Story

Brig Story – Part 04

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By Tommy Guns

I awoke the next morning, still hog chained, and with a pounding headache that was beating rhythmically with my heart. I knew where it came from. I still had a raging hard-on, and the lack of blood flow from the head below the waist to the one on my shoulders was creating a problem for me. I had never gone this long without relieving myself, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the images of last night out of my head. They kept me harder than I had ever been before, and I was in dire need of release of some kind.

I had never been able to just rub myself off against a mattress, and this time was no different. This was going to be a serious and growing problem.

I had been awake for what seemed like hours before I heard footsteps outside my cell. It was a single set, so I assumed it was only one of my Marines from the day before, probably returning to see if I was still ready to service them. I would have been glad to, but now I really needed to pee as well as jack off, and things down below were getting serious.

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Daily Thread

Aug 23 update from Metal

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I work on the Metalbond site in advance, and I always have it set to auto-update with fresh content each day. But unfortunately, since Aug. 9, a technical glitch was preventing the updates from showing. I also could not add new postings to let readers know what was going on.

The good news is that now, the past two weeks’ worth of missing postings are visible. So frequent visitors to the Metalbond site will want to scroll back using the “NEXT” tab at the bottom to catch up on all the posts. (I still cannot add new pictures, but working on that.)

Thanks to everyone who has been reaching out over the past two weeks asking about my welfare. I really appreciate that, as well as your patience.

– Metal (Aug 23, 2017)

Story

Brig Story – Part 03

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By Tommy Guns

It didn’t take long before the pain in my shoulder blades from being cuffed in that position became severe. I could no longer feel my legs, just a tingling sensation every once in awhile in my calves. I have no sense of how long I remained kneeling, but what little light that had been coming through the cracks at the top and bottom of the cell door had long since disappeared, and I was in almost total darkness. From my years in the jungle, I had become used to extreme low light conditions, but this was beyond that. I could just make out the commode in front of me, and the outline of the steel rack next to me, but nothing else.

I must have dozed off, because I didn’t hear the key turn in the lock, and was startled by the sudden opening of the hatch and the rush of cold air that came with it. I could just make out one of my two guards of that morning when he entered my cell. He ordered me to turn around, but to remain on my knees. I tried to comply as best I could, but my legs would not cooperate. I fell over on my side, and my guard kicked my right leg and told me to get on my knees. I managed it after a couple of tries, and was facing him. I was on my knees, just about six inches from the zipper of his uniform trousers. I could see a bulge in his crotch, and something told me what to expect next. I was right.

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Story

Brig Story – Part 02

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By Tommy Guns

When we got to the other room, I was ordered to sit on a chair, and another prisoner came in and took a pair of clippers and cut my hair and mustache off. I already kept my hair pretty close trimmed in the standard high and tight, but the brig haircut was even shorter, more like being back in boot camp, fresh off the bus, and getting your first Corps haircut. The loss of my well-trimmed and groomed mustache was a real pity. I had cultivated it and trimmed it with great care over the years, and it was one of my better features. Oh well, I supposed it was yet another part of the price I had to pay for whatever it was I had done to get myself locked up. At this point, I was more interested in what I was being charged with. It must have been pretty serious, given the high level of security they were using with me.

After the haircut, I was photographed, both full face and left and right profile, and then fingerprinted. This part of it was rather interesting, since they were taking no chances with me, and did not release more than one wrist at a time from the cuffs, and even then one of my guards had hold of my upper arm, while the other had his foot on the chain between my ankles. After a couple of sets of prints were taken, I was again fully shackled and led back to the holding cell I was first held in. They took my cuffs and shackles off once I was locked in the cell, and ordered to take the gown and slippers off and pass them through. I complied, and was given a set of utilities to put on, and a pair of flip-flops to wear with them.

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Story

Brig Story – Part 01

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By Tommy Guns

I remember it as if it was yesterday. It was Tuesday, May 11th, 1971, the day I woke up in the Brig, my hands and legs tightly shackled to the bars at the head and foot of the rack on which I was laying. Most of all, I remember the smells. I was laying in my own waste, dried blood and vomit staining my ripped uniform blouse, and a tear at the knee on the left leg of my uniform trousers. There were the smells of despair and hopelessness, and the scent of cold, hard, oily steel, mixed with way too much pine cleaner.

But I still don’t remember much of the three days that preceded that May 11th, or what had brought me to that place, on that memorable day, in the disreputable state I was in. But I do remember what happened after my rude awakening by the sound of a nightstick being banged against the solid steel door of my cell.

Continue reading Brig Story – Part 01 →