By Hunter Perez

The following day, John was asked to work a double shift because one of his fellow officers became ill. He didn’t get home until after midnight, but by then the lights were out at the home of his mysterious blond neighbor. The day after that, another officer became ill and John was pressed into another double shift. Again, he came home too late to catch a glimpse of the neighbor.

On that second night, another lemon yellow envelope addressed to “Mr. Cop” was among John’s mail. He tossed aside the magazines, catalogs and bills that accompanied the letter and tore open its envelope.

“Dear Mr. Cop,” the letter began. “Since I found the courage to contact you, I wanted to share my dreams about how our life together could unfold in a captor and captive relationship.”

John laughed as he took a beer from his refrigerator and readied himself for the letter’s contents.

“Given the size of your home, I assume that you have a large basement,” the letter continued. “I would also assume it has a concrete foundation – concrete walls are perfect for keeping prisoners like me inside. I’ve given thought to different types of incarceration within your basement. One would be a standard, no-frills jail cell – like they have in the old Western movies where the guys in the black hats are locked up by the handsome sheriff. Another idea would be a padded cell, though I don’t know how much it would cost to have that set up. Of course, being in a padded cell would also require that I be put in a situation where I wouldn’t do any damage to myself. A straightjacket would work, though what I would really love is a leather gimp suit. I once read a story online about a guy who gets trapped in a mental asylum and is locked in a leather gimp suit within a padded call – I would read that story several times a day and cum each time.”

John giggled as he sipped his beer. “Padded cells and gimp suits – this guy needs to be locked up to realize what it’s really like.”

The letter went on: “Of course, how I dress would be your decision and not mine. Whether I should be in a leather gimp suit, an orange prison jumpsuit, or naked with some good old chains locked on me is up to you.”

John roared with jollity. “Good old chains? This guy is so stupid – someone this dumb deserves to be punished.”

Then the letter reached its conclusion: “I would not ask anything elaborate or even sympathetic from you, Mr. Cop – I am here to be your kitchen servant, your house servant and your sex servant. I would only ask for the privilege of being able to keep books with me. I don’t need television or radio or the internet – and I don’t need anyone else to be in contact with me. When I am not doing your bidding, all I need is a good book and I will be content. Thank you again, Sir, for listening to me and for giving me such pleasure.”

John re-read the letter while finishing his beer. “Just what the doctor ordered – a literate masochist. I can stuff him in a straightjacket and whip his ass, then we can talk about Hemingway.”

John went upstairs to his bedroom and was going to turn on the light, but paused and tiptoed through the dark room to the window. He looked out and saw a faint light coming from the upstairs of the blond neighbor’s home. Grabbing his binoculars, he focused into the room and waited for the neighbor to appear. But the room’s light abruptly went out and John closed his curtains and turned on his light.

“Let’s see if blondie has a name,” he said, pulling out his phone and opening a search engine site. He typed in the address of the neighbor’s home, but all that came up for that search was a limited liability company. “He’s probably a renter. I think there was some fat guy with a fat dog there last year, and some other guy was there before.”

John disrobed and climbed into bed, turning off his light. While laying in bed, he began to rub his groin while recalling the letter’s contents.

“Good old chains,” John muttered as he stroked himself while imagining his neighbor locked in irons.

The next morning, John had the day off and he resolved to get a better look at his neighbor. He began his morning pruning and fertilizing the bushes and plants across the front of his home, sneaking glimpses every few minutes to the neighbor’s home, but his prey did not emerge. After going inside for a quick lunch at noon, he returned to find the neighbor emerging from his home, taking a place on his porch with a thick book.

John brought out two large bags of mulch and several tools from his garden shed. He stripped off his shirt and began the task of removing the old mulch around his bushes and plants while laying down the new mulch. It was a hot afternoon, and John’s body was quickly covered in sweat – he felt that he was giving the neighbor the show he desired.

John tried to be inconspicuous in casting brief glances down to the neighbor’s direction, but it always seemed that his intended audience was never paying any attention to the show John engineered. John assumed that his neighbor was watching, but his heavy eyeglasses obscured the direct ocular contact to affirm he was aware of what was happening. While he worked, John recalled the heated contents of the letters and the pleas for John to turn his home into a private prison for a ready and willing slave. He started to wonder how he could reconfigure his basement to accommodate such a request and began to budget the costs of becoming a dungeon master.

When the postal carrier’s truck came down the road, the shirtless John made a point of standing by his mailbox to await his daily delivery. Again, the neighbor never seemed to look up from his book – although the very surprised postal carrier complimented John on his upper body strength while handing over the mail.

For the rest of the afternoon, John worked slowly on his mulch project, until around five o’clock when the neighbor closed his book and went back into his home. John showered and made a light dinner. As he sat down to eat, he thumbed through his mail and beamed as another lemon yellow envelope addressed to “Mr. Cop” was found in the pile.

“Dear Mr. Cop,” the letter began. “Again, I apologize if I am wearing out my welcome, but I wanted to share a dream that I had last night. I dreamed that I was in your basement and you had a large pillory set up. You were shirtless and wearing tight jeans while I was naked. You ordered me into the pillory and locked it, and then took a whip and began to rain lashes across my back. I felt invigorated and excited by the punishment, to the point where I could feel an erection taking over my groin. When you finished with the whipping, you wrapped a metal chastity belt around my waist and locked its cup over my dick.”

John became aroused while reading the letter, muttering to himself about he would love to impose such torture on his blonde neighbor.

“Mr. Cop,” the letter added, “I trust that you are a good and kind man and would not hurt me to the point of becoming crippled or killed. But I wanted you to know that being under your control would give new meaning to my life. I want you to be happy in having me as your prisoner, and I know that I will be happy when I am confined in your locks and keys.”

John stretched his arms and exhaled with pleasure. “I think it’s time that I pay this guy a call. He seems to come out around noon – and I don’t have to be at work tomorrow until six. Maybe we need to have a little chat – a bit of conversation and followed by a spanking with his book. Yeah, let’s see how he reacts when his fantasy comes to his door.”