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Three Days in Jail – Part 01

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By Pisslurper

About six weeks ago, a friend of mine sent me an email with a link to a website for a jail in Iowa. Not an ordinary jail, but an old, historic jail that someone had purchased and is now offering to incarcerate people for a fee. The pictures of the place were hot as hell, an authentic old county jail built in 1880 and used for over 100 years. The place looked tiny, only three cells, but it was a real jail and looked a bit hardcore.

I knew right away that I couldn’t pass up on this opportunity. It turns out I had some unused vacation due, so I emailed the jail and set up a three day visit.

For the next six weeks, I have been obsessively poring over and over the pictures and instructions on that website. I planned out a two-day drive to Iowa, and endlessly fantasized about my upcoming jail stay.

The jailor emailed me to park next to the jail, and he will meet me at my car. I’m expecting to be ‘arrested’ at my car and brought into the jail in handcuffs. The jail is located downtown in a small Iowa town, next door to the Methodist church. Since I’m showing up at noon on Sunday, I’m a little worried about church goers and passersby seeing me as I get brought around to the jail entrance, which is on the opposite side of the building than the parking lot. But, I guess that is all part of the experience. I’m not sure what is more humiliating, being a convict or being a pervert who pays to have someone lock him up in jail.

 

Reporting to jail

 

The jailor instructed me to park in the parking spots off the alley to one side of the jail. I parked underneath the barred windows of the jail, and in seconds the deputy was coming out a door on the side of the building, yelling at me to put my hands on the steering wheel. Before I knew it, he had me with my hands on the roof of the car, and then cuffed with my hands behind my back. He emptied my pockets and gave me a pat down before marching me around the back of the building to the entrance to the jail.

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Story

New Gear – Part 1

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By ty dehner

The knock on the door broke my concentration on my computer screen. Before I could get out of my chair, there was a second knock. I hurried from the home office to the front room and front door. Opening it was a hot looking FedEx dude in his uniform. He smiled at me, no doubt a bit taken aback by me being in my full latex suit with heavy collar and shackles attached. He didn’t say anything as he handed me a large box. I put it on the floor as he had me sign his tablet. I turned to pick up the box again, and I heard under his breath “slave.” This took me by surprise, and I looked at him.

The FedEx man commented, “You are getting off easy, slave. If I owned you, you would be hooded also.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you, Sir, I will let my Master know of your suggestion.”

He took another look, smiled and then headed back to his truck.

After shutting the door, I looked at the label on the box and was excited to see that it was from the motorcycle store, and it was the gear I ordered last week. I had always wanted full MX gear, and my Master gave me permission last week to order it. I think I might have been a bit heavy in my hinting, but he watched as I ordered and that made me feel really good.

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Story

Leather Journey – Part 2

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By Rubrpig

Life began to form a pattern based on Connor’s twice a month visits to SIR William to be cleaned and checked. He looked forward to being hooded and restrained as it meant that his cock would be released from the belt, while the belt was cleaned, SIR William would handle his cock and check it for pressure sores, shave the fuzz down again and after everything had dried, put his cock back in the tube and reassemble the belt. However, tonight was different, as SIR William had put him into a heavy padded isolation hood.

Once the hood was in place he breathed through the small grommet over his mouth which the heavy external straps kept closed which made Connor focus on breathing. Once he had been led to the bondage table and he had been strapped down, the belt was completely removed. However, SIR William this time began to slowly stroke his cock which quickly hardened and the sensation and feelings began to overwhelm Connor as it had been 3 months since the belt had been put on him by his SIR. SIR William continued to slowly stroke and Connor got rock hard and could feel the pre-cum oozing from his slit and then suddenly, he shuddered and the orgasm hit hard. His body arched and the load blew from his cock and poured out, the feelings overwhelmed him. He had never cum like this and it was so intense he almost passed out. Finally, calm enough to breath properly he slowly recovered. He felt his body being washed to remove the cum his cock had shot over his crotch and chest.

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Story

The Convict – Part 11

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By Joshua Ryan

I was in another tall, old room, but this one was tall and narrow. Along one wall was a set of shelves, with line after line of metal baskets on top of them. Along the opposite wall was another one of those big old-fashioned desks — only this one was loaded with computer equipment. The equipment looked strange in a room like that, almost eerie. It was like two worlds were being jammed together. . . . The tears were still in my eyes, running down my face. I was having a hard time focusing . . . “Hit the prints!” someone barked.

There was a guard sitting behind the desk, and the guard was already yelling at me. “The prints on the FLOOR!” I looked at the floor. There was a pair of yellow feet painted there. I put my freshly polished black shoes on the fading yellow feet and looked back at the guard. He wasn’t looking at me. He was writing something, and it took him a long time. That is, I think it did. Time was strange at the moment.

The guard put a stamp on a thing that must have been part of my “docs”; then he got up and strode to the other side of the desk. He was young. He was Mexican. He was short and slight. His grays were freshly washed. His hair was freshly slicked and combed. There were deep thick furrows running through it, like newly plowed earth. And he had a paddle dangling from his belt.

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Story

Resort

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By JR

Florida has a funny way of taking things the rest of world enjoys and making them trashier.  Outside of the state’s biggest cities and most expensive zip codes, this state has all the refinement of a Jerry Springer episode, and the gay culture is no exception.  One area where the trashy factor really shines through is in the run down mid-century motels turned into gay resorts.  They litter the state and all have a similar feel: sparsely furnished rooms, poolside bars, and lush landscaping to keep activities somewhat private.  One of these resorts on the west coast is pretty big and has some well attended themed weekends, so naturally I checked in for their annual leather weekend.  I left my sometimes uptight professional demeanor at home, submitted to the fact that it would not be a weekend at the Four Seasons, and packed for what I hoped would be Florida’s version of IML.

I set my work aside early on Friday afternoon and headed across the state to the resort.  It was exactly what I had expected from the online photos, perhaps even a bit cleaner and more updated.  There were two long two-story buildings with second floor open walkways flanking the pool.  The former hotel lobby and restaurant had been converted to bars, one with a little dance floor.  The décor was part kitschy mid-century modern, part whatever the owners could find on the cheap.  The place reeked of bleach, which I took as a good sign.

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