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By Hunter Perez
“This can’t be happening!” I yelled as Jock unlocked his handcuffs and began to walk over to me. “I’m your best friend. You can’t arrest your best friend. And you shouldn’t even be arresting me. My case was dismissed five years ago.”
“Bingo, it’s better that I take you into custody instead of having you arrested by a stranger,” he replied in an unsmiling manner. “And my boss filled me in regarding your case. It wasn’t dismissed – it was only postponed. Please, we can leave for Pittsburgh now ahead of the rush hour traffic and get there in about five hours. I’d rather not have to transport you in restraints, but if you don’t cooperate I will have to restrain you.”
“I know I have the paperwork from that attorney in Pittsburgh,” I said, growing frantic. “It’s either in my closet or in my dresser. I can show you if you let me find it.”
Continue reading My Pal Jock Becomes a Bounty Hunter – Part 02
By Hunter Perez
I couldn’t believe my good fortune – there I was, sitting in a steamy sauna with JimmyUSMC luxuriating next to me while showing off his tattoo-decorated muscles.
“Oh, Jimmy,” I purred as I examined the intricate designs inked across his hard body. “I haven’t had such a visceral artistic experience since the Tom of Finland exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Detroit.
Jimmy winked at me as he flexed his right arm’s bicep under the face. “I bet you’d like to sip the sweat off my muscles, Bingo. Go ahead, take a taste.”
I puckered my lips and closed my eyes while moving closer to his arm. But then, a series of shrill buzzes filled my ears. I opened my eyes and found myself alone in my bed while the distinctive odor of bad cooking wafted in from the kitchen. I sat up and groaned.
“Simon, are you trying to make breakfast again?” I yelled out.
Continue reading My Pal Jock Becomes a Bounty Hunter – Part 01
By slaveobjectx
I flew from London to Atlanta. Atlanta airport is something else! Huge. For whatever reason, I was pulled over for a search coming through Customs. My suitcase was mostly taken up with my leather gear and boots but the black lady sifting through my stuff must have seen it all before. Not even the hint of a knowing smile. Finally I was waved through and there was Mike waiting for me.
I knew that The Center was not actually in Atlanta but I had not expected it to be some thirty miles north, through a commuter town and then through countryside until we arrived at an area filled with up-market, large houses, most with swimming pool and very much sitting cheek by jowl. One was overlooked in all directions. We parked and entered through the main door to the house. How different it used to be for the inmates of The Academy! The illusion of jail was maintained through picking them up at the airport in a prepared van with blackened windows. As such they would have seen nothing of the seeming normality of the setting of The Academy in an oasis of respectability.
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