Squirm of the popular RubberZone site recently celebrated a milestone birthday. Months earlier he had given his friends permission to abduct and torment him at any time — and they did! He even was forced to get a new Mohawk, just in time for his drivers license photo!
See the VIDEO at RubberZone
Reports have been made about local lads going missing, suspicious noises and howls of pain coming through the brick walls, men limping away in the middle of the night clutching their sore arses. The busybodies at the local council have decided to do something about it and sent one of their lackeys to make an investigation. Well there’s only one thing to do with meddling bastards like this. A fit-as-fuck lunkhead with more brawn than brains. Before he knows what’s happening they strap this man to the medical bench so his legs are perfectly spread and primed. This enraged and weeping straight prick can shout all he wants. No one at the council is going to come help him now that they’ve pounded his arse so hard his sphincter is a gaping fucking mess dripping with sperm!
Video at BreederFuckers – new updates every Wednesday
How many of you guys would let the men of Serious Male Bondage kidnap you and take you away?
To see more like this, go to Serious Male Bondage
By Joshua Ryan
“This is Officer Nolan,” he said to his cellphone. “Open A292.” I heard the bars slide back.
“Inside, convict.”
I opened my eyes. There was a gap in the bars. The cell door was open. It wasn’t very wide. It was just the gate to a cage. I could tell that I’d have to tilt my bedroll to get it through. I lifted one side, maneuvering it. I would have to be careful not to let anything drop . . .
Then I saw it. There was something long and thick lying on the lower bunk, something brown that was shaped like a man. There were letters and numbers stamped on its surface. It was a convict, lying face down in my cell. Wait a minute! Couldn’t the officer see that the place was already full?
I almost blurted that out. Then I remembered: there were two convicts stuffed in all those other cells. That bundle of clothes on the bunk was only one convict. I was the other one.
I stopped in the doorway. I was scared to wake up that thing on the metal shelf. Jesus, it was dark in there, especially after the spotlight I’d faced outside. I could see a naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn’t turned on. The only light was the gray stuff leaking in from the walkway. That was enough for me to see that the whole cell wasn’t much larger than a medium-sized closet. It was a lot smaller than my bathroom at home. What used to be my home. Half the cell was bunks, one shelf above the other on the right side, against the wall. A lot of the rest was toilet — a metal toilet squatting against the back wall, a toilet without a seat, with something that looked like a little sink built into the top of it. The thing was gleaming at me in the faint light. Christ! I thought. They wash in the shitter. A wave of contempt ran through me. Probably one of them crapped while the other one washed his face in the crapper. They were like cats in a cage, with a little litterbox all their own. And now I was one of them.
See more like this at Boot Lust
By Joshua Ryan
“What’s the matter, Jason? You look pensive.”
I was at the Alibi, which is a pretty quiet place, especially in the early evening; and it was Terry, the bartender, I was talking to. Terry got out of the Navy a year or so before, and he had that look that some of the ex-Navy guys keep. I liked that look, and I liked talking to Terry. “Pensive” was a joke between us. It was a word I had used one time, one of the many words that Terry had never heard before.
“Not really. Just drinking. Give me another one, will you?”
“Sure thing. But I still think there’s something wrong. You and Joey having a fight?”
“Joey? You mean the guy that’s always in my apartment?”
“That’s the one.”
“I never fight. I just like to be alone sometimes. Believe it or not.”
“Sure you do,” Terry said, pulling me another beer. “Since when?”
“Since now,” I said. “Since always. I hate the way these queers can’t be alone for a second.” I was so drunk, it was a miracle I got through that sentence.
“You do?”
“Sure I do.”
“Which means you’re thinking about some guy that you’d rather be alone with, all of the time.”
