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Forlorn Hope – Part 06: It Can Always Get Worse

By DR754

male bondage stories Hampton JailToday is Monday, August 9, 1967.

Awakening a little past dawn, I stood up – and nearly tripped over my leg irons.

It took me a moment to process where I was and what was happening.

Oh, right. It wasn’t a bad dream. I’m in jail, in chains, and in a shitload of trouble.

Stumbling to the toilet to take a piss, I pieced together shattered memories. Somewhere through the fog of my mind, more details of my early-morning arrest came into focus above the porcelain bowl.

There I was, locked in the cell as Pitbull read me my rights, then grimly informed me I matched the description of a man who robbed the Casey’s gas station in Sheffield that night. Did I want to explain this? Did I want to tell him anything about it?

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