Florida Trap – Part 08

By Johnny Utah

Based on a suggestion by MetalbondNYC

I got in my trailer. I dropped the boxes with the butt plugs and leg irons from Sgt. Stiles on the kitchen table. I got out of my boots, dropped my shorts, and yanked off my shirt. I picked up the leg irons. I could put them on, no problem. The butt plug was another thing. I decided to try, after all Sgt. Stiles had given it to me to try. I went into the bathroom. I had some KY gel. I got into my bedroom and hit the bed. All I had on was my socks and my collar. I locked the leg irons on. I admit they felt good. It brought back so many good memories. The restraint of the chain was reassuringly safe.

I had second thoughts about the butt plug but then decided to go ahead. I lubed up the plug. I used a finger to put some lube on the outside of my asshole. I laid back, tried to relax and slowly inserted the plug into my hole. It took a little pressure to get it in my hole, but it went in up to the base easily enough. I switched my concentration to the letter. I opened the letter carefully, so I didn’t rip the outside of the envelope with the address on it.


I hope this letter gets to you OK. My address is:

Mark Brodie


Taylor Correctional Institution

8501 Hampton Springs Rd.

Perry, FL 32348-8747

I got here several weeks ago. I have been moved around a bit here, but now I have a permanent cell assignment.

I guess I should go back to when I last saw you. I don’t know if you have heard about me from Stiles or if there was anything in the papers. I left the Columbia County Jail, where you came to visit me last about two months ago. They got me up really early. It was way before they serve breakfast. They told me to pack all my stuff, which wasn’t much all. They told us all to go the bathroom as it would be the only chance we’d have this morning.

About 20 of us were herded together in the day room. We had to strip off our jumpsuits. We just had our boxers and T-shirts on. We had to and sit by a wall and wait while each inmate was processed. It took forever. When the guards called your name, you got up and stood out in the middle of the dayroom and stripped. You did the routine of spreading your ass cheeks and everything like that. I’ve done it so many already it doesn’t really bother me anymore.

They keep the jumpsuits here, guess some other unlucky fucker gets to wear my jumpsuit now. They all got tossed into a laundry hamper that a trustee brought in. That must be a nice job. Washing warm sweaty stinking prison jumpsuits of men who are about to be transported all over the state to whatever hellhole they’ve been assigned to.

I had to get back into the clothes I got arrested in. A guard who works in the property room brings in this blue zippered bag. They scan your wristband and then scan the barcode on the bag to make sure the stuff is yours.  Like being branded like a steer. I did get to keep my boxers and the T-shirt. I pulled on my jeans and shirt. I felt weird to be in civilian clothes again. Some guys didn’t have any clothes, so they got a white jumpsuit, but it was real wrinkly. It was one of those disposable paper jumpsuits. Disgusting!

After we changed into whatever we would be leaving jail in we got chained up. No surprises. It was leg irons, belly chains, cuffs, and a connector chain from cuffs to leg irons. After we all got chained up, we shuffled out to the sallyport. There was a white school bus. I thought we’d all be chained together. I heard later there was an accident some years back where all the prisoners were chained together and they couldn’t get out, so now every guy just has transport chains. It also makes things easier for getting off the bus.

It was a ride to the Lake Butler Reception Center. You get to see the free world go by and think about all the time you will not see it or see it through bars or razor wire. We got to Butler and pulled into the sallyport. We got yelled at to get off the bus and line up. We got yelled at to say “Yes, Sir or yes, Ma’am.” We got yelled at to get into the Receiving building.

The Receiving Building is a big warehouse like a Costco, and us prisoners are the products. The first thing they do is make sure they have all your paperwork. They confirm your sentence you got. They check your money in your inmate account. I got mine set up at Columbia. Then comes the big change. It sounds like nothing, but when it happened it’s a big shock. They cut off your county wrist band and give you a Florida DOC number. It was a real shock for me to be told my number. It made me sick to my stomach. It makes you realize you are now a number in the state system.

I got a real quick “exam.” Basically, it was to see if I could breathe, walk, and wasn’t bleeding. You get checked for lice too. After that it was the haircut. I look like you did now. They had two trustees with clippers. My guy did my shave in about 5 minutes flat. Oh, the beard is gone too. I can start to grow it back now I’m at my permanent facility.

The shower was next. It was a tiled wall and concrete floor arrangement. Before you get wet, they do the lice spray, even though I didn’t have any. Just makes things easier to do it to everybody. You close your eyes and hold your breath. After that I got some soap and was told to get my ass in the shower. I had to hurry but the water was warm at least. Felt weird soaping my bald head. Guess you know.

I got my State uniform and slides. I got my mugshot. They printed out an ID card that I have to keep clipped to my shirt. I got some good reading with the Inmate Handbook!

I had a bunch of exams a few days later, reading and writing. Thy asked me if I considered harming myself and other medical things. They asked about my family life. I told them about my wife divorcing me. I told then I had sex with men too. I was called in to go and see the Classification Department. They are the final call on where you are going. It was really scary. You stand outside a room with your nose to the wall while people inside are deciding how you will live your life for the next five years.

I got classified as Minimum. They told me it was because I had no criminal history, I admitted guilt, and I was unlikely to re-offend. I was hoping to be going to a prison up here in the panhandle. They sent me to Taylor as my permanent facility. Talyor is south of Tallahassee and not too far from the Gulf. Taylor Correctional is a big place. It goes all the way from Community level to Maximum. They put me there because there is a masonry program there, I guess because of my working in a concrete plant.

I left the reception center the same way I came in, chained up but this time no civilian clothes. The was the white bus. They give you a bag lunch. It’s a peanut butter sandwich, three oreos, and a juice box with no straw. That was real fun to get into. There was a bucket with a funnel in the back of the bus to piss in if you had to go. I didn’t.

I got to Taylor, and it was way different than the Reception Center. I went through in processing here, which was just checking my paperwork and looking in all my holes. LOL. I’ll be here for the rest of my time, that should be a little over four years if I stay out of trouble.

I was here a week before I got my job assignment. You don’t have a choice; you got to work and work the job they give you. So, my concrete management skills got me a 16-pound sledgehammer, steel toe boots, and a hard hat. They have us breaking up the foundations of two big, condemned housing blocks. I bust up chunks of concrete weighing 300 pounds into chunks weighing 3 pounds. I fill a wheelbarrow up and dump it onto a big pile. Four other prisoners toss it all into dump trucks. Sounds familiar?  LOL!

We get out really early and stay out until it’s just about dinner call. We had to walk together to the site and walk back when I first got on the crew. There’s an ex-Army guy here and he’s really good at singing songs when we break up concrete. We asked the Crew Sergeant if the guy could call running cadence and then if we could jog back to the dorm so we would have more time for chow. He said OK so now we walk in the morning but run back. “Hard work!” Clap. “Hard work!” Clap. “Every day!” Clap. “Every day!” Clap. That’s how part of my favorite song goes.

I’m in a dorm-type building right now. I think there’s like 60 bunks in here and only a couple of bunks are empty. I get a shower three times a week, sometimes it’s two days in a row then a few days go by before the next shower. We also get a chance to use a hose out at the building demo site, so that helps too. Chow is pretty good.

I have to turn this letter in before guard shift changeover and the 4:30 headcount. Write me back. Miss you.


Concrete Buster


Wow, Brodie! I tried to picture him going through all of what he told me. I remembered him at the concrete plant tied to the hood of the truck, on his knees sucking me off, and collaring me. Now I was in a collar again myself. I reached up and ran my fingers over the collar. Smooth metal. A padlock and a ring. I was getting fully erect again. I wonder if Brodie got hard when he thought of me? I stroked my cock faster.

I remembered shards of time with Brodie, Johnson, Powers, the barber, and Sgt. Stiles. I got hard and I felt the fullness of the plug in my ass. I came. I dozed off.

I woke up. I carefully put the pages of Brodie’s letter on my nightstand and put the envelope on top of the pages. I’d read it again later, in case I missed anything. I got up out of bed and took a shower then made some dinner.

I went to bed early.

My dream…

There were two upright thick, rough cut wooden beams, columns. Heavy hewn uprights. They went from a hard stone floor and disappeared into the darkness. Somewhere up there in the dark they were secured to a massive crosspiece. Each upright had three heavy D ring metal anchors. One was set close to the floor, one about four feet above that, and then another about four feet above that. Each D ring anchor was held by four heavy bolts screwed into the upright. Each upright mirrored the other. Hammered iron, forged for one purpose — to secure a man.

These uprights held a tightly stretched, sweating, grunting, and straining Sgt. Stiles. He was shod in a pair of high black boots. Paratrooper boots with thick treaded soles. The boots had heavy laces, tied tight and triple knotted. Each boot had mirror shined toecaps. They reflected the dim light in the space where Sgt. Stiles found himself secured. Sgt. Stiles only wore a pair of green BDU-style pants. The position he was in stretched the normally baggy material tight over his thighs and ass. His ass muscles stretched against the double thickness of the reinforcing saddle in the BDU pants.

His crotch bulged against the conferment of his BDU pants. He desperately wanted freedom for his cock and balls, for some relief. For a little freedom, if his cock was free and able to move and grow, he would be partially free. He knew such freedom would cost him, if it was only partial freedom for his cock and balls.

From the bottom D Ring a heavy black rope stretched to Sgt. Stiles’ paratrooper-booted foot. Around the boot was a tight coil of rope that spiraled up to engulf the black leathered calf of the boot. Like a boa constrictor it held without giving an inch of slack. The heavy black leather of the boot merged with the black of the rope.

The next D ring on the upright was at the height of Sgt Stiles’ waist. The same type of black rope that engulfed his boots stretched down to his thighs and ass. The ropes encircled his thighs and curved around, lifting and highlighting his ass. Like the rear straps on a jock, the ropes showed off his firm butt.

The next D ring was high on the upright, above Sgt. Stiles’ outstretched arms. A black rope ran to wrap around his wrist. The rope was just at the point of lifting him off his heavy booted feet. The rope was just at the point of being able to support his weight. Just at the point of giving some minor relief. But it was just a bit short. Only an inch or so would make a difference. That inch was not coming.

Sgt Stiles’ massive shoulder muscles were taut and aching. His chest heaved with each breath. Sweat ran down his back to his ass crack. He snorted. Sgt. Stiles still held his head up. His thick neck supported his head. His head was freshly shaved in a high and tight. The sides and back of his head were closely straight razor shaved. Oh, he remembered that. How he had to beg to be shaved. The degrading things he had to do to earn that that shaving. Only a small closely trimmed oval of hair on the crown of his head remained.

His firm jaw was split open by a ball gag. He drooled around the gag. The sticky and cooling drool ran down his chin onto his massive pecs, rippling over his ab muscles, then down to his waist. The fabric of his BDU pants was drool-soaked at the waistline.

Sgt. Stiles, spread eagled, awaited my pleasure.

I was naked. I approached him from behind. That ass! I ran my hand along the inside of his thighs then up over the curve of his ass. It was hot. I let my hand linger over the top of his glutes. He shivered. He clenched his ass when I removed my hand, perhaps bracing for a blow. Not yet. From behind I rubbed my hands between his legs. I squeezed and patted his balls. He let out a groan, but it was restricted by the ball gag, it came out like a gurgle. I reached around him to grab his nips. I pinched them and kept up the pressure. He can take a lot of pain, I learned.

Eventually a gargled UUGGH!! came from him, and I stopped. I wasn’t trying to cause him real pain. That wasn’t what I wanted now. I moved in front of him. He looked so hot. Spread eagled. He was mine to train as I wished. I ran my hand along his jawline.

“You’re so hot,” I said to him. “You’re so close to breaking. All it will take is just a little push.”

He closed his eyes tight and inhaled noisily through his nose. I used my finger to play with his heavy septum ring. I had him ringed to show my power over him. He didn’t make a sound when they pierced him. He knew what it meant. I ringed him like a bull. I owned that bull. I closed in on him. I stood close next to him, almost touching, and I felt his body heat.

I used both my hands to unbutton the fly of his BDU pants. I reached into his pants and roughly pulled out his cock and balls. He kept his eyes fixed on mine. He was erect, and pre cum dripped in a thin strand to the stone floor.

“You want relief?  I’ll tell you how,” I whispered in his ear.

He gurgled around the gag, then he nodded his head.

His eyes pleaded with me now.

“If you are ready, are you ready?”

He nodded several times. His eyes were just begging me.

“Here’s how relief comes, not just from the situation you’re in now but from everything. It’s easy. I’m going to remove your gag. Don’t say anything.”

I reached behind his head. The skin was shaved smooth but was slick with sweat. I unbuckled the gag. I held on to the strap and pulled it out of his mouth. He sucked in air, but he didn’t speak or yell.

“That’s good,” I said.

My mouth was right at his ear. I whispered, “Just say, ‘Sir, I am your prisoner.’”

He groaned. This time loudly as his gag didn’t restrict the air going in and out of his lungs. His eyes went from pleading to wild.

I looked him right in the face and said again, quietly, “Just say, ‘Sir, I am your prisoner.’”

He closed his eyes slowly then opened them quickly.

“Sir, I am your prisoner,” Prisoner Stiles said softly.

“Say it again, Prisoner Stiles,” I said.

“Sir, I am your prisoner,” Prisoner Stiles said. This time a bit louder.

“Say it again, Prisoner Stiles!” I shouted.

“Sir, I am your prisoner!” Prisoner Stiles shouted.

I slowly put a thick metal collar around his neck. I locked it with a heavy padlock. I reached down and caressed his cock with my hands. Prisoner Stiles threw his head back and grunted. The ring on his collar and the ring through his nose proclaimed his beast nature. He shot his load. Two powerful pulses. Both of them hit me in the belly. While Prisoner Stiles panted and struggled for air, I smeared his cum on my abdomen. I took a slick gooey palmful of his cum — cum that I had extracted from him — and rubbed it all over his face.


When I woke up. I had to take another shower to get my wet dream cum off me. I tossed the bedsheet in the washer. I walked into the kitchen naked, well not entirely naked. I reached up and felt my collar without thinking about it. Shit. This collar. What would I do if someone saw it? I figured I could put a towel around my neck. I didn’t get too many visitors to worry getting surprised. I got some coffee going.

I walked back into the bedroom. I picked up the envelope and letter from Brodie. A small piece of paper fell out of the envelope when I turned it over. How did I miss it? It was a post-it type note. It must have stuck to the envelope. I read it:

“I work in the mailroom here. I was with Brodie and you at Baker SHU. Brodie has gone to the new work camp. Sgt. Stiles is running it. He’s collecting old SHU prisoners. Heard some other guys going there that were in the SHU. Watch out.”


I read it about four times. No name. There were a lot of guys at the SHU at Baker. I only saw the clipboard pictures of head-shaved men most of the time. I had no idea who’d written this note. Sgt. Stiles mentioned that he was after a new assignment, I guess he found it. The “watch out” comment made me scared.

I had to get out and off to feed the horses and shift a shitload of hay and horseshit. Working took my mind of Bodie’s letter and that note a little. I came back to the trailer for a sandwich and then went back to the barns. I took another look at that note. It was just about dark when I got back to my trailer.

I got dinner started and looked out the window over the kitchen sink. A white car was coming up the drive. One man behind the wheel. I didn’t recognize the car. I went to the front door and picked up the baseball bat I keep in the coat closet. I opened the door and stepped out onto the steps. It was Powers! I dropped the bat and walked up to the car. Powers got out to meet me.

“Holy Shit! I never thought I’d see you again!”

“Hey, Utah!”

We hugged each other.

He looked the same I last saw him in the SHU. Huge as ever, shaved shiny head, big smile. He was still the Mr. Clean I remembered. He was in a T-shirt and jeans instead of Florida Blues, but he was still a big muscle bull.

He looked at me and wasn’t so happy. I knew what he didn’t like.

“Sgt. Stiles put it on me last week,” I said, touching my collar.  “That’s when I got my head shaved too,” I explained.

“Utah, man,” he stopped. “Let’s go inside and sit and talk. I got a lot to tell you.”

“OK. Do you want something to eat? I was just starting something.”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

He came into the trailer and sat at the kitchen table. I got him a beer.

“I’m making tacos, easy to make and I eat too many,” I said.

Powers took a long drink of his beer.

“I got released on probation kinda by surprise,” he told me. “They let me go while Stiles was off duty. I know he’s been looking for a new assignment.”

“Sgt Stiles is at Taylor Correctional,” I said. “I got a letter from Brodie. There’s also a message for some guy.” I went in my bedroom and got Brodie’s letter and the yellow post-it note. I put it on the table for Powers to read. He read the letter and the note while I fixed up the tacos.

I got Powers another beer and one for myself and placed the tacos and all the shredded cheese, lettuce, and salsa on the table.

I took a swig of beer and asked, “What do you think about all of it?”

“It’s trouble, that’s what it is.”

“Powers, this is a real stupid question to ask right now, but what’s your first name? I never found that out.”

He laughed. “It’s Tom. Not Thomas. My legal first name is Tom.”

I smiled. “I think we’d better start calling each other Tom and Johnny. It looks like we are both neck-deep in shit.”

“You can say that again,” Tom said.

“So, what happened to you after I left?” I asked Tom.

“After you left a couple of weeks went by, nothing special. Then we heard through the grapevine that Baker had been selected to close. That’s when I knew things would have to change. One day we all got taken out of our cells. One at a time we went to that room where Sgt. Stiles punishes you. He strung me up and unlocked that tube my cock was in. I can’t tell you how many nights I dreamed about that fucking thing coming of my dick. When it did, fuck did it hurt! It still hurts. All of us that had one of those on got it taken off. Then we started to see several newer guards in the SHU. They started taking people out and putting them back into Gen Pop. There were only about five of us left there when they came to get me. I was scared shitless that it was Sgt. Stiles coming to take me out to the woods somewhere to get rid of me. Don’t need any witnesses. Then when I went to Gen Pop and then to Pre-Release, I found out Sgt. Stiles was transferring to Taylor.”

“Get something to eat,” I said. “Let me think.”

“So, who’s the guy who says Sgt. Stiles is collecting guys from the SHU?” he asked.

“I don’t know. He must have been there after you left.”

“Where are you staying?” I asked him.

“Right now, in that car. It’s my brother’s. He gave it to me for a week.”

“You can stay here tonight,” I said. “I’d like the company.”

“That would be great,” he said. “Can I take a shower? It’s been a few days.”

“How are you fixed for clothes?” I asked him.

“I got a change of socks and underwear,” he said.

“Good! I don’t think I have anything that will fit your big ass,” I laughed.

“You’re a little fuzzy on top, the best I can do to repay you is give you a touch-up,” Tom said.

“Let’s finish what we got here on the table first,” I said, laughing.

After dinner I took him down the track to see the barns and the corrals. Tom asked me about what I did with the horses. It was getting dark by the time we got back to my trailer.

“I gotta take a leak,” Tom said.

“Bathroom is through there,” I said and pointed the way.

Even though he closed the door it sounded like a garden hose hitting the water in the toilet. He came out with a can of my shaving cream, a couple of razors and my bottle of baby oil. I bought the baby oil on recommendation of the barber.

“Care to do me?” Tom asked with a smirk.

“Sure!” I said.

Tom turned one of my kitchen chairs backward and planted his muscle ass down on the seat. He pulled his T-shirt off. He flexed those powerful arms of his.

“Be gentle with me!” He laughed.

I put the razors on the kitchen table. I got a kitchen towel wet with water and wrapped his head with it for a few seconds. I lathered his head up. I took my time and slowly made clean, slick passes with the blades. I went delicately around his ears. He liked that. He had his eyes closed. It occurred to me that maybe why he sat with his back to me was to hide his hard-on while I shaved him. I got the towel and got it wet again and wiped off what little shaving cream was left, then I used a paper towel to dry him off. He was about to get up when I put both my hands on his massive shoulders and said, “Sit down, I’m not done yet.”

He did. Good thing, too, because there’s no way I could have forced him back down in the chair.  I lathered him up a second time and carefully shaved him again. His head was slick, smooth, sexy. He got up, looked right at me and said, “You’re next!”

I sat in the chair. The seat was warm. I pulled off my T-shirt.

Tom, bare chested, lathered me up the same way I had done to him. He was thorough and didn’t miss a hair. I got a warm towel wipe-down, then a second coat of shaving cream was smeared slowly over my cue-ball head. Tom worked the second dose of shaving cream into my head in small circles. I had flashbacks of being shaved in the SHU at Baker. Tom put his massive hand on the top of my head and moved my head around. “Smooth as silk,” he said.

I stood up. I didn’t know how to say what I wanted, so I just launched into it.

“Tom, it’s late. I have to get up early. You look beat too,” I said. “Let’s get some shuteye. I don’t want you sleeping out here on that little couch. You can share my bed. I won’t try anything.”  I kind smiled stupidly at the last sentence as soon as I said it.

Tom smiled at me. “Best offer I’ve had all week,” he said. “Since I got out of Baker and got out of that fucking tube my dick hurts if I get beyond half hard. If I start moaning, you’ll know it’s because of that.” Then he said with a smirk, “Not that you can’t try.”

We turned out the lights and locked up the front door. Tom stripped down to his boxers.

I stripped down to my jock.

Tom smiled at me in my jock. “What’s with the jock?” he asked.

I just plainly replied, “Orders.”

“OK, I understand,” Tom said.

We got under the sheets. Tom turned his back to me.

I snuggled up to him. “I just want some warm company,” I said.

Tom moved his massive arm back behind him and over to me and rubbed my butt.

“Me too,” Tom said.

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5 thoughts on “Florida Trap – Part 08”

  1. This is great!
    As soon as I think I know where we’re going, zap, another turn. Keeps me interested and wanting more and more.
    Wonderful story, keep it going. thanks for your work.

  2. I like a good story of big beasts with collars and rings through their nose, even if it was a dream.
    I think Utah’s relationship with Stiles is different from the others in Stiles’ collection. All of the others seem to have had working relationships with Stiles, before they were framed and arrested. Utah volunteered to be Stiles’ prisoner and went through it without being arrested. They share a different connection and attraction.

  3. I was going to say the same thing as Tim! This story is so well done that I can’t predict what’s coming next, but it all seems natural and perfect once I read it, not a forced storyline but a realistic one. I really am enjoying this, and am eager to find out what comes next!

  4. Indeed, this story is well written – can we also say “conceived”? I have the impression that Johnny is writing from ideas that flow just ahead of where we are, in which case this whole construction is even more remarkable. Surely with all the interlacing and complexity he has an outline with some milestones, but then maybe not, maybe he is just brilliant at making up and keeping track ! Which ever way, I am deep inside it with no possible escape.

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