg yanked on it and Clark felt his upper half jerk forward. He tried to brace himself but something made him lose his balance and he staggered forward. Greg turned as Carl burst out laughing. “Greg, you were right. Those boots work a treat.”

Clark looked down with confusion – the boots looked just like the heavy boots he had seen skinheads wearing in the street. But for some reason they felt slippery and unstable under his feet and he had to concentrate to keep his balance on them. Carl picked up another pair of the boots and turned them around so Clark could see the soles. Instead of a normal heel, they had a 2” heel on them and instead of a thick rubber tread they were smooth. “You see, the heel puts your balance off and the slippery sole makes it easy to pull you further off balance. We call them the Slave-maker.” Greg frowned and Carl continued “Ok, the name is a work in progress, but lucky you, you get to road test them for us.”

Greg yanked on the leash again and Clark stepped carefully towards the door. He was having to concentrate on where he was stepping and was taking steps so small that the boot shackles were almost irrelevant. Before he realised it, they were at the lifts. Greg stood there, tapping his crop against his boot with impatience. He turned to face Clark with a wicked grin on his face “You know what, let’s take the stairs.” Clark tried to complain but the gag filled his mouth stopping him and he could do little except hobble along behind Greg as the leather clad man tugged him towards the stairs.

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