When Jared is in bondage, his cock remains hard the whole time, the rope binding it acting like a cock-ring. His arms are lowered and his right wrist is cuffed to the base of his cock and balls, giving his hand just enough range to work his cock. Every muscle in his body tightens as he pumps out a huge load of cum then stands there, helpless, his hand and dick cuffed together, covered with jizz.
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Title: JARED: Elite Athlete – Chapter 4
By Cutieboy90
“Oh fuck!” I’d finally hilted. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to make this pleasure quick. My cock throbs its frustration, squeezed into the silky softness of his tight ass.
I smile down at him, giving slow rolling thrusts as we acclimate to the tight fit we are. Kissing the sweat from his forehead, I caress his shoulder with one hand as I pant in heat. I feel his cock hard rubbing against my abs. His eyes tell me he’s ready for the ride I promised. I give his sweet mouth a sensual kiss, muffling his moans with my tongue as I pick up the pace.
It’s like the feeling you get as the roller coaster reaches the top of the track, or the airplane starts to take off. The anticipation is almost more exciting because you know exactly what’s about to happen, but you’re not there yet. Then you get faster and faster until you outrace time itself, even if for a moment.
Faster and faster, my heart pounds. Harder and harder, my cock drives. I break our kiss, only to growl in pleasure.
By Cutieboy90
Jake Hilforde’s head felt heavy. The 31 year old felt disoriented, there was no recognizable sound, and everything was dark, like he was underwater, and he had the worst migraine he’d ever had. As the rookie cop started to come back to his senses, he realized he was completely immobilized; he was tied to a chair, his hands behind him, and his legs too!
True to his training, the rookie stayed calm, taking in his surroundings, and figuring out what was going on. He remembered leaving the station after his shift, heading to a house at the edge of suburbia. Why again? No Jake, think. The reason’ll come back.. What else happened? He’d gotten to the house, where he was greeted by a man, not much older than himself. What the hell was his name again? Trevor? Tyler? Something with a T, anyway. They sat down in the kitchen and chatted. The house had felt warm, despite the hum and breeze of an A/C. Wait, how did that work? How could he feel so hot, in an A/C’d room? He flexed his aching shoulders. Damn, he’d clearly been tied up for a long while. How could he forget. He’d felt so warm, that he’d passed out, so his host put him in a chair. Which he’d promptly been cuffed to… With his own fucking cuffs!
By Hunter Perez
The rock quarry duties would last until mid-afternoon, at which point we would be brought back to our cells. Zeb would crash into a deep, tumult-free sleep, and I would be able to get some placid snoozing in – unlike the nights with Zeb’s snoring and thrashing keeping me up. One afternoon, shortly after we fell asleep, there was tapping at the cell door – it was Private Charleson, informing me that Holmgren wanted to see me in his office. I reluctantly got out of bed and walked out of the cell into the corridor, turning my back to Charleson and putting my hands behind my back. Charleson locked the cell and was about 15 paces down when he realized I was still standing at the cell door.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he walked back.
“I thought I was going to be handcuffed,” I said, still groggy from being awakened. “Whenever Sergeant Patterson would take me to see the lieutenant, he would always handcuff me.”
Continue reading A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 04
By Hunter Perez
NOTE: This is a sequel! To read the first series, click here
So, how is life mistreating me? Funny that I should ask. Since we last connected, there has been bad news and sort of bad news.
The bad news is that the warden fell in love with Holmgren’s idea of getting the local saloon keeper to pay for his son Zeb’s education while he was incarcerated. As you may recall, Zeb is illiterate, and his dad wants him to take over the saloon business – which is a tad difficult when you can’t read the liquor bottle labels. According to Holmgren, the warden thought the idea was so brilliant that he insisted on a 70 percent to 30 percent split of the “tuition” – the warden, of course, taking the bigger cut. With this scheme, the plan to have my sentence commuted was put on the proverbial back burner – although I fear it will bypass the back burner and go straight into the trash can if the saloon keeper agrees to it.
The sort of bad news was the delay in getting the saloon keeper’s approval – he was called out of town for at least two weeks, thus delaying the finality of whether I would be trapped in prison (if he approved) or set free (if he disapproved). Without a firm answer, I was stuck in limbo – or, to be more precise, the spruced-up solitary confinement cell that was supposed to be a temporary residence on my road to liberty.
Continue reading A Left Turn at Albuquerque Continued – Part 01
By slavebladeboi
With thanks to POW for his editing skills and the many suggestions that inspired this story.
Nate made sure the door of his bedroom was locked before he stood naked, facing the window. There was no one else home, but it made him feel safe both mentally and physically. The windowsill was level with his hips, and the slats of the blind were at an angle that allowed him to see out without being seen. It was a position he’d taken up several times when he noticed that the new neighbour was out and about, either tending to the front garden of his house, directly opposite the house Nate shared with two other college guys, or washing his car or all the other small jobs that needed taking care of when the weather was warm and the sun out.
This time the neighbour, a guy who was obviously in his thirties and looked to be in perfect shape to 20-year-old Nate, well-built and wearing only some skimpy shorts, was washing his car on the drive. It was a 1970 Corvette Stingray, deep blue and perfect. Any reasonable young male, in fact any man of any age, would have made some excuse to stop by and compliment the guy on his choice of vehicle, but Nate wasn’t so forthright. He preferred to stay hidden and watch from a distance. Another reason for his reluctance to make an appearance was that locked around his right wrist was one half of a handcuff, the other half locked tightly round his cock and balls, thus leaving his left hand free to play with his nips as he wanked furiously, gazing at the bronzed body sweating in the heat of the afternoon sun, wiping the odd spray of soap suds and water off his body.
“Incompatible Inmates” and “Bailey in the Restraint Chair” are two of the latest videos at Men in Chains:
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By Shket36
With English-language editing by Joshua Ryan
To say that I was worried would be an understatement, but again Nikolai found words to calm me down. Then, after I shaved my face and head, he told me to dress up in my prison clothes. For the first time, I had to put on a convict uniform with a badge — a badge with my photograph and convict number, but not my first name or my last. From then on I would be a number. When I had buttoned myself into my uniform and put my badge in place, Nikolai turned me to face the wall and ordered me to present my hands so he could put the guard cuffs on me. These bracelets have a rigid hinge that prevents the prisoner from twisting his hands to find a more comfortable position.
Once my restraints were attached, Nikolai took me by the left arm near the shoulder, led me to the official car for escorting detainees, and put me in a special compartment–simply put, a cage, where I had to ride with my hands securely cuffed for several hours. We were headed to the train station.
