Tag Archives: authority figures

Story

Mounted Cops – Part 2

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Three Mounted Police Stories

Three Stories Of Different Mounted Cops, Booted, In Bondage And Fucked

2 – Trooper Greg’s Story

By Alex Ironrod

Copyright 2021; All rights reserved

A line of sleek horses passed by, their riders’ firm, tight-breeched asses rising and falling at the trot as I crouched behind the hedge, secretly watching. At the rear was a large black stallion, mounted by a tall, broad-shouldered officer in sharply creased uniform shirt and tie, tight breeches with a thin red stripe and gleaming tall black Dehner boots and spurs – the man I hungered to serve.

It was becoming an obsession. Here I was, a member of the Hunterville Police Department for three years, spying on this powerful Master Sergeant. I was desperate to join his Mounted Unit, to worship and lick the leather of those shining boots, to perform whatever sexual services he might demand. I’d found out what was needed to join the small, mounted troop. I’d had some experience with horses from my summers on my uncle’s farm as a teenager, but I knew my cowboy ways wouldn’t pass muster.

So I’d been taking riding lessons twice a week, punishing my butt on an English saddle and achieving a hard-on, just thinking about getting between Master Sergeant Alex Brand’s strong thighs.

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Story

An ‘Aggie’ Man and the Texas Ranger – Part 2

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By Alex Ironrod

Something woke Jack Thomson from his troubled doze. He struggled, but his arms remained outstretched, roped. Instead he only succeeded in tormenting his prick, tied to the saddle horn, and his ass hole with its invasive thick plug. Unable to see or hear much through the thick leather of the hood, or to move his hobbled legs, he wobbled in the saddle atop the wooden saddle rack.

The leather creaked and then he heard the ching of those damned spurs of Ranger Brad Steenbeck, whose voice seemed far away, “Wake up, kid, time to get moving.” His penis was released, then his legs and finally his arms. But the Aggie still couldn’t see anything through the leather across his face, and his mouth was sore and dry from the tight gag. “Come on, try to dismount.” Jack could feel Brad’s arms supporting him, as he willed his tired muscles to move, after his all-night torment. He finally slid out of the saddle, to be held by the ranger, who untied the hood and the leather gag.

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Story

Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 3

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By Alex Ironrod © 2021

PART THREE – PUNISHMENT

I don’t know how long we hung in our tightly yoked bondage, the dim light refracting on our leather breeches and black boots, as we fought to keep our footing with bound ankles and knees, while our arms ached from being anchored to a high pulley. The sweat dried on our thrashed upper bodies, but our pricks, bound together, enjoyed the constant stimulus and remained rock hard.

Colin gasped occasionally as the rope gag sawed at his tongue, but neither he nor I could move our heads more than an inch and his face was darkened by the leather mask blinding his eyes. He could feel my body as our torsos were bound together, but my groans from the stabbing pain from the nipple clamps were effectively silenced by the black leather gag which had been inflated to fill my mouth.

Eventually our “hosts” returned. “Glad you’re still awake, and ready for the next challenge”, remarked Sergeant Tyrell, stretching in his all-leather uniform and taking off his helmet. Officer Witkowski undid the belts, clamps and cords that bound us together, freeing our pricks to explore further and our bodies to sag independently in their chains.

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Story

The Speed Trap – Part 05

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By Rubrpig

I groaned and lay on the cot in my cell. My asshole was sore and tender still 2 days after the gang rape of myself and my full time boy. Although the day after the dungeon party where the rape occured was a day of rest for the most part. The sargeant had come in when he started his shift and had us shuffle to the showers where he used clippers and cut our hair and beards.

After he cleaned us up we were sent back to our cells and were chained down to the cots with the heavy chain webs and the heavy steel bondage helmets were put on all of us and locked. We spent the day in bondage and as a result we were able to rest and recover.

I groaned and shifted as best as I could under the heavy steel web that covered me but the sound of my groaning echoed in my helmet. Just then I heard my part-time boy call out to me and ask if I was ok. I told him that I was but was very stiff and sore and that my asshole felt like it had been ripped apart. I asked if he and my full time boy were ok and he told me that he was but my other boy felt about the same as I did.

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Story

Bondage in 2020 Cell Without Bars – Part 04

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By felon

The Noose Tightens Further – Paranoia Has Set In…

Many thanks for all the comments from kinky readers.

I am still open to meet men of all ages and sizes for prison sessions.

So I was told to make sure I was available Wednesday from 10 am to 8 pm.

I have had very little conversation with this man — more by e mail than in person. He is imposing, a large, mature top — probably ex-military, and in some kind of parole or prison occupation. He is also very up to date in technology and lets technology do much of his work.

I still have the device locked on my ankle, so he knows every move I make. I still try to carry on a normal life-work, which is permitted, and then come directly home unless I have a need to shop, do laundry etc., by request, most of which is granted. He is keeping a tally of infractions, and as he stated punishment sessions will be this week.

So as I leave work I get a message on my cell phone: “Changes of plans – make yourself available Wednesday, Thursday and Friday – NO EXCUSES! Check your calendar for more information.”

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Story

Enjoying the Flight – Part 2

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By Cutieboy90

To start at Part 1 click here

Cutieboy90Ding! “The Captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. Please feel free to move about the cabin.”

All around I could hear the clicking sound of the other passengers releasing their seatbelts and some reaching up to collect items from the overhead bins or simply stretching.

“Heheh…” Scott chuckled darkly as he patted my thigh. “Not that you need to stretch after only 15 minutes, but you won’t get to. No chance, no choice.”

My poor dick only throbbed harder, tightly confined in my jockstrap and tight jeans as Scott’s deep whispers flowed into my brain, his words as smooth and sinful as melted dark chocolate.

He was right, of course. I had no freedom, strapped and muzzled as I was. I looked down at the straps the Air Marshall had restrained me with. Thick, wide, lightly padded nylon webbing circled my torso pinning my arms around me like a straightjacket. Another strap ran down the front to connect the body straps to the ankle straps, which kept my legs bent and in a seated position even if there hadn’t been a seat.

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Story

One, Police Plaza, NYC

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By Bearded Mike

This is a true account of a chance meeting I had a few years back in NYC.

I was on a business trip to New York, and on a morning when I had no commitments I’d been down to Battery Park and was travelling back uptown by bus. It was around lunchtime and the bus was already crowded – people were standing but I was OK and had one of those side-facing seats toward the front of the bus.

I found myself staring at the back-side of a guy who was strap-hanging the same as all the other standing passengers but there was something different about this guy – showing through a back pocket of his jeans I could clearly see the outline of a pair of handcuffs!

My heart was racing, the adrenaline pumping. Was this guy a cop? But he wasn’t in uniform. Was he a collector of cuffs like myself? Or was there some other reason why he was carrying cuffs? I had no way of knowing.

But suddenly I did have a possible way of knowing. Unexpectedly the bus lurched and the standing passengers were jolted to such an extent that “my” guy stepped backward – right onto my foot. He half turned, looked down at me and muttered an apology. I assured him that I was perfectly OK and he went back to his strap-hanging – and I went back to staring at his cuffs. I was fantasising about trying to strike up some sort of conversation with the guy; a perfect opportunity had presented itself when he stepped on my foot, but I’d bottled out and hadn’t had the guts to get into conversation

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