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My Trip to Paris – Chapter 11

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 11: Welcome to Our Service Team

It’s humiliating to say this, but I’ll do it, because “humiliation” is something I was learning to like: I was enjoying my life in prison.  I was glad I’d told 8363 my story about being the prisoner of my former boyfriend and sub.  It was sort of like bragging.  He took it that way, and enjoyed it: “That is so humiliating!  You are definitely being humbled!”  I liked having things to say that were interesting to him, and that always was.  When we were forming up to be marched someplace, or when we were listening to one of those lectures we had to attend, he’d whisper to me, “This is your punishment for not respecting the Colonel.”  Always gave me a hardon.  Maybe that was just more of the brainwashing!  But it helped me learn more about prison, and being a prisoner.

If you’re a normie, everything about your life has to be taken seriously.  Every decision demonstrates whether you deserve respect or not.  You blew a business deal, you didn’t demand more salary, you didn’t join the right club, you didn’t vote for the right party, you didn’t go to the best resort, you didn’t get a totally hot boyfriend . . . you are in trouble.

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Used by a brutal top

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Kyle has endured so much already, and the marks from the flogging are showing on his naked body. The prisoner can try to flee, but Master Tye has the place locked down, he’s not going anywhere until the sadistic jock has had his fun. Strung up and swinging, the captive faces even more pain from the strings of the flogger while Master Tye uses him.

the captive faces even more pain

the strings of the flogger

the captive faces even more pain

 

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Title of this video: Don’t Look At Me Boy – Part 2

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the captive faces even more pain

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My Trip to Paris – Chapter 10

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 10: So Good for You to See Me

It was an interesting conversation—so interesting that now it was even harder for me to sleep in my bunk at night.  A few months before, I would have dismissed his prison shit right away–nothing but weirdness.  Now I was confused.  Why was he telling me this stuff?  Was it to make me love him, or warn me not to?  The sight of Paul in his convict suit, indistinguishable from the other cons—that was me, wasn’t it?  Wasn’t that what he meant?  And if I loved him, that’s how I’d end up?  But that’s how I already had ended up!  I flipped up my badge and looked at the picture.  That gray little blob might as well be “Paul.”

So now I was playing with my badge when I should have been sewing.  And at night, it wasn’t enough to jerk—yeah, I was doing that, what do you think?—but I had to dream, too.  One dream I remembered: I was outside the Pen—they’d let me out!  I was so happy!  At last I was free!  I walked off down the street, and I looked back at the walls, which I knew, even in the dream, I was mainly just making up in my head, because I’d only seen them once from the outside, and then I was squinting through the bars of a prison bus.

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My Trip to Paris – Chapter 09

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 9: Bunks, Chairs, and Other Furnishings

8363 . . . . the guy in Bunk 14.  I found myself maneuvering to get beside him in the shower, just for a few seconds to look at his plump, well muscled ass.  I tried to get the seat next to him at chow, just to feel his arm touching my arm through our uniforms.  In the factory I spent every extra second I could spare from my needle looking up the line of backs bent over their machines to watch his back moving rhythmically beneath its stripes.  At night I lay next to him, feet to head, and thought about what it would be like if I caressed his naked head with my naked toes and he wriggled across the few inches of bunk-frame and climbed in with me.  In dreams I told him, “You are about to be fucked!  Assume the position!”

Dreams vs. realities . . . .  If we were on the Outside, I’d do the usual: take him to Bleue, invite him to my place for drinks, become insistent if he noted that the hour was late . . . .  But in prison, I was no better than he was; I couldn’t impress him with my bald head, my convict uniform, or my criminal record.  And he evaded all my cues.  He saw how hot I was for him, but he treated it as a fact he didn’t need to do anything about–a fact of life, like the walls and bars.

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More bondage fun with the pool boy

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Pool boy David Webb is struggling against the bonds holding him to a ladder-backed chair. Blindfolded, he can’t see Jeremiah Cruze, dressed in a black jock, enter the room then lash his hairless chest and stomach with a bullwhip. At first, the blows merely sting, but then Jeremiah really lays into each lash, making the pool boy scream through his ball gag as his sexy torso is covered with whip marks. Minutes later, Jeremiah straddles the chair and shoves his cock down the captive’s throat. Shocked and terrified, David sucks away, his hard cock poking out of his Speedo.

Dream Boy Bondage

Dream Boy Bondage

 

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Title: David Webb: The Pool Boy – Chapter 2

bondage fun with the pool boy

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My Trip to Paris – Chapter 08

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 8: At Last, I Have a Real Job

The factories were on the other side of the Parade Ground, beyond the Chow Hall and the Training Team—old-fashioned barns with peaked roofs.  They were the kind of things you always see down by the railroad, next to the abandoned tracks.  But there was no rust on them.  They’d been cleaned up, fixed up, and given a new coat of paint—that same sick shade of yellow.  Their windows had been fitted with new steel frames and a light brown tint, to keep the sun out, as well as a full coat of bars, to keep the workers in.  But now their doors were open, and long files of prisoners were marching through them.  The Paris State Penitentiary had brought full employment back to the neighborhood.

Factory 5, the Clothing Factory, was the largest one.  Under its high steel ceiling, ten lines of prisoners, 50 in each line, were sewing pieces of clothes together—collars to coats, buttons to shirts, pockets to rumps.  Every prisoner was seated at a sturdy plastic table with a plastic chair and two plastic baskets attached to it; every prisoner was facing a pale-yellow electric sewing machine, bolted to the table; every prisoner was taking materials from the basket on his left, sewing them together, and passing them to the basket on the right.

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