By Hot Boy

Australia

Perth Old Jail Museum

After a fairly boring day looking round Perth, Ross stumbled upon the Old Jail. He quite fancied a look around — it would allow him to indulge in some nice fantasies. However, it looked like it was closed tomorrow — the sign saying, “Closed Wednesday” was a clue — and the security guard seemed to be locking up.

“We’re just closing, mate,” he said.

“No chance of a quick look around?” asked Ross.

“No, mate.” The guard looked Ross up and down, he was a handsome lad in his early twenties, “…although…” he seemed to think for a while, “…we do have a special interactive tour. Although, since it’s quite a bit longer, it is a bit more expensive. I think you’ll really get a lot out of it though.” He grinned, “It sure will be memorable.”

“Eh, yeah, okay, that sounds pretty cool.”

“Come on in then.”

Ross stepped into the foyer, and the guard picked a key from his large bunch and locked the door.

“The idea of the interactive tour,” explained the guard, “is that you get to really experience what it’s like to be a prisoner.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” said Ross, not really thinking about it.

“So, first things first, you’d better get these handcuffs on.”

“Oh eh er.”

“Come on boy! Hands behind your back!”

Ross complied without thinking. Click, click. Ross was now handcuffed, his manacled wrists resting on his pert buttocks.

“We need to go to the Arrivals Registration room,” said the guard.

Ross followed as the guard led them through a couple of solid-looking doors, carefully locking each once through. The guard looked to be in his 50s and was wearing a khaki uniform. Ross felt slightly aroused to be under his power. He wondered what he was getting himself in for. They reached the Arrivals Registration room. It was a plain room with a desk, chair and two doors. Once inside, the guard locked the door they had come through and as he sat behind the desk barked, “Stand in front of the desk, boy!”

Ross stood as ordered facing the desk, hands cuffed behind his back. The guard took a pen and pad of forms from a drawer in the desk, “Right, we need some particulars. Full name, Date of Birth, Place of Birth, Nationality, Address, Next of Kin, Marital Status.”

Ross gave his details reluctantly. It felt curiously intrusive to give away so much information to a man whose name he did not even know. Especially when he seemed so interested in how Ross was single, travelling from the UK alone. The guard ripped off the form he had just filled in, titled Prisoner 246, and led Ross through the second door. This room was split in two by a long, waist-high counter. Behind the counter was a set of shelves, split into little boxes, each carefully numbered. The guard locked the door and said, “Okay, we need to take an inventory of your belongings. I’m going to uncuff you and I don’t want any funny business, Prisoner 246. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do You Understand Boy?!”

“Y-yes, yes sir!” Ross felt obliged to reply.

The guard seemed satisfied and untied Ross’s cuffs. As Ross rubbed his wrists, the guard moved behind the counter. “Right, empty your pockets.” Ross did so. “Hanky, wallet, mobile phone, passport, keys,” stated the guard as Ross placed each item on the counter. “Remove your watch.” The guard looked at it closely: Nike watch, Velcro strap, he wrote carefully on the form. “Is that everything?” asked the guard as he put the items into a clear plastic bag.

“Yes sir,” replied Ross.

“No necklace or bracelet?”

“No sir.”

The guard sealed Ross’s possessions in the bag and wrote 246 on the outside with a marker pen. “Okay, strip!”

“Eh sorry, what was that?” stuttered Ross.

“Strip your clothes off boy! You don’t expect prisoners to wear their own clothes do you?!”

“Eh I guess not…”

“You’ll need to get into your prison suit. So get on with it then boy! We don’t have all day!” Ross couldn’t help but feel that this could be a defining moment: of the next few hours certainly, of the rest of his life, quite possibly. He may never be the same again. The guard seemed to be enjoying himself rather a lot. How far would he go? This seemed to be getting a bit dodgy; but equally, also really quite exciting. Life after all, is for living. Ross pulled his jumper over his head and then started unbuttoning his shirt. He peeled this off, revealing his lean, tanned torso, then bent to untie his trainers and take off his socks. Now he was standing in only his shorts in front of the guard. The guard stared greedily.

Ross pulled down the zip on his shorts, and then the shorts themselves. Now he was standing only in his white cotton briefs, which suddenly seemed very skimpy. He handed the rest of his clothes to the guard. The guard listed them on Prisoner 246’s form: jumper, shirt, Adidas trainers, socks, shorts and then pointed for Ross to sign away his possessions.

“Turn around!” instructed the guard. Ross did so and the guard roughly shackled his wrists again. The guard now led Ross along a cold, dark corridor, down a flight of stairs and along colder, darker corridors. The walls were painted brick, the floor smooth cement. As he walked, Ross felt exposed, his hands tied behind his back, wearing only his underwear. As the guard locked another door behind them, Ross realised he was in a large communal shower room. There was probably space for 100 men to shower at a time. The showerheads were attached to pipes that ran along the ceiling of the room, and all controlled by one large lever by the door.

“Showertime!” laughed the guard and he quickly pulled down the Ross’s pants. Ross’s semi-erect cock sprung out in surprise. Ross blushed, although the guard hadn’t seemed to notice; he was already unfastening Ross’s handcuffs. As the guard thrust a square of pink soap into his hand and pointed to the middle of the large room, Ross stepped out of his white briefs. Then as Ross turned, the guard suddenly slapped his left buttock! Whack! “And watch out for that cute ass of yours if you drop the soap!”

Before Ross could reply, the guard pulled on the lever by the door and all the showers burst into life, drenching Ross in water that seemed to get colder and colder. It was freezing!

“You’ll get out once you’ve given yourself a thorough scrub,” shouted the guard over the roar of the gushing water. Ross stood under the shower nearest the centre of the room. It felt very isolated and exposed out there. He could imagine feeling very intimidated if there had been others in the room. The water from all the other showers flowed past him, and into a large central drain. He could imagine the water having run over the bodies of thousands of muscular, horny men over the many years of the prison’s operation. “Don’t forget to clean under your foreskin!” shouted the guard with delight, “And up your ass crack!” Ross did as instructed, as the guard watched closely. Finally, when he seemed satisfied, the guard turned off the icy water and recuffed Ross. Ross was led, completely naked now, further along a labyrinth of cold, dark corridors, through a number of barred gates, to a classic prison scene. It was a large hall, 3 stories high, and lined on either side by hundreds of small, barred prison cells. Ross was led to one of these, “In you go.” Said the guard.

Ross complied, the gate was slammed shut behind him and the guard stalked off. Ross was now alone, naked, wrists handcuffed behind his back, in a small prison cell, in a large prison, on the wrong side of the world. He tried to lose his erection.

Note from Metal: This is a story found on the internet. If you are the author (Hot Boy) or know how to reach him, please get in touch!