By Joshua Ryan
I was dressed now in full prison garb, and I had nothing to do but watch the other convicts putting on their new identity — pulling their shorts over their butts, jamming their legs into their pants, lacing their feet into their boots, shouldering their coats onto their backs. The last one to start was a pretty little guy, 19 or 20. Maybe I should say that he probably used to be a pretty little guy, before they shipped him to prison. There was still enough of his prettiness to make me follow the lines of his plump little butt and his pert little dick as he stuffed them into his stiff prison pants. His dick was hard, going into his trousers. I thought I might be getting hard myself. I even remembered why I was there — to get my head and my dick in proper order and write that great and wonderful book about prison. How would I describe that guy? What words would I use…?
A door slammed; a muscular voice bellowed through the room.
“All right! Form up for the fish parade!”
So much for the convict bosses — an officer had appeared. He was a 40-year-old with a Marine Corps face. The tag on his crisp gray shirt said SGT GIDEON.
Continue reading The Prison Writer – Chapter 12
By hard slave
“Lock him up! Lock him up! Lock him up!” the whole room chanted. I was so mesmerized by the sounds of the masculine voices shouting as one, that when the two brutish bouncers grabbed each of my arms I cried out in surprise. They frog-marched me up to the stage and quickly locked restraints on my wrists, which in turn were attached to the arms of a large cross, forcing my arms as far apart as they could go. The lights were bright, but I could make out the crowd of men, dressed in tight jeans or leather, many shirtless or in harness, hooting and whistling while looking at ME. Holy shit.
My two escorts took off my belt and undid my jeans, pulling them down to my ankles sharply. Down came my white briefs, allowing my semi-hard cock to bounce upward. Of course this led to louder, more urgent cheers of “Lock him up!” A third man joined us on stage, and with a wicked, sadistic smile, he applied an ice pack to my erection. It took about a minute, but once my boner subsided he grabbed me by the balls and slipped on the ring of a Holy Trainer chastity device. The crowd collectively crowed as they observed me being locked into the device before their eyes.
Continue reading The Dream