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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 14

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 14: Your Every Moment Will Be Filled with Meaning

When you’re a freshman slappie you wake up at dawn, and if you’re a new and potentially uncontrolled slappie, you lie in your rack until the boss comes by to unlock your shackle.  Then you herd into the latrine to do your business.  The smell of piss and shit from 100 slappies—that wasn’t one of the attractions of the King George Hotel.  The hotel had slappies, but they did it someplace else.  Mornings are chilly on St. Bevons, and the steam goes up from the shit holes.  You march to the chow hall in your big boots and your little slappie suit, and you feel like the cold breeze is drowning you.  Chow is something like oatmeal and something like coffee.  No croissants.  No marmalade.  No fresh fruits offered for your selection.  No one to suggest that the gentleman might wish to try the special breakfast of the day.  Then you’re marched out on the slab for exercise.  You strip down to your y-fronts, and you’re ready for your session of mens nulla in corpore sano.

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My Adventures With Billy – Part 08

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By Robmacz

‘Well,’ Billy said, ‘it all started soon after I became a cop. I was on patrol one evening and I pulled this guy over. It was a standard DUI, the guy was just slightly over the limit. As I started to read him his rights he started to plead with me not to take him in, that he needed his car to see his daughter who was sick in the hospital and his ex-wife didn’t want him there. It was a real sob story, but I felt sorry for the guy. Then he offered me $200. I don’t know what came over me, but I was overdrawn at the bank and I had to pay off a loan that my brother took out with a loan shark. I was finding it hard just to make ends meet. I took the money and told him to be on his way. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

‘A few days later I get some mail, which contained a photo of me accepting the cash.  It told me I should be parked on the corner of a street someplace, I can’t quite remember where. Anyway a minute or so after I arrived this guy got in my car. He told me that if I didn’t want that photo to see the light of day, I was to provide certain information when requested. That it wouldn’t be regular, but every now and then. I agreed.  What else could I do?

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A very long edging at Slow Teasing Hand Jobs

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This is a very long edging at Slow Teasing Hand Jobs, featuring about 38 minutes of Chic tormenting 25-year-old Sam’s big dick until he was delirious, begging desperately for permission to cum. He looks pleadingly at Chic, who keeps bringing him to the edge and stopping abruptly just in time. His arousal and frustration turn to agony as his torment goes on and on while he tried desperately to hold on, moaning, whimpering and writhing in his restraints. Chic finally allows him to cum in an intense orgasm, then subjects him to a long milking of his sensitive, spent cock.

male bondage whimpering and writhing in his restraints

 

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Title of this vid: A Very Long Edging

Slow Teasing Hand Jobs

Story

Displayed – Part 05

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By Pickle

~ Chapter 21 ~

I finish up and they unchain me, and escort me outside and direct me around behind the torture barn and up the hill behind it a few hundred yards to another barn.  I’m later to learn that this one does actually serve as an animal barn, and this truly is a working farm.

I hadn’t really checked out the clothes I donned in the dark yet.  I guess I must have been too ravenous to care what I was wearing, but I now saw I was wearing a pair of really well-fitting and very faded jeans, and a dark green shirt, like I’d seen on “Coffee” … the shirttails were cut deeper than most of my own shirts, and they curved like the dress shirts I remember seeing my old man wearing.  I kinda liked the shape of those shirttails.  Maybe they reminded me of him or something.  Kind of a nice memory, since he passed away when I was in my early teens.

My two chaperones lead me beyond the barn but near one end where we pass a large manure pile.  I’m halted when we reach a small, square pit.  There’s a couple tall poles that I eyeball to be at least twenty feet high, and a thick crossbeam between them.  I see a large winch and a chain extending down from it over the pit, but the end with the hook has been pulled over to one of the poles and hooked there, waiting … I can only assume … for me.  The pit is about six feet square and since it’s filled with a gross-looking mixture of non-identifiable gunk that smells like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. I gag from the stench and my “companions” both laugh.

Continue reading Displayed – Part 05 →