Florida Trap – Part 10

By Johnny Utah

Based on a suggestion by MetalbondNYC

The owners of the ranch I’d been working at had decided to sell the place. Bad news for me. I needed to find a new place to live and a new job. Sgt. Stiles had come over, and we walked back to the barn. It was a long quiet walk back to the barn. When we got there Sgt Stiles said, “I’m going to miss this place.”

There were just a few bales of hay and a few bits of tack around the barn. The barn had the lingering smell of horse and warm hay. Sgt. Stiles was in his sexy ass tight Wrangler jeans and a tight white T shirt. His jeans were tight enough for me to see the outline of a pair of handcuffs in his back left pocket. Sgt. Stiles ordered me to strip. That didn’t take long at all! I had on was my shorts and jock. He spun me around and cuffed me.

He wrapped my jock around my neck and used it as a leash to lead me in front of a bale of hay. Sgt. Stiles stayed until it was starting to get dark.

That night I had a dream:

I was led into a big barn. I was a human horse. The world had been conquered by aliens, and they used us for hard labor. Who knows how long ago it had taken place, all I knew was I was in a new place and soon I’d be hitched up to a wagon pulling whatever they grew in the fields off to the landing zone where it was loaded into a spacecraft and taken away.

There are other humans doing other jobs, but my job was to be hitched up to a cart, pulling heavy loads around all day long. I would wear a collar, bit, bridle, and a harness. I’d wear heavy boots that were locked on.

When I got inside the barn it was divided up into stalls. You could smell the human horses. Warm hay, sweat, maybe a faint trace of piss. I was led by my bridle into the farthest stall. A big stallion looked straight at me. He had a thick black mane on his head. The sides of his head had been shaved. The hair left on top was like a long mohawk. It flowed down the top of his head down to the back of his neck. He had huge shoulders and thick arms. His body tapered down to a narrow waist and a sizable cock and balls. His thighs were powerful and much thicker than mine, I noticed as I was led into the stall. He had large powerful hindquarters. He snorted. The stable lad took my bridle off, got the bit out of my mouth, gave me a slap on the ass, and then closed the low gate to the stall.

I stood there motionless. I could smell him. The stallion was Sergeant Stiles. He came at me quickly. I didn’t really have any time to react, maybe take a half a step backwards and he was on top of me. I was pushed up against the wall of the stall. There was no hesitation. The stallion was going to claim me quick. No one else was going to get my ass. I was fucked right there in the straw.

In the morning I woke up with the stallion’s massive arms around me, holding me tight. We slept on a mound of fresh straw. I felt his cock pressing hard into the crack of my ass.

He nuzzled me behind the ear.

Morning. I heard the sound of the barn door opening. It was time to start the day. We were let out of the barn out into the corral.

My stallion wandered to a corner of the corral, spread his legs, and let out a strong stream of piss. After he had finished, the other human horses did the same in order of rank in our herd. I was the last to go. There was a trough of water and food pellets. We lowered our heads and drank as much water as we could and got as much food in as we could. The stable lad was coming in to bridle us up and get our harnesses on. We waited patiently to get our bridles and bits in. Wide leather straps buckled and locked heavy boots around our feet.

Bridled and shod in our heavy boots, we were led over toward the cart that had been loaded up with a heavy load of cargo that was going to be going to the spaceship. There are six of us today. My stallion was in front, another human horse was next to him, then another two, and then I was finally at the back on the left in the junior position.

A whip cracked over our heads. All six of us human horses dug in the toes of our boots and began to pull the wagon slowly up the dirt track. It was a level track for several miles, then there was a slight incline. We built up some speed to tackle the incline but by the time we got to the top of the hill we were panting. Spit was dripping down from our bits. 

It didn’t take much more than this image, and I shot my load.


Today was the last day at the ranch. I was really going to miss the place. I didn’t know what I was going to do next with my life. I got what little I had loaded in my car. Sgt. Stiles said he would be coming by. I really hoped he’d show!

Sure enough, at about 10 he showed up, and in uniform! WOOF! He always looked hot in his Corrections Officer uniform and gear. His uniform looked like it had been painted on his muscular body. With his stab vest underneath his shirt his shoulders were even wider, and that made the line of his body down to his heavy-duty belt with its threating holster and handcuff pouches even more V-shaped. His pants were tight on his thighs, and of course there was his sizable bulge in his crotch.

“I know you don’t have a fuckin’ clue about what to do with yourself, so I decided to give you a choice,” Sgt. Stiles said.

I started to say something, but Sgt. Stiles shut me up with that “you don’t talk now, boy” look he occasionally gave me.

I kept quiet.

“I’ve made some arrangements that will keep your life organized for a few years and where I can keep an eye on yer ass,” he said. “You just have to get that little butt of yours in your car and drive to the road. If you turn left, you’re on your own, free and easy.”

Sgt. Stiles paused. I started to sweat.

“Now if you turn right, well let’s say you’ll be taken care of by me and my partners for a few years. It’s easy. All you have to do is drive your car to the road and turn left or right, but trust me, Johnny.”

I got in my car and started it up. My stomach churned. I thought, “What the fuck am I doing?” I hit the gas. I drove out toward the end of the drive. I looked in the rearview mirror every few seconds. Sgt. Stiles was still standing there until the turn in the drive concealed him. I got to the intersection of the drive and turned right onto the main road to Lake City.

I didn’t see where the first cop car came from, but in an instant there was a cop in front of me, and I was looking down the huge barrel of a shotgun. I hit the brakes.

“Keep yer fuckin’ hands where I can see em’!” someone shouted at the top of his lungs. It sounded like he was in the car with me.

“Get outtta’ the car!”

I slowly opened the car door and stepped out onto the side of the road. I felt sick to my stomach.

“On yer knees, hands on your head!” I knelt down and put my hands on my head. I was used to that position.

From behind, a hot cop body, and I mean temperature hot, slammed me against the ground. I had the wind knocked out of me. Snot bubbles came out of my nose. I don’t know how many cops ended up on top of me, but I was crushed. My arms were pinned behind me. I got handcuffed, and these guys wanted me to know I was handcuffed. Those fucking cuffs were tight! Whoever was on top me yelled, “You’re under arrest for possession with intent to distribute!” right in my ear. He must have had an onion bagel for breakfast — his breath stank!

They got me to my feet, a couple of times kicking the back of my legs. I got a chance to look around and there must be at least five cruisers around my car. I was partly carried, partly dragged, and stuffed in the back seat of a police cruiser. A fat Columbia County cop, who had the worst BO, put the shoulder belt on me. Why couldn’t I get a cute one, or one that at least smelled good!

“What the fuck was going on?”

I was in the back of the police cruiser pulling away from my car when I turned and saw Sgt. Stiles at the end of the drive. He smiled. I relaxed. I knew I was OK. The cruiser drove me to the Columbia County Jail. I remember the way from when I went to see Brodie, up Route 411, then the turn to the jail. The jail came into view. There was still a bunch of construction equipment out front. They never finish building this place, I thought.

We pulled into the razor-wire-topped sallyport of the jail. There were four cops waiting for me inside. They must have thought I was going to give them trouble. One cop opened the door to the car, reached in and undid my seatbelt.

“OK, Utah, side yer ass outta the car! Give us any trouble and you’ll regret it!”

I slid out of the cruiser. It had those molded plastic seats in the back. They are OK to ride in but a pain in the ass to slide out of when you are cuffed. The was a sliding door, that one cop opened, another cop pushed me through into the booking area. It was a small space. I smelled like the inside of an old microwave.

I got pushed up against a wall. In front of me was a large sign in English and Spanish saying it was a felony to bring in contraband into the jail.

“When I take your hands out of the cuffs put your hands on your head, you got that?” he gave me a little jab in the ribs to make the point.

“Yes, Sir!”

He uncuffed my hands and I put my hands on my head.

“Lift up your left foot.”

“Lift up your right foot.”

He took off my boots.

The cop started to search me. He started at my ankles and worked his way up. He didn’t miss a square inch of me. His big hands lingered between my legs, and I started to get hard. Just when I was starting to enjoy it his hands were up and off me. When he was done, I got my digital fingerprints taken, then a mug shot.

“Sit over there!” a deputy pointed to a bench against a wall with steel rings set into it. I was cuffed by my right hand to one of those rings. I waited.

Two deputies came swaggering up. “On yer feet!” They uncuffed me from the wall and left the cuffs dangling on the wall. They walked me over to a shower room. OK, I knew what was coming. There was a cardboard box. With a felt tip pen I wrote my name and the last four of my social on the box. My boots were in the box already.

“Strip! Sox and underwear go in the trash.” I dropped my jeans.

“Hey look, the little perv has a jock on. Must be advertising his ass!” A cop shouted.

I gave the deputy a smirk as I tossed my jock and socks into the trash bin. I put my jeans and T-shirt on top of my boots in the box. The deputy taped it shut.

Off to my right was a shower area. Naked, I got tossed a small bar of soap. “Get in the shower!” I dove in under the shower, as I expected it was cold, then soaped up, then did a quick rinse off. A towel came flying at me. I dried off quickly as I could. A pair of orange boxers and an orange jumpsuit with “Sheriff’s Inmate Unsentenced” in black letters on the back were on a bench for me to put on. I got a pair of orange slides to put on my feet, no socks.

“Face the wall!” I got cuffed up again.

The deputies walked me a short way to a holding cell. They closed the door after I got in the cell. I expected them to call me to the door to uncuff me, but they didn’t, the fuckers. So I sat on the concrete shelf that served as a bed. No blankets, sheet, or pillow.

I don’t know how much time went by. Not too long, I guess. My stomach hadn’t started to grumble at me telling me I missed a meal. I heard the door to the cell slot door rattle. I stood up and faced the back of the cell. The cell door slid open.

“OK, Utah. Let’s go. You get to see the judge.”

The two same deputies walked me down the hallway. I got hauled into a small room with a TV in it. It was one of those video judge setups. It took all of five minutes. I confirmed my name. I was charged with one count of possession of a controlled substance in an amount that indicated intent to distribute. Since I had no address in the county, I got no bail. I’d get a public defender. Shit.

I got taken out of the video courtroom and went down to a cell. This cell had a bunk and a toilet/sink combo in it. I got a bedroll. I made my bed and crashed. I had to wait four long days until I saw my public defender. Breakfast for the next three days was a hot pocket and one of those hard-to-open milk cartons they gave you at elementary school. Lunch and dinner were microwaved turkey pot pies with a cherry juice box. Yuck! County jails suck for food.

I got to see my public defender twice. The first time was a quick interview to get some personal details checked, my record, finances, character witnesses. At the end of the interview, he finally asked if I was guilty or innocent. I knew Sgt. Stiles had set everything up. I said guilty. It took all of ten minutes, max.

The second meeting went quicker. My lawyer came in not looking to happy. My stomach churned. “They’re offering a plea deal. I think it’s your best option. The State is offering 10 years total — 5 years inside with 5 years probation.”

“What if I don’t do a plea deal?” I asked.

“It could be up to 15 years, and don’t count on any favorable probation,” he said.

I decided to take the plea deal. I didn’t have much choice. Sgt Stiles had it all planned out for me. My public defender got me a sentencing date a month later. He said I was lucky, some inmates had to wait months to get sentenced.

It was early in the morning; it couldn’t have been any later than 4 a.m. Two deputies came by and yelled through my cell door. “Up against the far wall, Utah! Hands on yer head!”

When I had assumed that position they said, “Cuff up!”

I backed up to the cell door slot and stuck my hands out. Handcuffs got slapped on hard.

“Take a step forward, Utah!”

I got a belly chain around my waist, pulled tight. “Turn around.” I got handcuffed with my cuffs connected to my belly chain. I walked into a corridor near the sallyport with three other inmates. We all had to kneel on a bench, and we got leg irons put on.

“Stand up!” The deputies then connected a chain that ran from my leg irons to my belly chain. I shuffled off to wait to get in the transport van for the ride to the courthouse. You can’t get sentenced by a video judge. When the transport van showed up, we formed a line and one by one got stuffed in the back of the transport van. For some reason, all the transport vans I’ve been in have the faint scent of puke, farts, and BO. There’s nothing quite like being bound up in transport chains, sitting thigh to thigh in the small compartment, with guys who haven’t showered in four days.  The ride to the courthouse was bouncy, just right to mix your churning stomach acid.

In the courtroom I had to wait while three other guys got their sentences. Everyone there was doing a plea deal. One skinny guy just got two years for some minor drug offense. The other two guys in front of me each looked like this was not the first time they had been through the judicial system. They each got 12 years for armed robbery. I was the last guy to get sentenced.

The state prosecutor stood up and let the judge know about the plea deal and that the State was happy with it. I had to stand up and say I agreed to it. The judge accepted the plea deal, and with that I got my five years in prison and five years’ probation.

We all got shuffled back to a holding cell in the courthouse. We were there for quite a while until the transport van showed up. We got frisked before we got in the van. When I got back to the jail, I got strip searched again and I was tossed a new uniform. Before I was wearing a unsentenced uniform but now my orange uniform said, in big black letters across the back, “Sheriff’s Inmate Sentenced.” It made me feel different.

It was two weeks later when I got woken up early in the morning — it couldn’t have been any later than 4 a.m. — by a guard pounding on my cell door. It was time for me to roll out and get on the bus to go to prison. I got tossed the cardboard box I had put my clothes in when I first got dragged into jail. I got changed out of my orange jumpsuit into the old jeans and T-shirt I wore when I was arrested. I got to keep the pair of orange boxers I was wearing. I pulled on my boots — no laces to do up. That was it, I was ready to go to prison. I was ready to get out of that stinking county jail. There were 12 of us going to prison that morning. The process of getting there reduced us inmates to the level of livestock being processed to go to the slaughterhouse.

We were in a long room, kind of a corridor. We got ordered to face the wall, hands on our heads. We got leg shackles first. They had to get a larger pair to fit over my boots. Out of 12 guys I was third to get chained up. I turned my head really slightly and could see the first two guys get chained up. Pretty standard. Belly chain, hands cuffed in front, and connector chains to the shackles. I got skipped and was left boot cuffed and with my hands on my head while the guards moved on to the guy next to me. The guards just repeated the process of cuffing except for the next to last guy, who like me was just leg shackled. I didn’t like it. I’d learned it didn’t look good when you were different in jail. I heard a guard come up behind me, clanking the chains that would restrict my movements for God knows how long a ride I had ahead of me. A belly chain was wrapped around me and pulled tight. That fucking guard must have had something against me, though I didn’t recognize him at all. Who knows, maybe Sgt. Stiles slipped him a few bucks for giving me “special handling”?

Next were the handcuffs, and I knew as the guard said, “put your right hand above your left hand” that I was going to be uncomfortable. Sure enough, out came one of those damn black boxes! My hands were cuffed, the box locked on, and padlocked tight up against my belly chain. When the other inmate toward the end of the line got the same treatment as me, we were all set to go. This however was county jail, so we waited and waited.

After what seemed like a couple of hours a big fat guard came into the room and shouted loud enough so they could hear him down in the cell block, “When the door opens you go out single file, no talkin’ unless you want some bumps and bruises to help you remember your time in this jail!”

There was a white school bus with “Florida Department of Corrections” painted on the side. This was my ride to the next part of my life.

We drove maybe 30 minutes, maybe less, through the flat center of Florida. All the little towns looked the same. I didn’t have too far to go to the next part of my correctional life. My destination was Lake Butler Reception and Medical Center. That’s where you go while the Florida Department of Corrections figures out what to do with you. I had no idea where I was going after Butler. I just trusted Sgt. Stiles had it figured out for me.

Butler was like a giant factory. Raw ingredients came in, and my ass was a raw ingredient. We got processed, canned, labeled and shipped out to our various destinations where we’d spend the rest of our sentences.

The first thing that happened after I got out of the van was, I was stripped. I got the now normal routine. Open mouth, lift your balls, turn, spread ’em, squat and cough. All 12 of us from Columbia Jail were there stark naked. I picked up my clothes and walked into the big gray Receiving and Classification Building.

There were several benches. We were told to take a seat and shut up. I sat my bare butt on the bench. A guard came up, pointed at me, and said “You, next!” The guard tilted his head toward a metal chair. Next to the chair was a convict in Florida Blue inmate uniform, and in his big hand was a hair clipper. He just pointed to the chair. I knew what to do. I sat my bare ass down on the cold metal. It only took a few swipes of the clippers. My hair had grown out since my arrest back in Lake City but not a whole lot. I had maybe half an inch of hair. In a couple of minutes, it was down to the skin.

After the haircut it was off to take a shower. I got a chunk of soap about the size of an Oreo cookie. I soaped up as best I could, rinsed off, and then used the dish towel sized towel to try and dry myself off. Naked and still damp on my back and between my legs, I went to the next processing station. And at least it was something good.

The one bright spot of Butler was I got issued my first prison uniform. Sure, I’d worn a jail jumpsuit and blue uniform at the work camp, but this was PRSION! I got my Florida Department of Corrections clothes. Three pair of white boxers, three pair of white socks, three white undershirts, and a pair of blue canvas type light sneakers without laces.  I pulled on the blue pants with a nice white stripe up the side. I felt like a new man! I was an inmate. Maybe I would work my way to be a con!

I got a new mugshot with my shaved head, and that picture was on my issued ID card. I had to wear it on my right upper chest. I was an officially labeled piece of meat in the system. I was shown how I could set up an account for commissary items and for phone calls and mail.

I spent two months in receiving and classification at Butler. I got weighed, eye tested, probed, and prodded. There was a dentist who poked around in my mouth, nurses asked about illnesses I had, and an education counsellor. I had a college degree so that placed me way above the rest of the cons with me who were lucky to have a GED. Last was a short talk with a psychologist, who was mainly concerned if I was going to harm myself. I got asked if I was a member of a gang or if I had any gang members out to get me. I got asked if I had testified in a trial against anyone and if I wanted protective custody. I said no to both. They had us take a test on a touch screen that was built into a tabletop. It asked all kinds of questions about my background and how I felt about myself. All very psychological.

I got assigned to “Medium” classification, which the prison handbook we were supposed to read defined as: “Medium custody refers to that class of inmates who are eligible for placement at a work camp with a secure perimeter but who are not eligible for placement in an outside work assignment without armed supervision.”

That meant at Butler I got a bunk in an open dorm type building. I had to find my own way there. No one on the staff cared. I was just a bit of the machine. I found the building I was bunking in. I found my bunk and dropped my stuff on it. I was in a section that was pretty empty. No one to fight over top or bottom bunk.

With nothing to do I looked at the Inmate Handbook. There was a lot of don’ts. Strangely enough it was an offense to intentionally masturbate. Also, in bold print was, “There is no such thing as legal consensual sex in prison.” What a place!

The handbook also told me about the schedule and what programs might be available at my permanent correctional facility. I liked the sound of that: “permanent correctional facility.”

Finally, I got called for transport. I had to grab my very few belongings and stuff them in a clear plastic bag. I was with a busload of other inmates getting ready to leave Butler. It was the same procedure: strip, have my clothes and bag searched. Then it was time to get chained up. Shackles snapped on tight around my ankles. They made sure they put them next to my skin and not over my socks. I got a belly chain locked around me. Above my waist, the guard pulled it tight and secured it. I wasn’t slipping out of it. A connector chain between my shackles and cuffs kept me from moving my hands up too far and just added to my discomfort. No doubt on purpose.

The driver of the bus came up and announced, “Ya’ll that are going on past Tallahassee will get a bag lunch. Anyone getting off before that you’ll have to find something at your new home.” New home! Yes! At least I’d be away from Butler and get into a real prison. I was sure Sgt. Stiles would meet me at my next stop — wherever that was.

All the paperwork on me, and all the inmates getting on the bus were in a cardboard box up front by the driver. My stop was Madison Correctional Institution right up north close to the Florida/Georgia state line. I didn’t know it until I got ordered off the bus. Nothing but pine forests, sinkholes, and swamps for miles.

There’s not much to Madison Correctional. It has a shoe factory that makes shoes for the Florida Department of Corrections. There was also a plant where they make the fabric for Florida DOC uniforms, but they were sewn together somewhere else.

I spent a week at Madison in the A Block, then got called to pack up. “Get yer ass up and get your shit together. You’re going to work camp!”

The drill was getting to be normal for me. Get out of my cell early in the morning, strip searched, all my stuff crammed into a clear plastic bag.  The sun was just coming up and there was starting to be that warm wet rotting vegetation smell when I was led out into the parking lot to wait for transport.

The van took me down a bouncy dirt road. If I had eaten anything I would have puked. We were way out in the country. I hadn’t seen a house or any building for miles. I started to have bad thoughts. Were they going to take me out to some deserted spot and get rid of me? Shot while escaping! Then I remembered these guys didn’t carry guns.

Eventually the van stopped. “Get yer ass out!” yelled the guard. He took his time getting the side door open and I hopped out. “Over here,” he said. I was hit right away with that Florida swamp smell — wet decaying vegetation, hot sand, and hot salty air.

Sunk into the ground by the side of the road was a 2-inch-wide steel pipe. It had been filled with concrete, and a large metal eyebolt was sunk into the concrete at the top of the pipe. I shuffled over in my transport chains. My cuffs got attached to that eyebolt with another pair of handcuffs. The guard took of my leg irons and connector chain. “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “You’ll get another set.” He tossed the plastic garbage bag with my few things inside on the ground next to me.

I don’t know how long I was there cuffed to the post — long enough to get soaked with sweat. I thrashed side to side to keep the bugs off me — not very well. I had plenty of mosquito bites. The sun wasn’t high in the sky anymore when down the dirt road came a guy on a horse! He wore a uniform of a Florida Corrections guard.

“You Utah?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered. As if anyone else would be handcuffed to a post in the middle of fucking nowhere Florida! He got off the horse and went to a saddle bag. He took out a heavy set of leg irons. Those things looked ancient.

“You stay still and let me get these locked on you. You give me any trouble and I’ll leave you out here for the cougars. You got that?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be still.”

“All you need to say is, ‘Yes, Sir,’ fuckhead. You got that?”

“Yes, Sir.” So, it was going to be like that. I had visions of the road camp with Johnson.

He locked the leg irons on me just above the tops of my boots. They had a really strange key that went in like a screwdriver. A handcuff key wasn’t opening these fuckers I thought. He uncuffed me from the post. He left me standing there while he went back to his horse and got a rope from the other saddlebag behind the saddle. I had flashbacks to my western hanging jerk off dream!

The guard tied the rope to the chain on my handcuffs, then walked back to his horse. I shuffled along behind him. He mounted his horse and with me about 10 feet behind the horse. With the guard leading me by the rope, I was led up what looked like an ATV trail.

“Sir, my bag!” I yelled out. “You won’t need that shit anymore!” he yelled and then he spat out on the ground.

Fuckin redneck, I thought.

“Come on, I gotta get back before dark,” the guard said, like I was fucking up his whole life.

I walked as fast as I could, cuffed and shackled, down the dirt track. It was nothing but saw palmetto and brush with long thorns for as far as I could see.

I don’t know how far I trudged through the swamp, but the dirt track opened up. A lot of ground had been cleared and every hundred feet or so were these high piles of gravel. They must have been a shitload of dump trucks down here. They must be building a road.

Eventually there was a big cleared-out area. On top of a big mound of dirt and gravel was a bunch of tents surrounded by rolls of barbed wire. At least I wouldn’t be living at swamp level for the next five years.

The tents were green army style tents with the sides rolled up, and inside I could see rows of bunkbeds. There couldn’t have been more than an arm’s reach between them. There were a few other bigger tents in the middle of the compound. The hum of generators drowned out the buzz of insects. Looming above the whole compound was a big green water tower.

I shuffled up to a gate, more like a gap in the barbed wire with a movable fence. There was a lone guard. The guard who had led me along the track swung off his horse and went up to the lone guard at the gate. They had a quick conversation, and the gate guard came up to me.

“Alright, shithead, let’s get your new ass inside the wire,” he said. Some welcome! With that the guard on the horse turned and got on his horse and left, he didn’t say a word to me or look in my direction. It was as if I didn’t exist.

I walked as fast as I could with my shackled legs. I took a few steps inside the compound when I stopped dead in my tracks — my legs felt like jello. My stomach sank. There in the middle of the compound was a set of stocks like you see at Colonial Williamsburg or places like that. The guard said, “That’s right, shithead, that’s where you stay for today. All new meat spends their first day in the stocks just to make sure you know where you are and what you are.”

I was sure I had figured out where I was — in the middle of fucking nowhere. I was sure that what I was here was a piece of shit.

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2 thoughts on “Florida Trap – Part 10”

  1. Just read the first 10 parts- loving it so far! Cant wait to see more of Stiles! Reeeeeeally hope this new work camp is run by him, and he gets to do as he pleases with Johnny!

  2. Nice story but I wish that Stiles would take prisoner Utah to his basement dungeon and lock him up there. Why is he transported to so many different correctional facilities instead for just being enslaved to the Sergeant? Certainly they both want a BDSM relationship. Please quit beating around the bush. Get down to real Master/slave breeding and feeding!

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