Redneck Justice – The Punishment Cage
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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 19
By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 19: Headgear that Says It All
Twenty slaps can make a huge racket when they’re reluctantly waking up, and that’s what was happening next morning, when my shift was getting ready to start. They were rushing around in their undershorts, pissing and shitting, washing their faces and pits, and taking the hair off their faces with the little electric razors attached to the wall next to the john. A quick jump into uniform, and at 5 am sharp (!) one of the security slaps unlocked the door of the barracks. Everybody piled out. Oatmeal and sausage and coffee were hitting the table. The oatmeal was sticky and cold, and the sausage was mainly grease, but the coffee had such a kick that right away you were completely awake. Then a door opened, stools scrunched back, and we lined up for Boss Derek’s inspection. “Lace up those boots.” “Yes boss.” “Use the comb.” “Yes boss.” “Button that shirt, all the way up–where do you think you’re working?” “Yes boss, ver’ sorry boss.” “Lose that attitude.” “Yes boss, ver’ ver’ sorry boss.” Having readied us for the rest of our day, he sat down at his desk, and a security slap unlocked the big barred door at the end of the room.
“Follow me,” Dave said. “I’m you trainer.”
Here I am chained up to work on the Metalbond site
Last night Nitro had me put on a prisoner jumpsuit and then lock myself up in leg irons, wrist manacles and a chain and padlock around my neck, which I wore for three hours as I worked on the Metalbond site:
Thanks, Nitro, for instigating this!
You can read Nitro’s many stories in the Prison Library by clicking here.
Also be sure to check out Nitro’s impressive Just For Fans page, where he has lots of hot male BDSM action and where he also reads his bondage stories aloud!
Restrained beast
Martin fights like a wild animal, so that’s exactly how they are going to treat him at BreederFuckers. The bastard is strung up naked with his arms pinned behind his back and his legs shackled together. His bare arse is stuck up in the air, and there’s not a fucking thing he can do about it. Any struggling only makes him wriggle his arse in a teasing way and humiliates him even further. Dave spreads his cheeks and worms his way into that tempting hole, stretching his hole open while tugging on his dick till the angry fucker can’t stop his dick from going stiff. Those big pale cheeks need some colour, and Dave repeatedly whacks Martin’s arse till they bloom red. Adrian joins in screwing his arse with a fat dildo preparing his hole for a fucking. They simultaneously beat his arse till Martin flails about angrily, and every time he leaps forward he inadvertently makes the dildo slide further up his bum. Then those proud cock and balls are tied up with a bucket attached to them. He’s mercilessly pelted with water that drips down his arse and dick, gradually filling it. The more full it becomes the greater his genitals are weighed down, causing him excruciating pain. He’s like a restrained beast!
See the VIDEO at BreederFuckers
Displayed – Part 06
By Pickle
~ Chapter 26 ~
In spite of my exhaustion I manage to stay awake to be “entertained” by this hunky ginger being subjected to his punishment. He’s really being vocal when he’s not in the goop … moaning, groaning and cursing. I’m hearing “Fuck!” and “Jesus Christ!” out of him a lot! I’m amazed he’s got the breath to be able to say anything, since the stretch makes it very hard to get in any air. By the time I had a hundred and fifty pounds hanging on my legs I could barely succeed in taking even a shallow breath, so I knew with the two hundred on Saunders that he must have an amazing torso, since his muscles were holding him together and allowing him to get this much oxygen. As built-up as his guns are, I know they must have gone from burning to the numb stage by now.
I’m surprised by the fact that I find myself enjoying seeing him hanging there in agony, and that I’m getting a kick out of seeing him disappear into the muck, and how he looks as he’s hauled out again to hang some more. Even covered in this shit, piss, mud and compost mixture, this guy is undeniably attractive. Other than Moore, he’s the best looking guy here and I’m surprised at myself enjoying watching him suffer. “Fuck! What’s wrong with me … Dill, get ahold of yourself here boy. It’s just fuckin’ wrong to be liking seeing this happen to another human being.” The obvious tent in my jeans as my cock pushed against the denim made it clear I was getting off on Saunders being in his predicament though, and in hearing his deep, masculine voice uttering the cursing complaints and moans.
Remembering Master Jack
I learned yesterday with great sadness that Master Jack passed away a few months ago, in November 2021, of a heart attack. Over more than two decades, Master Jack hosted countless men from all over the world for heavy, multi-day bondage scenes at his home dungeons in California and then in Arizona.
Master Jack was also a trailblazer on the Internet with his very own subscription-based website — Bondagezine — which dated all the way back to the 1990s and had tons of hot stories, photographs and lots of original videos.
Although it was a bit clunky, the Bondagezine site was a vast resource. Sadly, it is no longer available. This is a shame because the site had so much irreplaceable content. Master Jack also had a second site called Bondagemaster, which is still online although I suspect it too might be coming down soon.
Master Jack didn’t share many pictures of himself, but here are a few pictures of some of the many prisoners he hosted over the years, taken from his website:
Master Jack also encouraged and inspired countless other men over the years, including Mark Bind, PFC Pflege — and myself! If anyone would like to share any memories of Master Jack, I invite you to post a comment in the comments section below, or you can send me an email.
Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 18
By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 18: The Best Place to Get Boeuf Bourguignon
Did you ever stand around naked? Just stand around? You shift from one foot to another. You cover your nuts. Then you uncover them, just for the hell of it. Because you’re bored. Bored and anxious. You look around at the uniform stacks of uniforms. You smell the ink as Dev rubs it over a stencil and into your clothes, turning anonymous pieces of cloth into YOUR shirt, the shirt of Tommy, slap number 21338. First the front of the shirt, left pec; then the back of the shirt, between the shoulder blades. Then the shorts, right thigh, left butt. Then the underwear, right thigh, left butt. Your boots too–21338, left side of your left boot, right side of your right boot. And the cap. There was room for your number on the back of your cap. Dev was a perfectionist, so it took more than 20 minutes.
“Yeah,” he was saying, holding up a shirt to inspect his work, “like we say, they be seein you comin an goin! Same with you shorts. They watchin you dick, then they watchin you ass. They wanta SEE whose ass it is. You jus’ off thee slap farm, so you doan know. So I’m tellin. The freemen LOVE to look at us. Not kiddin! Even if you are like . . . older.” Meaning me. “These women jus love to flirt with you. These men too! Course you best not try any follow up. Least so somebody find out. Somebody in Crew 7.”