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Tag Archives: incarceration
Locked in a cock cage while in prison
Image by BoundGods/KinkMen
Enough to make a prisoner go insane
For sale: Prison transport van
Oh fuck who would have thought of this!!? For the bondage master who has everything, it’s a real-life prison transport van!
Bind aka Mark is selling it. For real. More pictures and details here.
The Convict – Part 18
By Joshua Ryan
Documents Relating to Convict 353308 Rossetti, Jason Scott
Inmate, Southern Regional Longterm Correctional Facility
Document 1
DATE:
011319
SENDER:
351699 Cleveland
Inmate, SRLCF
RECIPIENT:
Mrs. Heather Johnston
1112 Detroit Street
Milestone IN
STATUS:
Approved for Transmission
***CONVICT TRANSMISSIONS NOT TO EXCEED 400 WORDS***
Dear Sis,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you, its been very busy here. You remember how I said I didnt have a cellmate? Well now I’ve got one. Too bad, eh? Not really. His name is Jason and I like him a lot. He was in college so I guess I’m sort of in over my head, but he’s teaching me a lot of stuff. :-)
Thanks for the birthday gift, which they finaly gave me. You know they only let us have a couple books at a time, so I had to get rid of one of my books before they gave me another one. Big deal, huh? I like that story about the guy that had everything except the one thing he really wanted to have. But listen, the next time you send something I wish youd send me a big book about science, cause Jason is gonna teach me that. (He didn’t say so but he is.) I want to learn about astronnomy so try that. I always liked stars.
Well its Sunday night and I gotta be at the office early tomorrow morning. (Smile) Anyway it’s time for me to sign off for now.
Write soon,
Jacob
Convict #351699
Three Days in Jail – Part 02
By Pisslurper
The rules of the jail were strict, but simple and expected. I was supposed to call the jailor “Officer” and “Sir.” I was to keep my blanket folded neatly whenever I wasn’t using it. I was supposed to back away from the cell door and go nose to the wall with my hands clasped behind my head whenever instructed to do so or whenever the jailor was about to come into my cell. I was supposed to be in uniform (top and bottoms) whenever I was out of my cell.
For some reason, calling the jailor “Sir” or “Officer” just rankled me, and I resisted doing so. I guess I also gave him some attitude, although I was nicer when he had something I wanted, like a meal.
Once or twice a day he would conduct a cell inspection, looking for contraband I guess. He went through the whole unlocking the cellblock and cell routine, had me nose to the wall, and he cuffed my hands behind my back. Then he turned me around and locked the handcuffs to the metal L bracket that was fastened to cell wall. So now I am shackled, chained to the wall with my feet, and my handcuffed wrists are slightly elevated behind my back and locked to the wall. I couldn’t move much at all. The jailor then inspected the cell, looking under and checking the seams of the mattress and pillow, unfolding the blanket, and examining the entire cell.
I gave him some attitude during the first inspection, and when he uncuffed me, he shortened the chain to my shackles so that I could only move a few feet. Then he repeated the lock down process, and after the series of banging and clanking, I was again left alone in the dim cell, only know a little more severely restricted. I could still move a bit, but no more pacing the length of the cell. I could lie down since the foot of the bed was close to the point where the chain was attached to the wall, and I could stand to piss in my bucket if I needed. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, because, like I said earlier, time seemed pass both slowly and quickly.
The Convict – Part 01
By Joshua Ryan
THIS IS A STORY ABOUT ADULTS, FOR ADULTS ONLY
Part 1
“There ought to be a world like that.” That’s what went through my mind every morning that fall.
It will take me a while to explain what I mean. I’ve got the time. Do you?
I was working for Freer and Sons, in the new industrial park. They’d opened their building about three months before. They were one of the first firms out there. There wasn’t much of anything except new-laid blacktop, naked white sidewalks, half-empty offices, and a deli that felt free to overcharge. The Freer Building overlooked a park that the city had about half developed and, just down the hill from that, a long stretch of land that used to be somebody’s farm. That’s where the next set of streets would go. In the meantime it was nothing but weeds and rubbish, with some surveyor’s sticks planted here and there. And convicts. There were convicts working in that field.
I found out about the convicts when I was waiting for my bus. Every morning at 7:09, the commuter train left me at the new station on Executive Way, and I waited at the curb for my shuttle bus. And one morning in late September, the convicts went by. Like me, they were on their way to work.
Of course, they didn’t look like me. I was wearing the gray suit that had cost way too much for a guy just out of college, and I was holding the briefcase that I’d bought for $650 and had stamped with my initials, JSR, because I’d noticed that every guy at Freer had a briefcase like that with his own initials stamped on it. Every guy that was ambitious, anyway. Every guy that wanted to establish who he was. When you’re as junior as I was, you’ve got to spend enough to make them take you seriously. That was one reason why I didn’t drive my car. Besides having to pay for parking, I couldn’t afford to let anyone notice what a piece of junk I owned. I knew that they’d never mention it, but I also knew that they’d be talking behind my back about how I wasn’t “bringing much to the firm.”
Men behind bars
