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Brig Story – Part 02

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By Tommy Guns

When we got to the other room, I was ordered to sit on a chair, and another prisoner came in and took a pair of clippers and cut my hair and mustache off. I already kept my hair pretty close trimmed in the standard high and tight, but the brig haircut was even shorter, more like being back in boot camp, fresh off the bus, and getting your first Corps haircut. The loss of my well-trimmed and groomed mustache was a real pity. I had cultivated it and trimmed it with great care over the years, and it was one of my better features. Oh well, I supposed it was yet another part of the price I had to pay for whatever it was I had done to get myself locked up. At this point, I was more interested in what I was being charged with. It must have been pretty serious, given the high level of security they were using with me.

After the haircut, I was photographed, both full face and left and right profile, and then fingerprinted. This part of it was rather interesting, since they were taking no chances with me, and did not release more than one wrist at a time from the cuffs, and even then one of my guards had hold of my upper arm, while the other had his foot on the chain between my ankles. After a couple of sets of prints were taken, I was again fully shackled and led back to the holding cell I was first held in. They took my cuffs and shackles off once I was locked in the cell, and ordered to take the gown and slippers off and pass them through. I complied, and was given a set of utilities to put on, and a pair of flip-flops to wear with them.

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Story

Training the Sergeant – Part 7

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By lthr_jock

Davis was gasping as he pounded up the pavement at the end of his eight-mile run. Going on a run was not unusual for Davis – the length of the run and what he was wearing was. He had on a pair of black Underarmour compression shorts, a black and orange pair of Adidas trainers and a sleeveless orange and black compression vest. He had on nothing else except his iPod, which was docked in a holder on his right bicep. Today’s run had been a good one, so he’d done eight rather than five miles. It felt like he was floating along, so he had cranked the music up and ran around oblivious to the stares of the public, who got an extremely good view of the bulge barely hidden by his shorts.

As he approached his house he saw someone stepping away from his doorstep. He pulled out his ear-buds. “Hey there – can I help you with something?”

The man turned and Davis recognised him, though he wasn’t totally sure from where. It was a 6-foot tall young black man – maybe in his late 20s. He was wearing a tight pair of leather jeans, boots and a white wife-beater vest under a leather jacket. His hair was neatly trimmed and he was clean-shaven.

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Story

Busman’s Holiday – Part 23

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By lthr_jock

Morrison sprawled out in the bed and stretched as he woke up. He yawned extravagantly, enjoying the way his toes tangled in the crisp clean sheets. He looked around the hotel room and scratched at his morning erection. He stopped, puzzled – had he dreamt he had returned to the prison? The memories were so clear – could he have dreamed that? Wondering at what was going on, he walked over to the window and pushed the curtains open to look outside, unworried that anyone would see his naked body through the glass.

The car park down below was speckled with vehicles and the quality of the light made him think that it was early morning. He leant against the window frame as he started to plan his day. His attention was drawn by movement beside a black Landrover. Someone had poked their head up from the other side of it and almost immediately ducked back down. Morrison watched the Landrover for any other movements and out of the corner of his eye saw some movement in the corner of the car park. It was close enough to the hotel that he couldn’t quite make it out and he pressed his face to the glass to try and make it out. He could see another black Landrover and what seemed to be movement on the other side of it.

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The Cage – Part 03

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By Steellock

It was a long week.

Last weekend standing behind a locked cell door all night with my cock and balls hanging out of a round porthole exposed to all cummers had been one of the best times I have had. The guys in the bar had taken turns to pump me dry; they had sucked and pulled and tweaked me to orgasm four or five times and then just kept going. I was dry, and it was agony. Wonderful agony. Then after the barman had lifted his arm, rung ‘Time’ on the old bell and eventually got everyone out of the bar and came over and peeked at me through the little window into my eyes. He grinned and mimed wanking – fuck not again I tried to yell, shaking my head furiously, and he laughed. Bastard – I was falling in love with this guy!

He disappeared from my window, and then I jumped as much as the chains on my wrists and ankles would allow when I felt his hand on my poor aching cock. He was very gently massaging it and also rolling my balls in his hard hand. I realized he was rubbing in soothing oil. It felt wonderful. Suddenly he had stretched the silicon ring over the root of my cock and balls then eased my bruised and tender member into the lubed tube. The padlock clicked, I could hear it in the now quiet bar. I was back in chastity. For another week or so I supposed.

Then he opened the door and unlocked the restraints, and I staggered forward. He caught me under the arms and carried me to a barstool. I weigh 85 kilo – this guy is as strong as he looks! It turns out his name is Ryan, and he runs the bar for its owner, his Master!

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Story

Roommate Tickle Wager: Arm Wrestling

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By Jack

One of my recent wagers was with my buddy and roommate Rick. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I stacked the deck against him, and I feel just terrible about it.

We always used to hang out around the apartment drinking, playing cards, horsing around, bull shitting. Rick is a well-built, masculine guy, a carpenter, like me, with an in-your-face cocky attitude. He is about 5’9″, muscular, 160 lbs., with size 9.5 feet. He also shared my interest in bondage devices, and we had even tied each other up a few times. Nothing major, just Ha Ha, You’re tied up, now let’s do something else. Being straight, there was never anything sexual involved with Rick. But the last time he had me tied up, he used my handcuffs, some chain and padlocks to get me into a very tight hogtie. He was none too gentle with the cuffs, and they dug into my wrists real painfully and cut off the circulation, which didn’t seem to faze him, despite my protests. I plotted to get a little revenge for that.

I knew from horsing around with him that Rick was very ticklish, especially his feet and pits. And he HATED to be tickled. I had never mentioned to him my interest in bondage and tickle torture, so he never suspected a thing.

Late one night, after knocking back several Stoli martinis each, and several games of cards, he started to get rowdy and run off at the mouth about what a tough stud he was. The time was ripe.

I challenged him to an arm wrestling match, loser to get tied up. He was drunk enough and cocky enough to accept.

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