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Tag Archives: kidnap
Torture Twink
See below for one more video clip from Dream Boy Bondage
Jared is getting cocky, again, satisfying his horniness by seducing a random twink he sees at the mall. Curtis was excited when a tall, muscular, strikingly handsome man sits down next to him in the food court and strikes up a casual conversation. He can’t believe his luck when the guy offers to give him a ride home. Once in the car, Curtis agrees to go home with the guy for “a drink.” Then things get murky. Curtis remembers feeling dizzy and confused after a few sips of his Captain and Coke, then feeling his clothes being removed. Now he’s bolted to a concrete wall, blindfolded and gagged, naked but for his briefs. He’s alone, in total darkness. Then he feels a hand on his body. Days of torture and sexual exploitation have just begun.
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Title of this shoot: Curtis – Torture Twink – Part 1
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Kidnapped
How many of you guys would let the men of Serious Male Bondage kidnap you and take you away?
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Cocky Craig gets kidnapped
Craig is in a very precarious position, tied up and grunting like a pig. A rope attached to a weight is lassoed around his neck, so the sorry fucker can barely move while they strip him down, pervily groping him all over. Sliding his tighty whities to the side, his big luscious cock and balls flop out. Those pants are wedged up tight to slide against his virgin arsehole. His tight hairy arse cheeks are lashed while his large floppy cock is tugged till his penis is throbbing. Craig is locked into place with an anal hook slid up his rectum making him terrified to move even though we’ve got his big cock in hand.
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The Convict – Part 17
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.
A cop gets abducted and roughed up by two street punks
Chloroformed cop
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The Convict – Part 04
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.”