Punishment-fucked by a machine

Joseph Mathews is chained on his knees on the floor of the dungeon, neck and wrists in a stockade, making him arch his back and “perch out” his ass. A huge dildo attached to steel shaft is already halfway up his asshole. He knows he is not going to be simply fucked but punishment-fucked by this machine. “At least it’s better than the cross or the single-tail whip,” he tells himself. Or is it? The fucking starts slow, then speeds up and deepens. And it goes on and on, nonstop, for hours, until Joseph is drooling and moaning, the ultimate butt slave.

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Joseph Mathews is chained on his knees on the floor of the dungeon

 

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Title: JOSEPH MATHEWS: Anonymous Top – Chapter 6

See the complete VIDEO at Dream Boy Bondage

Joseph Mathews is chained on his knees on the floor of the dungeon

A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 12

By Hunter Perez

You might be familiar with the saying “If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.” I don’t know who originated that observation, but it could have easily been me. Having somehow unlocked Merrifield from his immobile silence through the most ridiculous manner imaginable, I suddenly found myself wondering how to proceed further. Holmgren pretty much tossed me into this situation without advance planning and I had to think fast about what to do next.

Since Holmgren was supposed to be bringing us dinner, I figured I could keep entertaining Merrifield with my favorite songs until our meals arrived. I was starving, but somehow I found adrenalin to fuel me through the absence of food. I was also trying to recall songs that sparked positive reactions from my past which could be translatable into my current bizarre situation.

Continue reading A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 12

A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 11

By Hunter Perez

The cell was around eight or nine feet in both length and width, with an unusually high ceiling, but it seemed cramped due to the presence of an oversized bed placed up against a wall in the middle of the space. The bedframe was crudely carved out of wood and its mattress was thin. A ratty brown blanket was crumpled at the head of the bed, which was covered in a dirty stained sheet.

The bed was obviously custom made – if not very well made – for the XL-sized occupant of the cell. Merrifield sat at the right edge of the bed and stared into the bars that kept him imprisoned. I guessed he would be either six-foot-five or six-foot-six if he were to stand up.

He sat slightly slouched over in a motionless manner. I had to stare very hard to notice the slightest clues of life when he betrayed an occasional eyelid blink and when his upper chest rose and fell in micrometers while breathing.

Continue reading A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 11