Category Archives: Story

Story

Brig Story – Part 05

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By Tommy Guns

Finally, left alone in my cell, I laid down on my rack and got to thinking about the action the night before. My hard-on returned with a real vengeance, and I thought that I now had the time and opportunity to relieve myself. Alas, it was not to be. Just as I was getting into a rhythm, I heard footsteps coming down the passageway. They stopped at my door, and a key was put in the lock. I scrambled to get my cock stuffed back into my trousers, and almost made it before the cell door was thrown open. Standing in the doorway was the hot Corporal from earlier, framed in the light from the passageway overheads.

In his hands he had the leather belt and leg irons, and ordered me down on my knees facing the rear bulkhead. I said, “Sir, yes Sir,” and immediately got off the rack and hit my knees as instructed. He locked the belt in place, cuffed my wrists, and after he put the leg irons on, he ordered me to stand up and face him at attention. I struggled to my feet, turned around and stood before him. Just looking at his well toned body, deep blue eyes, and that uniform snuggly fitted to his body brought my cock to full attention again. He saw the effect he was having on me and a slight smile crept across his face. He then asked me, “I heard you’re a fudge packer. Is that true prisoner?” I replied, “Sir, yes Sir and this prisoner would be pleased to relieve the Corporal of his stress in any other way if would please the Corporal Sir!”

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Story

Brig Story – Part 04

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By Tommy Guns

I awoke the next morning, still hog chained, and with a pounding headache that was beating rhythmically with my heart. I knew where it came from. I still had a raging hard-on, and the lack of blood flow from the head below the waist to the one on my shoulders was creating a problem for me. I had never gone this long without relieving myself, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the images of last night out of my head. They kept me harder than I had ever been before, and I was in dire need of release of some kind.

I had never been able to just rub myself off against a mattress, and this time was no different. This was going to be a serious and growing problem.

I had been awake for what seemed like hours before I heard footsteps outside my cell. It was a single set, so I assumed it was only one of my Marines from the day before, probably returning to see if I was still ready to service them. I would have been glad to, but now I really needed to pee as well as jack off, and things down below were getting serious.

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Story

Brig Story – Part 03

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By Tommy Guns

It didn’t take long before the pain in my shoulder blades from being cuffed in that position became severe. I could no longer feel my legs, just a tingling sensation every once in awhile in my calves. I have no sense of how long I remained kneeling, but what little light that had been coming through the cracks at the top and bottom of the cell door had long since disappeared, and I was in almost total darkness. From my years in the jungle, I had become used to extreme low light conditions, but this was beyond that. I could just make out the commode in front of me, and the outline of the steel rack next to me, but nothing else.

I must have dozed off, because I didn’t hear the key turn in the lock, and was startled by the sudden opening of the hatch and the rush of cold air that came with it. I could just make out one of my two guards of that morning when he entered my cell. He ordered me to turn around, but to remain on my knees. I tried to comply as best I could, but my legs would not cooperate. I fell over on my side, and my guard kicked my right leg and told me to get on my knees. I managed it after a couple of tries, and was facing him. I was on my knees, just about six inches from the zipper of his uniform trousers. I could see a bulge in his crotch, and something told me what to expect next. I was right.

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Story

Brig Story – Part 02

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By Tommy Guns

When we got to the other room, I was ordered to sit on a chair, and another prisoner came in and took a pair of clippers and cut my hair and mustache off. I already kept my hair pretty close trimmed in the standard high and tight, but the brig haircut was even shorter, more like being back in boot camp, fresh off the bus, and getting your first Corps haircut. The loss of my well-trimmed and groomed mustache was a real pity. I had cultivated it and trimmed it with great care over the years, and it was one of my better features. Oh well, I supposed it was yet another part of the price I had to pay for whatever it was I had done to get myself locked up. At this point, I was more interested in what I was being charged with. It must have been pretty serious, given the high level of security they were using with me.

After the haircut, I was photographed, both full face and left and right profile, and then fingerprinted. This part of it was rather interesting, since they were taking no chances with me, and did not release more than one wrist at a time from the cuffs, and even then one of my guards had hold of my upper arm, while the other had his foot on the chain between my ankles. After a couple of sets of prints were taken, I was again fully shackled and led back to the holding cell I was first held in. They took my cuffs and shackles off once I was locked in the cell, and ordered to take the gown and slippers off and pass them through. I complied, and was given a set of utilities to put on, and a pair of flip-flops to wear with them.

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Story

Brig Story – Part 01

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By Tommy Guns

I remember it as if it was yesterday. It was Tuesday, May 11th, 1971, the day I woke up in the Brig, my hands and legs tightly shackled to the bars at the head and foot of the rack on which I was laying. Most of all, I remember the smells. I was laying in my own waste, dried blood and vomit staining my ripped uniform blouse, and a tear at the knee on the left leg of my uniform trousers. There were the smells of despair and hopelessness, and the scent of cold, hard, oily steel, mixed with way too much pine cleaner.

But I still don’t remember much of the three days that preceded that May 11th, or what had brought me to that place, on that memorable day, in the disreputable state I was in. But I do remember what happened after my rude awakening by the sound of a nightstick being banged against the solid steel door of my cell.

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Story

Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 15

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By Greg Alexander

As I dangled from the basketball hoop, trussed up, totally helpless, and in constant pain from the excruciating hanging wedgie, the frat boys proceeded to ignore me completely for the next hour or so, as they fired up the grill and begin to whip up a spectacular feast. The frat boys had given me some dog food mixed with peanut butter for lunch, but I realized, in spite of everything, that I was pretty hungry . . . and of course, suffice to say, no one offered me any of the food.

The frat boys ate burgers, hot dogs, grilled corn and peppers and chicken.

They also made tacos and burritos, and, as if that weren’t enough, someone brought out a massive bowl of beans, which they eagerly began to devour.

During the whole time that they grilled, I simply dangled there, smelling the delicious aroma of food that I was not allowed to have.

Later, as the light began to fade, as the frat boys ambled around the yard and chowed done on their ample food, they began to pay attention to me again . . . much to my chagrin.

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Story

Wanted Karl – Part 3

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By rts

(written while locked and chained in biker leathers, sweating and restrained, by order of MetalbondNYC)

I am left on the floor chained to this post for hours, enduring the abuse of the rubber men around me. I have been pissed on, whipped and hogtied until finally it’s closing time. Tom comes over and dumps a bucket of water over me. “Just trying to wash off some of that piss stink,” he says, and then he frees me from the hogtied position and pulls me to my feet. Dragging me with the chain locked to my posture collar, he leads me, my boots dragging, the leg iron chains rattling on the concrete floor, to a steel door that he unlocks, pulling me into another room. There are several steel frame beds with rubber mattresses, metal lockers between them. The walls are concrete without windows and along one of them there is plumbing for a shower with douche hose, an in-floor squat toilet and a sink. A full-length mirror is mounted on the side wall.

I am shaking with fatigue and nervousness as he removes my gas mask and then starts unstrapping the straight jacket and pulls it off me, freeing my arms briefly, then he re-cuffs them behind my back. It actually feels a bit cooler now that I am free from that jacket. He removes my ball gag, warning me not to speak.

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Story

Wanted Karl – Part 2

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By rts

(written while locked and chained in biker leathers, sweating and restrained, by order of MetalbondNYC)

The night was an agony, my crotch painfully straddling the pipe keeping pressure on the anal intruder trapping my balls and invading my ass, I got no sleep constantly trying to stand up on my booted toes to relieve the pressure but my worn out thigh muscles giving out forcing me to endure sitting down. My jaw aches from the ball gag, my rubber suit is filled with sweat, my arms are cramped in this straightjacket, my posture collar is a torment. I can’t take this anymore. I’ll surrender all control just to get out of this ordeal and this confining gear. I am scared at the thought of what my future will be, but I have to just to be released from this torment.

I don’t know what punishment Mark will inflict on me if he takes me back, maybe as rough as what’s happening to me now, and permanent slavery under his control would be brutal. The other possibility of being sold as a rubber slave to a strange top man frightens me with uncertainty, and I am overwhelmed at the prospect of being anyone’s permanent slave. I am sobbing at the idea that my release can only happen with total surrender to losing control of my future.

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