Tag Archives: true stories

Story

Copdar – Third Ride’s a Charm

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By Cuffsandcops

Summer is very quickly concluding, so I texted the Sergeant I know from the Sheriff’s office to see if it would be possible to ride along at night. I have ridden twice with this Sergeant when he was a Deputy. You may remember him from previous stories Side Job Deputy and Ride Along with the Deputy from 2022. Both times, very little happened. I was hoping to experience more action and thought a weekend night could provide that. He responded that he knows the perfect guy for me to ride with who works 5pm to 3am and will set it up.

I asked if the perfect guy was him, knowing he doesn’t spend much time on the road since the promotion, and was told no. I then asked what made the guy he has in mind perfect for me. The Sergeant responded that the Deputy gets busy at work and asked if Saturday from 6pm to 12am would work. I said it would, provided my vehicle details, was reminded of the address of the station to meet the Deputy at, and given his name.

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Daily Thread

Video: The History of GUN OIL

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In this video, Scott, the founder of Gun Oil, tells the company’s origin story. It involves extreme heat, zero privacy, no booze, and no entertainment. Just a bunch of restless marines, some imagination, and silicone lube originally meant for cleaning rifles. One day, in a moment of desperation (and inspiration), Scott found a much more satisfying use for it! The result? The legendary “Whack Shack” — a two-story jerk-off haven built for the troops. It became a place of relief, ritual, and bonding. As you watch this video, pay attention to the part where Scott reveals what he named his hands!

Today, Gun Oil offers a whole range of top-tier lubricants designed for uninhibited pleasure, deep connection, and full-on expression. And the company also proudly supports the gay and kink communities!

And they are not just saying that, either! As a special offer, the company is offering Metalbond readers 30% off on orders! Use the discount code METAL30 at checkout to take advantage of this offer!

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Now, tell us in the comments: What are YOU going to name YOUR hands?

Story

The ‘Just Bondage’ Session

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By Anonymous

A chance meeting at a local sauna sparked a conversation that uncovered our shared secret: a deep craving for heavy bondage. I admitted I can’t recall a time without this pull, a need so strong it drove me to years of stupid and reckless self-bondage experiments that cheated death but I was still hooked. He shared his own tale, voice hushed, eyes distant. His first taste came with an older woman who bound him in rubber and leather restraints, her head-to-toe latex igniting a lasting obsession. After they parted, he bought his own rubber gear in secret, experimenting alone until a self-bondage accident went so wrong it scared him so bad he locked his gear away. Neither of us sought romance or sex—just the raw intensity of bondage. We knew the risks of going solo, so we built a partnership grounded in trust to explore this together. One chance meeting gone right.

It’s 9 AM, and the room is set. A glossy black rubber sheet hugs the bed, anchored to the frame were 13 straps that would hold him in place. An electric blanket beneath and three infrared lamps above cycling 30 minutes on, 30 minutes off, would keep him warm.The air carries a faint scent of rubber and silicone lube, sterile yet heavy. A bag for the piss tube hangs discreetly by the bed, and my tablet displays real-time data from his Bluetooth oxygen sensor and heart monitor. A large bag of electrolyte hydration drink hangs on a small stand, its tube connected to the bite gag for when he needs a drink. Everything is prepped, negotiated and tested—this is his fourth session, and thinks he is ready for a 10-hour plunge, from now until 7 PM.

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Story

Letters from Prison – Part 03

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Day 3

Saturday, March 8, 2025

It’s morning again.  There is a crow or some other squawking bird that wakes me up today.  Again, the light, the sun, is just starting to rise and illuminate my cell.  Yes, I’m still locked in a cell – 3 concrete walls painted institutional off white, the grey steel door and grey bunks.  Even the floor is grey.  And the stainless-steel sink/combination toilet without a toilet seat.  I have to sit on the rim.

This pen sucks.  The rubbery feel and movement make my writing so hard.  I have to think about each letter and write slowly and with precision.  The result doesn’t look like that.  Sorry.

I didn’t sleep well.  I think the chain gang work and being in the direct sun took a lot out of me.  I was awake when one of the flashlight cell checks happened.  I’m not sure if the guard caught I was awake or even cared.  I’m just a number here.  A count to be made.

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Story

Letters from Prison – Part 01

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By Socalbd

Background: I recently spent four days as an inmate during a live action roleplay.  The event took place at a closed but partially refurbished maximum-security prison.  This was my first time doing something like this, and I knew I wanted to keep a journal about my experience.  However, I wanted to stay in the headspace as much as I could.  More about that below.  To say it was the experience of a lifetime would be an understatement.  But more than that, the community of men I spent four days with was incredible.  I was honored to share this experience with them.  My thanks to the organizers for their countless hours of preparation.  Special thanks to those that had my back, physically and mentally, and allowed me to ride the range of emotions that challenged, scared and comforted me over the four days.

The letters:  I arranged with the captain of the guard prior to the event to be able to “write” letters home to family.  I would be provided with paper, pen and envelopes in my cell.  When there was time, I would write my letters.  Each evening, I would place the letter in an open envelope and have it delivered to the captain of the guard.  He could read the letter, check it for any information not permitted to be revealed about the prison (he would line out any such writing), he could write comments in the margins if he wanted, and would then “mail” the letter for me.  Mailing meant placing the letter in my duffel bag that was being stored during the event.   At the end of the event the letters would be waiting for me inside the bag, and I would be able to go back and read them along with any edits the captain of the guard made.

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Story

Jail Training Center – Part 02

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By slaveobjectx

I flew from London to Atlanta. Atlanta airport is something else! Huge. For whatever reason, I was pulled over for a search coming through Customs. My suitcase was mostly taken up with my leather gear and boots but the black lady sifting through my stuff must have seen it all before. Not even the hint of a knowing smile. Finally I was waved through and there was Mike waiting for me.

I knew that The Center was not actually in Atlanta but I had not expected it to be some thirty miles north, through a commuter town and then through countryside until we arrived at an area filled with up-market, large houses, most with swimming pool and very much sitting cheek by jowl. One was overlooked in all directions. We parked and entered through the main door to the house. How different it used to be for the inmates of The Academy! The illusion of jail was maintained through picking them up at the airport in a prepared van with blackened windows. As such they would have seen nothing of the seeming normality of the setting of The Academy in an oasis of respectability.

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Story

Jail Training Center – Part 01

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By slaveobjectx

I had known it as the Academy Training Center. It only advertised in the pages of Drummer, the pioneering gay BDSM magazine, which all leathermen were addicted to if they could get hold of it. It was banned in the UK. I picked up copies if I visited NYC or Amsterdam. Jack Fritscher also wrote an article for Drummer about The Academy, and this is still available online. My memories provide a kind of partial coda to that account and also give a slightly different, and I believe truer version, of how The Academy ended and The Jail Training Center came into being.

For those of you who know nothing of The Academy, I’ll fill you in a little here. It started in the late 1980s and, at that time, was situated in Missouri. What it offered — at a hefty price — was a ‘real’ jail experience. I say ‘real’ because it differed in some interesting ways from a true jail experience. It’s an undoubted fact that the guards were recruited from either serving or ex-serving prison guards and police officers. But sex was in no way part of the equation.

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Story

Copdar – Worth Being Late

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By Cuffsandcops

Last week, I took a half day from work in order to get my teeth cleaned. My dentist’s office is located on the western edge of the city limits and several small police departments serve the surrounding area. Back more than a few years ago, I successfully got an officer from one of the PDs to cuff me and sit me in the back seat of his patrol vehicle, so every time I have an appointment on that side of town, I wonder if the opportunity will rise again.

I really wanted to get my truck washed before my appointment so I left my house early enough to account for that errand. The line at the car wash was way too long, so I decided to hook a U-turn and head towards the dentist on a road where I knew some officers liked to park while monitoring traffic. As I passed by a large parking lot next to a church, I noticed a marked SUV up against the tree line.

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