Florida Trap – Part 06

By Johnny Utah

Based on a suggestion by MetalbondNYC

I drove like a little old lady back toward Jacksonville. The speed people were going was really fucking crazy. I got to my hotel by a combination of memory and luck. It wasn’t too far from the highway, so I could see it before I had to turn off. I pulled into the parking lot. On the passenger seat was a printout of my reservation. I guess Sgt. Stiles had made it for me. I wondered what he was doing right now.

I parked and went to check in. One thing hit me right away. It was hard to walk. I was taking short steps waiting for the chain on my leg irons to stop me. I had to stop. I took a deep breath and tried to walk like a free man. It was hard to do.

I walked into the hotel. It was freezing cold. Air conditioning, ugh. There was a smell of carpet. There was a smell of people. Not man sweat, Lord knows I liked that. It was the smell of deodorant and cologne. So overpowering and sticky sweet, like someone stuck a honey dipped finger up your nose and twirled it around.

The room was huge. A room with a big window. There wasn’t much of a scenic view. A credit union across the street and a Family Dollar store just down the road. All this space was for me. I laid down of the bed. I sank in. Soft as a cloud. No way would I sleep here! There was a small sofa, but I wouldn’t fit on that.  That didn’t matter right now. I was just restless. There was too much space. There was too much to do. I caught up on my email, watched TV, took two showers. It was like I’d drunk coffee all day. I was jumpy.

My phone rang. I jumped. I answered it, shaking.

“Utah!” It was Sgt. Stiles!

“Yes, Sir.”

“I had a problem at Baker. I can’t make the bar tonight. I’ll give you a call tomorrow before noon. I have to be in Lake City. I extended your stay at the hotel for another day. You doing OK?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“See you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Yes Sir.”

He hung up.

Now what do I do? I was going nuts.

An idea came to me. In my room there was one wall that was long and didn’t have a picture on it. I stood in front of the wall. Nose and toes. Hands on top of my head. Legs spread wide. The position! I repeated my reporting statement in my head a dozen times, then softly said it out loud. It was so reassuring to say it. It was comforting to say it.

“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes, Sir!”

I closed my eyes and imagined my cell. The security of it.

“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes, Sir!”

I relaxed.

I don’t remember how long I stood there in the position repeating my reporting statement. Eventually I relaxed enough to feel sleepy.

I put some bath towels down on the floor of my room. They smelled of detergent. I got a pillow off the bed and went to sleep. So much better.

I took a quick glance at the front page of the newspaper that was on the coffee table with all the other “welcome to the hotel” crap they give you. I didn’t look at it when I first got into the room.

Who was that? I picked up the paper.

Holy Shit, that’s Brodie!

There was a small front-page article. With a picture of Brodie!

That handsome face, that thick beard that captured a few drops of my cum after he expertly sucked my cock dry. It seemed so long ago. I read the article:

The Florida Times-Union

Lake City, Florida: An arrest was made at the Seminole Concrete Works in a long running investigation into corruption with contractors defrauding the Florida Department of Corrections. Justin Brodie was charged with seven counts of fraud and two counts of conspiracy in supplying concrete and other construction supplies and services to several Northern Florida Correctional Institutions.

Brodie had control over accounting at the Seminole Works and was able to manipulate the accounts to hide tens of thousands of dollars in false and inflated charges. Brodie then submitted these charges to the Florida Department of Corrections for reimbursement.

Brodie is married and lives in nearby Lake City. Brodie will be arraigned on Friday at the Third Judicial Circuit Court in Lake City.


It couldn’t be! Brodie never came across to me as a financial guy. He could get a good lawyer. I was sure made good money working at that plant.

My stomach growled at me, to remind me it was a long time since I had eaten. Maybe I was upset after reading about Brodie. I went down to the lobby to see what they did for breakfast. On the elevator ride down, I remembered the biscuits and coffee at the concrete plant. Damn they were so good in the morning. I got to the small area where breakfast was. I was a buffet. I had to stop and remember how to serve myself. I managed cereal, toast and coffee. I sat at a corner table. I crouched over my tray. I don’t know why, but I felt really defensive down there in the restaurant.

I went back up to my room and put the “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the door handle. Checkout wasn’t until noon. I picked up my bed I made on the floor. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and got what little I had backed away in a small bag I got out of my car trunk. With nothing else to do I went to the wall and assumed the position.

“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes, Sir!”

I stood there repeating it to myself.

I relaxed.

There was a knock.


“OK, coming!” I shouted. Time to go. I grabbed my phone and bag and went down to check out. I was in my car in the hotel parking lot wondering what to do when a message popped up. It was Sgt. Stiles. He was going to be at the bar after work. I texted back I would be there.

I hit an ATM then drove down to the yellow painted Fat Boyz bar, just south of the hotel I stayed at. I didn’t see Sgt. Stiles, so I got a stool at the bar. I ordered a beer and waited.

I’d finished the beer, put the empty on the bar, and in strode Sgt. Stiles. He was in civilian clothes. Cowboy boots, tight black ironed and creased Wranger jeans, a tight white long sleeve shirt, and a white Stetson. Fucking hot!

I got my ass up off the stool.

“Hello, Sir.”

“How are you doing, Utah? Did you get a beer already?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“OK, go grab a table, I’ll get us another round.”

I got to watch that perfect round ass, now held tight by a pair of Wranglers, strut to the bar. He put a cowboy booted foot up in the footrail. He did that deliberately to show off the curve of his ass, I thought. He took some dollars out of his shirt pocket to pay for the beers. No wallet in the back pocket to spoil that ass.

I watched as he came back to the table I’d sat down at. He looked as good coming as he did going. That big chest, the narrow hips, and the bulge in his jeans!

“How are you doing, Utah?” Sgt. Stiles asked me.

“I’ve been trying to decide whether to stay around Jacksonville or head back home, Sir,” I replied. “It’s been a little difficult to stay here. I do have some savings, but they won’t last forever. I could kind of use some help finding a job down here. Do you know of anything available, Sir?”

“You got any special skills? I mean other than picking up trash and cock sucking?” he laughed.

“No, Sir. I can do outdoor labor, I can work in a warehouse, stuff like that.”

“There’s usually something around for work like that. I’ll ask about any work available in town, maybe out at Baker.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

We sat for a few minutes without saying anything.

“Do you have any family that might come down for a visit, that might be something to do?” Sgt. Stiles asked.

“No, Sir. Everyone’s up North. They really don’t like Florida.”

We finished our beers.

Sgt. Stiles asked if I heard about Brodie. I hesitated.

“Yes, Sir. I read about him in the paper. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Takes all kinds. Sometimes some guys see all that money floating around and they decide to get themselves some.”

“He didn’t seem like that kind of guy to me, Sir.”

“Like I said, Utah, it takes all kinds. Let’s go outside.”

We got up and left the bar. He went out first. When we got outside and walked over to a big black pickup truck that just had to be his. If there was an automotive version of Sgt. Stiles, it was this tank of a truck. It had a big black matte finish grill guard, overhead lights and gun rack visible in the back of the cab.

“Where are you staying now Utah?” He stood close to me.

“Sir, I sleep in my car a lot. I try to get one day a week in a hotel.”

He got much closer. He smelled good.

He held up five twenty-dollar bills. With his right hand he slipped them into my back pocket of my jeans and gave me a little pat on the ass and said into my ear, “A gift to help you get along.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He stepped toward his tank truck. ‘I’ll text you about any jobs, keep your phone on.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He hopped up into the cab and drove off.

I stood in the bar parking lot with a hard on and one hundred bucks in my back pocket.

I got in my car and drove back to Jacksonville. I had to find a place to park for the night.

I spent the night at a 24-hour Walmart. It was a place I heard about on the grapevine. If you asked the manager, you could stay the night as long as you behaved and didn’t piss in the parking lot. You could come in and use the restrooms too. They preferred that you came in and bought something first though.

The next morning, I decided I wanted to see Brodie. I had to find the Columbia County jail website first and put in a request to visit.

No messages from Sgt. Stiles. I spent part of my time downtown walking around.

Two days later I got a message saying the inmate had approved my visit and I would have to provide ID to get in. There was a long list of what not to do and what not to bring.

Going out on the I-10 toward Lake City brought back memories of picking up trash at the roadside with Keelie and Johnson. The pine forests reminded me of the workcamp. There were even a few gravel pits and concrete plants closer to Lake City.

I drove to Lake City and up Route 441. Sure enough, there it was.

On the building was a big Sheriff’s star and the title “Columbia County Detention Facility” on it. Off to one side was a lot of construction. They were expanding the place. Business must be good.

I was nervous going into the building. There was a door labeled “Visitors.” That was me now. I went inside, and there was a service window. I got asked who I was here to see.

“Justin Brodie,” I said.

I had to show my license, fill out a form saying I wasn’t a felon or had any charges. If they only knew!

“Take a seat,” the guard said from behind the glass.

I had to wait. My guess is they had to run my driver’s license. I got called in to the visitation room. The room was long and narrow. There was a line of stools and line of windows. I guessed it was bulletproof glass. There was a phone on each side of the window.  There were several people already talking to some inmates. I went down the line. I got to the next to last window.

There on the other side of the glass was Brodie. He looked the same. Handsome as fuck. Big shoulders. Thick neck. The black and white striped uniform with red letters that read “Columbia County Unsentenced” was so fucking hot on him. I hated to think it, but he was made for that uniform. I picked up the phone. He picked up his. There was a recording, “This conversation will be recorded and used in a court of law or internal detention facility disciplinary hearing. Use is consent to this conversation being recorded.” It repeated in really fast Spanish. Then I heard a click.

“Brodie?” I said.

“Utah! Great to see you man!”

He was so cute.

“When I saw your name on the visitor request, I couldn’t believe it. It’s really nice to see a friendly face.”

“I bet.” It was all I could think of to say.

“My lawyer says not to say anything about the case at all. He said I could talk about the weather, sports and family.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about the weather in there,” I said.

Brodie laughed.

“I bet the food’s not as good as what you made for us?”

“It sucks. They get it from an outside contractor, figures.” Brodie shrugged his massive shoulders. That striped jumpsuit was tight. What did his ass look like in that, I wondered.

“I don’t know if there’s anything I can get for you. Do you need anything?”

“Naw, thanks man. I got some money on my account, so I’m fixed up pretty good for right now.”

“What happens next?”

“My lawyer meets the State Prosecutor in a week, so I’ll know more after that.”

“Where are you staying, Utah?”

“I’m staying in Jacksonville right now. I’m not too far away, so I can come back.”

“Thanks, Utah. If you can do that it would make the time here go a little easier.”

We shared a long stare at each other. We knew what “time” meant.

“Is your family, your wife up here? I mean can they come and visit you when they want?”

“No, that’s another complication. She’s divorcing me.”

“Oh no! That’s a real shitty time to do something like that.”

“I don’t blame her. We were spending less time together. All this business was icing on the cake.”

I tried to change the subject, but all I could come up with was, “Do you have your own cell?”

“Naw, I’m in an open dorm. There’s about 30 of us in there now. Overcrowding.”

“I saw they’re building a new section.”

“Yeah, I put a concrete supply bid in on that!” he laughed.

Brodie asked me about my plans.

“I’m living in my car. There are good spots to park near police stations, and I’ve even parked outside in the Jacksonville jail parking lot. Best night’s sleep I got in a long time,” I joked. “I’ve got some money. I get a cheap room once a week to get a shower and clean up.”

“Haven’t you got anyone down here, Utah?”

“Only Sgt. Stiles.”

“Oh, that can’t be good.”

“He’s called me a few times to check up on me. I met him at a bar once. That’s been about it.”

“So why are you hanging around Jacksonville then?”

“I don’t know. I can’t decide what to do right now.”

“I don’t have that problem right now,” Brodie laughed.

A guard came up behind Brodie. Brodie sensed he was there before he spoke. “Times up, Brodie.”

“OK, gotta go, come back, OK?” Brodie said. He smiled at me. He hung up the phone.

Brodie got up and walked away. He turned and gave me a wave. I waved back.

His ass looked awesome in that jumpsuit!

I left the jail feeling sad for Brodie and drove back toward Jacksonville for the night.

I was sitting in my car with a coffee and donut for breakfast when my phone went off. It was Sgt. Stiles. His message said he had a job prospect for me out in Lake City. It was working out at a horse ranch. He said it was basic labor, but it came with a mobile home to live in. He had been there, and it was in good shape. He knew the owners through his uncle. All I had to do was call and get an interview. Sgt. Stiles said they had had some help before who turned out to be real druggies.

I called up right away and agreed to come out the next morning. When I got out there I realized how far back in the woods it was, real Florida Country. The owners were a really nice older couple. They had owned the place since the 1970s. The whole property with the ranch and all the backwoods came out to 160 acres. There were two big barns with hay. The horse stalls were in a long building with all kinds of fans. Got to keep those horses comfortable.  There were other small sheds for other kinds of equipment. There was a tractor with a trailer and a smaller ATV to use around the ranch. The owners lived in a house about a mile away. They offered me the job. I accepted. They told me it would take a couple of days to have the mobile home ready for me.

I was sitting in a Circle K gas station getting a cup of coffee before heading back to Jacksonville. I saw a newspaper with a picture of Brodie. I took it out of the rack and read.

Lake City Reporter

Lake City: Justin Brodie, 32, of Lake City, Florida, has reached a plea agreement with the Florida State Attorney General’s Office. Brodie was charged with several counts of fraud and conspiracy on Florida Department of Corrections construction contracts. Brodie’s defense attorney read out the plea agreement in court with the consent of his client. The Florida Attorney General’s Office agreed to five years of confinement, with time served deducted, five years of probation, and a fine of $30,000. Brodie was taken to the Columbia County Jail to await transport to the Lake Butler Reception and Medical Center.


I drove to the Columbia County Jail. I tried not to drive too fast and risk getting a ticket. I went through the same procedure as my first visit. I eventually got called. This time I had to go all the way to the end of the windows. There he was. Brodie looked tired. Not so happy as the first time I saw him in jail.

I picked up the phone, listened to the spiel about recording then I talked.

“Brodie, man what happened?”

“I had to make a deal, Utah. They had all kind of evidence, but I didn’t do any of it. I was a little sloppy with my bookkeeping, but that was it. I don’t know where it all came from, but my name and my prints were all over everything.”

“Brodie,” I said as compassionately as I could.

“My lawyer said they had enough to put me away for at least ten. Maybe a max of fifteen years.”

“Is he going to appeal anything?”

“He put in a motion to reconsider, but that got denied. I’m kind scared now.”

Those big brown eyes of his showed that he was afraid.

“What happens to you? How long do you have here?” I asked.

“All depends on the numbers. When they get enough to fill a bus, they’ll send it out. I asked around. Looks like it might be a couple of days at the most.”

“You’re going to the Butler Prison?”

“It’s a reception center. They figure out what kind of prisoner you are, like minimum, maximum, that kind of stuff. They see if you have any mental problems or if you’re sick. They check up to see if you can read and write, what your education level is. Then they send you off somewhere else to do your time.”

“Can you ask to be sent someplace close?”

“That depends on how they classify you and if there’s a vacancy. Sometimes you can get close to home, other times you’re 800 miles away.”

“Will I be able to visit you?”

“Yes, after I get to my permanent institution you can request a visit.”

Brodie paused. The phrase “permanent institution” had a chilling effect on him.

“Brodie, do you need anything right now? Something that I can get you?”

“Naw, I am good for right now. I got a stack of paperwork from my wife’s lawyer the other day, that should make for good reading.” He smiled finally. He had such a great smile. A country boy smile.

I decided to try and change the subject.

“I got a job in Lake City,” I said, trying to keep the mood happy. “It’s over just north of town on Gum Swamp Road. It’s a horse ranch, Gum Swamp Ranch. I have a place to stay there too.

“Shoveling shit?” Brodie asked.

“Yep, that too!” I laughed. “I get to look after the horses, make sure they get water and food, keep the place clean, stuff like that. I think I’m going to like working there. It’s open, no one to bug me, and I don’t mind the smells. I start in two days. They have to clean up the mobile home I’ll live in. It’s pretty nice. I saw it when I went out there.”

A guard came up behind Brodie.

“Brodie, time to go man. Cut it off,” he said.

I said real hurriedly, “You remember my number? You can call me when you can. Remember where I work, too.”

“Yep, I got your number in my paperwork. I will. Thanks for coming to see me.”

When Brodie got up, I noticed his jumpsuit. It was still black and white stripes, but the red lettering now said “Sentenced.” That sounded so fucking final.

I went out into the jail parking lot. I sat for a while trying to process everything. Now Brodie was going to prison, I had a job, and Sgt. Stiles was sometimes here and sometime not.

I figured I’d call Sgt. Stiles to tell him about Brodie and that I got the job.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Sir.”

“Utah, what’s going on?”

“Sir, I just want to call you up and let you know I got the job. I want to really thank you for getting me the contact with them.”

“No problem, Utah.”

“Sir, when I was out at Lake City I saw that Brodie, the guy who runs — ran, the cement plant where I was on the team from the work camp is prison for five years!”

“Yeah, I heard. He’s lucky he made a plea deal. He could have been facing some serious time.”

“I know this may sound stupid, but is there anything you can do for him?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. He’s kinda too far in the system now. If I could do something for him it would have been best to do before he got charged.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said disappointedly.

“Tell ya what. Let me take you out to dinner to celebrate you getting a job. What do you think?”

“Yes, Sir! That would be great. I’d really like that.”

“OK, are you still near Lake City?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ll come pick you up. Park at that Marathon gas station on the 441. We’ll go to a place called Rita’s, the best steaks in town. I’ll meet you around 6, OK?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I was waiting when Sgt. Stiles pulled into the gas station. He stopped, and I went over and got in his massive pickup. He was wearing his tight black Wranglers, a white shirt, and his white Stetson — fucking hot.

“Sir, this truck is massive,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorite toys. I’ve had it a year. A little money came in, so I treated myself. I use it to haul the camper when I go up to Georgia camping.”

He pulled out of the gas station and into traffic.

“We’re going to a place called Rita’s. Best steak place in town.”

“The last place I had steak was at the Seminole Cement. That Brodie could sure grill a steak,” I blurted out.

“You sure talk a lot about Brodie. You got a thing for him?”

I looked straight at Sgt. Stiles.

“Yes. He’s fucking hot, just like you.”

How was that going to go over, I thought quickly.

Sgt. Stiles kind of snorted.

“You little fucker!” he shouted.

I was instantly scared. Did I go too far?

“I’ve been thinking about your ass since you came up to me at that gas station where I had the road crew. Then I got you to camp, then to the SHU. I don’t know what we can do about Brodie, but you and I have some possibilities.”

He smiled at me.

We were at the restaurant all too quickly.

Dinner was great! I really ate well for the first time in a month. I talked with Sgt. Stiles about the ranch, what was in Lake City, the family out there, and toward the end of dinner the subject of Brodie. Sgt. Stiles said he said he could help me set up a visit request once Brodie was out of Reception. I thanked him for that.

After dinner we went out in the restaurant parking lot. I got to watch that perfect man ass in those tight black Wranglers swagger toward his truck. We got into his truck and drove off. We passed the gas station where I parked. Just a bit down the road was a vacant lot. He pulled in and shut the engine off.

“Let’s get out,” he said. He got out and squared his Stetson on his head. His boots crunched the gravel.

We both walked to the front of the truck. He moved in close to me. We were chest to chest. He cocked his head to the right and kissed me hard, with real force behind it. It was so good. My ears were hot. He put his massive hands on my shoulders and spun me around. He grabbed an arm, then the other. I was handcuffed in seconds.

He spun me around to face him. He ran his hand over my head and said, “Your hair’s getting long,” and he smiled.

“Yes, Sir. I need Prisoner Powers and his razor.”

He just smiled. That great smile. “I might know a way,” he said.

He took his Stetson off and delicately put it on the hood of the truck behind me. I was pressed up against the grill of the truck. The crossbars dug into my back, but I didn’t complain.

That haircut of his. How perfect for the man. Shaved crisp sides. A well-trimmed oval of hair on the top of his head.

“Now that I took my hat off, it’s time for me to do something.”

Again, that smile.

Sgt. Stiles dropped to his knees in front of me. He looked straight up at me as he undid my jeans and pulled my stiffening dick out. Keeping his eyes right on me, he took me in his mouth. All I could do was moan. It was so hard. He swirled his tongue around the head of my cock. He pulled away from me and then got my balls out of my jeans. He gave them a tender, soft licking. He made happy purring sounds. A tom cat with his cream. Then he went back to my cock. I began to squirm with the pleasure of it all. He knew I was close to unloading. He was a professional cocksucker.

Then he stopped!

He slid up my side and whispered in my ear, “See Utah, you’re still my prisoner. I can still get you hard and keep you that way for as long as I want.” His voice was low and wet.

“Please, Sir please!”

“Please, what Utah?”

“Please let me cum Sir, please!” My voice was dry.

He slid back down to his knees. He went back to work. It didn’t take long. He knew the exact second. He replaced his mouth with his hand. One firm grip and I squirted with a grunt.

I gasped for air. He got up off his knees and got right in my face.

“See, I made you shoot just as far as you did in the SHU. I still control you, Utah.”

“Yes Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De-Seg, Cell 14, Sir!” It came out of me before I could even think.

Sgt. Stiles laughed. “You go back to your training really quickly! I’m beginning to think that’s your natural calling.”

I looked down and saw the long outline of his cock straining against his jeans. I pressed my body up against it. Then I dropped to my knees and rubbed my face in his crotch.

“Sir, please?”

He unzipped. He pulled out his cock. He held it there with his right hand as it stiffened even more now that it was free of his tight jeans.

“Sir, please,” I begged.


Still on my knees, I turned my head as far as I could to see where Sgt. Stiles was going.

He came back with a pair of leg irons. I heard them jingle. Of course, he had leg irons in his truck. He came up behind me and locked them on each ankle. Then, I couldn’t turn to see but he used something to connect my handcuff chain to the chain on my leg irons, my back was pulled back, I had to stick out my chest. No way could I stand up now.

“That’s a bit better,” he said. “Let’s put you back to work.”

He stepped back a pace from me, “Come and get it.  I shuffled as best as I could on my knees. My dick and balls still hanging out of my jeans. When I got to him, I took him in my mouth and started to suck him off. I tried to slow myself down, but I couldn’t. He was ready to cum in moments.

He pulled me off his cock.  “Can you take my load?”

“Sir, I haven’t swallowed before.” He grunted then gripped his cock with his hand.

He tensed up.

Shot in his hand.

He snorted like a bull a few times.

He held out his index finger. “Go ahead, lick my finger, prisoner!”

I did. It wasn’t bad tasting.

“See that wasn’t so bad, let’s try on leather.”

He took his hand and wiped some cum on the toes of his boot.

“Get down there!”

He pushed my head down. He kept pushing, switching to a spot between my shoulder blades that floored me.  My face was level with his cum slicked boot. I was in a hogtied position. My bare dick and balls were assaulted by the sharp edges of every piece of gravel they were in contact with. I licked what cum I could off his boot. He stuck both his arms under my armpits and lifted me back up on my knees.

Then he walked over to the front of his truck, he smeared what was left of his cum on the capped end of his truck’s grill protector. There was a length of black metal pipe that stuck out about 6 inches and ended in a bulbous black metal cap. He wiped his cum on that too. It was like the truck had a dick.

“Get over here!”

I moved as fast as I could on my knees. The gravel stuck me in the kneecaps.

“Clean it!” He ordered.

I took the end of the metal pipe into my mouth. I had to open wide to get the cap in. I choked and gagged, but I did it. I pulled off that pipe. It was wet with my spit. All around my mouth I was glazed with his cum. I did the best I could, and it seemed to please Sgt. Stiles.

He uncuffed me and then looked at me intensely. “That was fucking great, prisoner Utah!” He smiled. “I guess I can keep calling you prisoner. It seems to suit you.”

My head was still spinning. All I could do was quietly reply, “Yes Sir.”

He put on his Stetson and said, “come on, let’s get you back into town.”

I staggered to the passenger side and got in his truck. The truck I had just sucked off, I thought. We drove back to my car at the gas station. We pulled in next to my car. He said, “I gotta go in and take a piss. Stay in the truck.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Trying to recover, I shifted around in my seat.

I moved my feet back and my heels kicked a corner of a folder that was under my seat. I picked it up and took a quick look. It was all about Brodie. It was invoices, copies of emails, and pictures. There were names and dates. What was this all about?

Sgt. Stiles came back from the gas station restroom. I got out of the truck to meet him. Looking back at it, I guess I was nervous since I found that folder on Brodie. I didn’t realize it at the time.

“Utah, it was fucking great tonight. You and I are going to have to get together real soon.” He smiled that smile at me, and I melted.

“Yes, Sir. I’d really like that a lot.” I really meant that. It was one of the hottest things I had ever done, right up there with fucking around with Brodie and Johnson.

“OK, I gotta go. I’ll call ya.”

He swung that great ass of his into his truck and drove off.

I got into my car and drove away.

I just got a little way down the street when I had to pull over.

That folder, all that stuff.

It was Sgt. Stiles who had put Brodie in prison.

Why was I both scared and excited about that?

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Metal would like to thank the author, Johnny Utah, for this story.

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6 thoughts on “Florida Trap – Part 06”

  1. Nice new chapter love where this is going! Love how Utah is stuck obsessed with the prisoner experience. Doesn’t seem like the brightest though putting together what happened to Brodie after what Powers said about how he got into the prison. Can’t wait for more!

  2. Fascinating twists now to the story – and clearly the idea of this being an ending can be discarded. Great writing and creativity, thanks so much, this is brilliant; becoming an epic.
    Sgt. Stiles is not only a sexy hunk and a sly operator, but is he now becoming greedy? He sets up his ‘catch’ to be incarcerated but always owed by them, he still owns them, the perfect network.
    Utah of course will be inside , for real this time based on “evidence”.
    However, at some point Sgt. Stiles risks to go just a bit too far and fall into his own trap, will he himself get caught and end up inside? Even then we won’t know if this in itself will also have been a set-up.
    The intricacies and intrigue opportunities here remain endless. This reader has become prisoner to the story, locked in his cell, keeping the position, totally submitted, relief only with the next chapter.

  3. I have enjoyed this story from the start. But i wish you’d get on with it already. Sgt, Stiles should have enslaved Utah by now. His prisoner should be kept in Stiles basement cellblock and used over and over again. Please have Stiles take Utah home in shackles and a collar. A slave once and for all! No way out!

  4. I am glad to see the writer is taking the story in another unexpected direction. I really hope this turns into a long odyssey.

  5. I don’t see any reason why Utah cant wear neck and wrist shackles or leg cuffs while working at a horse farm. Maybe even restrained in a horse stall occasionally. At least a good cock cage. How well does Sgt. Stiles know the owners of the farm.

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