Story

Forlorn Hope – Part 03: Men Plan, Gods Laugh

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By DR754

Today is Sunday, August 7, 1967.

Blasting through empty stretches of Wyoming just after daybreak, I plotted my next move. This whole “escaped convict” thing is a little more complicated than I thought. It’s not like I regret my decision to run, but I can’t just keep running forever – my only hope is to find somewhere to run to.

Deep in my soul, a shred of conscience took the opportunity to be heard.

Come on now, you’re smarter than all this. Do you really think they won’t catch up with you? You could just pull into the nearest sheriff’s office and give yourself up, you know. End this madness now. You might still have a chance to cop a plea. Tell them you were scared, say you just snapped and went insane at the thought of going to prison. They can’t hang you for that, can they?

I briefly contemplated the thought. But my mind kept returning to what I knew awaited me at the Idaho State Penitentiary. Even if I escaped the gallows, what would I get for almost killing a cop? Another 10 to 30? Plus, what, five years for escape?

Continue reading Forlorn Hope – Part 03: Men Plan, Gods Laugh →

Daily Thread

Jesse is hung from the bondage cross and whipped

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At Dream Boy Bondage, Jesse can’t believe what is happening to him. Hanging by his wrists and ankles, strapped to a cross, not even a foot off the ground, is tormenting his body in ways he didn’t think possible. Every muscle in his body is fatigued and straining. He must lift himself up to breathe, but his muscles give out and he collapses, forced to hang from his wrists, over and over. The loincloth around his hips droops so low that his pubes and top inch of his cock are visible. The man torturing him pulls up his loincloth – presumably to hide his cock, so that what is about to happen to him can be televised – then, he whips his chest and stomach. Still, after a few lashes, the loincloth is ripped off, exposing his beautiful cock, and the whipping resumes. His tormentor strokes his straining muscles, appreciating the warmth of his pain, then leaves him to suffer, naked and alone, for hours.

Jesse is hung from the bondage cross and whipped

See the video at Dream Boy Bondage

Title of this video:

JESSE STONE – Political Prisoner – Chapter 5

Dream Boy Bondage Jesse Stone

Story

Forlorn Hope – Part 02: Fate’s Fetters

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By DR754

Today is Saturday, August 6, 1967.

Long story short, I made it out of town ahead of the State Police roadblocks and over the mountains into Montana. I kept going east, trying to put as many miles between myself and Moscow as I could. In Deer Lodge, I passed the towering stone walls of the Montana State Prison – is this what my literature prof would call foreshadowing?

I was getting a bit sleepy, but getting a hotel seemed far too risky – visions of awakening to the barrels of police revolvers danced in my head. Turning off the highway somewhere south of Butte, I drove up a logging road deep into the mountains, then stopped in a disused log transfer site. Flipping on the radio, my heart skipped a beat as a news bulletin crashed through the AM static.

Daring escape from Idaho courtroom – convict on the run – deputy fights for his life.

Continue reading Forlorn Hope – Part 02: Fate’s Fetters →

Story

Forlorn Hope – Part 01: Fugitive Fugue

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By DR754

Today is Friday, August 5, 1967.

Three hours ago, I was a more-or-less law-abiding citizen standing in the Latah County Courthouse in Moscow, Idaho, waiting for the jury to bring back a “not guilty” verdict, as my pricey lawyer had assured me they would. Now I’m a fugitive from justice speeding through the Rockies with a handcuff around one wrist and no idea what to do next.

But let’s back up. My name’s DR754, I’m 38, and earlier this summer, I returned to the University of Idaho, my alma mater, to talk to classes at the School of Forestry and recruit promising students. One evening, I had taken the opportunity to, well, make a more intimate connection with a couple of students I’d picked up cruising the college town’s infamous bar district. Once a Vandal, always a Vandal, I reasoned.

Big. Mistake.

Continue reading Forlorn Hope – Part 01: Fugitive Fugue →