Meanwhile at Nasty Daddy, Rocco Steele slings up Jack Dyer and leaves his hole dripping with seed and begging for more.
See the video HERE
More like this at Nasty Daddy
The WORC Program – Part 16
By Joshua Ryan
Back at the House, the atmosphere seemed to be changing.
Everybody noticed it — things were different. Cicero was snapping at everyone, at least everyone whose existence he noticed. Sacky complained about “these constant ALTERATIONS in my menus” that were made by Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Thomasen. Marky complained about being rousted “in the middle of the night” — meaning his jerk-off time after dinner and Sacky’s kitchen wine — and having to drive Mr. H and Mr. T to the Parrot Lounge and wait in the car till they “came out with something or other,” a something that spent the night in their bed and was returned to obscurity the next morning, “after stinkin up my car.” Then it all stopped, as suddenly as it started. The Misters decided to try something else.
Late one afternoon, right before dinner, a new workie arrived in the back of a truck and was hauled out of its cage and led to the barracks. Its name was Jody, and it was a very cute young man, or had been before it got put in a workie suit. Clearly, it had done service in some other venue besides Hamilton Farms: there was fuzz on its head, and it still had eyebrows. But it had big brown eyes and a nice slender body. This was no field hand. Wherever it had been, it had been given easy treatment. To its body, anyway. The brain might be different. Its eyes were scared — very scared. Which is normal, when you’ve just been shipped somewhere in a cage. Cicero stood in the door of the barracks and told Nob to “take off its hair and move it up to the House. That’s where it’s gonna live.”
The WORC Program – Part 15
By Joshua Ryan
So I spent a lot of days sweeping the drive and swabbing the terrace and crawling around getting all the dirt out of the travertine in the foyer, and lots more days hefting 65-percent-polyester-35-percent-cotton workie uniforms out of the washing machines. Not much to say about that. But I do want to talk about a special feature of this phase of my career, which was getting to leave the estate from time to time.
It was sort of like when I was in the coffle—they’d take us out for road work, but afterwards they’d bring us right back to the fences and the razor wire. This time, I was the most expendable part of the crew, so I was the one that was “permitted to accompany” Mr. Meyers and Marky on their shopping trips to town. Marky drove the SUV, and Mr. Meyers rode shotgun, and I was the package-carrier that rode in the back. Marky was a hot young workie and Mr. Meyers — who the workies called Mr. Nance, or just Nance, or Nancy — was always making comments that Marky was careful not to pick up on.
Prisoner Chad gets tickled
At My Friends Feet , Chad Tyler is a hairy blond hunk with a furry chest and a Southern drawl who has gotten into a bit of trouble. Now behind bars, Chad wakes up strapped to his cot. Someone must have told Rikk how ticklish Chad is, because Rikk tickles Chad while he is strapped down until it makes him go insane. His feet, armpits and sides are crazy ticklish. It makes Chad worry about what’s going to happen the next night! And the night after that…
See the VIDEO at My Friends Feet
Title of this shoot: Prisoner Chad Tickled
Rubbered Prisoner and the Controlling Master – Part 01
By Rubbered Prisoner
What is the Rubbered Prisoner?
The Rubbered Prisoner is a well-proportioned, muscular, 5-foot-10-inch, 25-year-old white male whose function in life is to earn enough money so he can be housed in an isolated small rural bricked facility where he can be tortured in rubber by the regimen of a distant individual except for 8 hours 30 minutes he is allowed to see through his eyes and type on a computer for a long-term substance living he has.
This is the job he has posting accounts receivables for a remote computerized client. At least 10 hours of the prisoner’s time (not necessarily continuous) must be where sleep is possible but not necessarily anything close to comfortable or continuous.
Continue reading Rubbered Prisoner and the Controlling Master – Part 01
Strapped down at The Edge Dungeon
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The WORC Program – Part 14
By Joshua Ryan
I thought maybe the workies in Grounds would resent me for going up the ladder like that, but all they said was stuff like “Wish I could go with you — not!” and “Enjoy all the fags up at the House, mofo!” The only resentment I saw was when I passed Benson coming out of the house servants’ barracks and heading for Grounds. We were both carrying our boxes of gear, but I was happy and he was mad. At me.
So now I guessed I’d be seeing Mike and Jerry every day — which was completely gross, right? I mean, it even made me sick to my stomach that I was looking forward to a thing like that. But how could I get back to real life if they didn’t help me? And why would they want to help me if they didn’t remember me? And how would they remember me if they never even saw me? And maybe they’d satisfied their sadism and wanted to get this shit over with, finally.
The WORC Program – Part 13
By Joshua Ryan
Here’s the way the place was organized. Jerry had a big “staff.” At the top was this Meyers guy, Steven Meyers — MISTER Meyers, the “personal assistant.” He wasn’t a workie. Maybe he should have been, but he wasn’t. I saw him from a distance, and I knew he was a faggot. The kind of faggot I’d been. Only I guess he needed a job. He slept in the House.
Everybody else was a workie. There were three types of workie.
First: House Staff. They were the head servant, Cicero, and the cook, Sacky. Cicero lived in the House, up in the attic. Sacky lived in the barracks, but he kept whatever hours were needed to satisfy the owner. He was the way we got all those great leftovers, and things that weren’t leftovers.