Here is a picture from the MALE BONDAGE version of a controversial new Ford India ad campaign:

Thanks to RH at Mencomix for passing this along!

By Aussielthrbiker

It was my first year at university. I had moved out of my parents and into a dorm and had picked up a part time job in a department store downtown. Dorm life was great fun but our dorm was pretty quiet – it had a reputation for being the dorm you lived in if you actually wanted to study. My part time job was also great fun; I worked three shifts a week in the “Young Men’s” department. Two were all day shifts when I worked alongside the permanent employees, who were around my age and a fun bunch. However, my favourite shift of the week was Thursday evenings. On Thursdays I worked with Brad, who was another university student. He was in his second year at another university. He was around my height and build, ie, 5’11” and slim. He had blue eyes and short curly blond hair. After the store closed, we would have dinner together at the burger joint across the road before catching our respective buses. Brad would often tell me about life in his dorm, which sounded a lot more active than mine. In particular, he would recount in some detail the hazing, which usually involved one of the guys (sometimes him) being tied and gagged. I would listen intently to his stories wishing this would take place at my dorm. I made this comment to Brad a couple of times.

A few weeks after I had started, I came in for a Monday shift and saw a wonderful sight. Racks filled with leather jackets and leather jeans now occupied a corner of the department. My colleagues told me it was a new promotion for “Renegade” leathers. The jackets were in the latest style, modelled on motorcycle jackets. I had always wanted to own a leather jacket and leather jeans but in high school they had been well out of my price bracket. Even now I was earning money and got a staff discount, it would still take a few weeks of saving to pay for them. My highlight of the day was selling a leather jacket to a very cute guy. He had mid length black hair and brown eyes and I sold him a black jacket with wide white stripes on the sleeve. When I saw him try it on, I longed to own the same jacket.

Shortly before closing time Craig, the department manager, came up to me with another guy he introduced as Simon. Simon was wearing another of the jackets we had on display, a black jacket with red and white stripes on the sleeves, he was the sales rep for Renegade leathers. He explained that as part of the promotion for their leathers, they would like to get some of the department members wearing their leathers. Would I be prepared to wear one of their leather jackets and leather jeans to work for the next six months, in return for which I could keep them afterward? Well, I didn’t need to be asked twice! Simon said he had already selected a jacket he thought would look good on me, this turned out to be the black jacket with the white stipes on the sleeves. He also picked out a pair of black leather button fly jeans. I tried them on and they looked just stunning!

I could hardly wait to get to work on Thursday evening, wearing my new leather jacket and jeans! I got into work to find out, much to my pleasure, that Brad had also been asked to model a leather jacket and jeans. He was wearing a black leather jacket with twin blue stripes around the body and the sleeves and black leather jeans. He sure looked hot! I noted he gave me quite a look too when I walked in wearing my leathers. We attracted quite a bit of (favourable) attention that night. We had quite a few cute guys try on both leather jackets and jeans and converted a few of those to sales.

We went for dinner as usual after work and I had a hard time keeping my eyes off Brad in his new leathers. Afterward we headed for our respective bus stops. Brad’s was across the road from the burger joint, mine was a couple of blocks away. It was quiet as I walked to the bus stop, it was amazing how quickly the shopping core of downtown emptied out after the stores closed.

I heard the sound of a vehicle stop beside me and a van’s sliding door open. The next thing I knew, I had been pulled inside the van and was being held down on a mattress on the floor. There must have been about four people holding me. From the sound and smell, all were wearing leather jackets. My arms were pulled behind my back and bound tightly together with rope. Next my ankles were also bound together with rope. I felt a big leather plug pushed into my mouth. It was attached to a strap, which was buckled tightly around my head. Finally I was blindfolded with a piece of black cloth. I was let go and I started to struggle but whoever had tied the ropes had done a good job and they held me securely. I tried to cry out but the leather gag was doing its job. I then heard a voice, “Gentlemen, we have done well tonight, our buyer should pay well for this boy and a bonus to have him in leather as you know how our buyer loves leather. Fortunately no one will notice him missing for a few days, we’ve left a note on his dorm room door saying he’s at his parents for a few days, his parents will think he’s in the dorm.”

I had always wanted to be tied up and I had often fantasized about being abducted and tied up. This was the first time I had ever been tied up, however, this wasn’t some game, this was reality and it wasn’t a random abduction, someone had been following me, planning this! It had been fun to fanaticise but what I was feeling now was real fear, would I ever escape from this alive? The fact that I had been followed and set up was really creepy. However, at the same time the whole feeling of being helpless was also an incredible turn on! I was also aware of the smell and feel of my new leathers.

The van drove around for some time before coming to a stop. I heard the door slide open and the rope tying my ankles was removed. I was helped to my feet – I was surprised at how unsteady I was – and was led away from the van. Walking wasn’t easy while blindfolded and I more stumbled than walked. After a short distance my captors stopped and pushed me face down on the floor. They then started to add lots of rope to the rope securing my wrists. Ropes were tied around my ankles, above and below my knees, my elbows and all over my torso. My ankles were then brought up and tied off to my wrists in a tight hogtie.

I heard the same voice as before, “He won’t escape from those, we can leave him until the buyer gets here tomorrow. I suggest you don’t try to escape, those ropes will get tighter the more you struggle.” I heard a door close and assumed I had been left alone. I felt how tight the ropes were around my body. I started to struggle and found that the ropes did start to get tighter. I tried to find the knots but nothing. There was no way I was getting free. I tried to call out for help, but my cries were muffled by the gag.

I don’t know how long I was tied, all sense of time vanished. As I lay helplessly tied I grew to love the feeling of the tight ropes all over my body and as time passed I didn’t feel so scared about the “buyer.”

I heard the door open and a few people enter the room. Then I heard a voice, “Gentlemen, you have done a great job delivering the merchandise.” It was Brad’s voice! My blindfold was removed, and I saw Brad and the other guys from the “Young Men’s” department, all wearing their leather jackets and leather jeans. They removed the gag, untied me and helped me unsteadily to my feet. Brad explained that they had been checking me out since I started work. He had told me about the hazing at his dorm to see if I was into being tied up (which I was). The leather promotion had provided the final test; to see if I was also into leather. I had passed both tests with flying colours and was now a full member of the team.

Metal would like to thank Aussielthrbiker for this story — which is long overdue for posting!

By Mister-X / Spartan

“Bobby, could you do me a favor?”

“Name it, Russ.”

“We’re having a bondage party over at the Hermans’ place out on Old Middlefield Road. You know where it is, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got Jerry bound and gagged in my apartment, all restraints locked. I’ve got the keys with me. He wanted to get started early. I need someone to get him and bring him here. Can you do it?”

“I’ve got the time and the wheels with gas. But I don’t have a key to your place.”

“I left a spare under the doormat. You’ll need someone else to help you. Get Harry. And just for kicks, make like you’re burglars and you’re breaking into my place. Put on some dark clothes and wear those ski mask hoods you’ve got. That way Jerry won’t know that you’re bringing him here. He’ll think you’re kidnapping him.”

“Got it. That should be fun. Have you got enough gear for Harry and me as well?”

“Sure.”

I got off the phone and called Harry. He was game when I told him what was up. I changed clothes and drove to Harry’s to pick him up. Then both of us drove to Russ’ place and went up to the front door. We took a flashlight along and put our hoods on before we left the car. We looked under the doormat and found the key. We got the front door opened with it and went inside. Bobby thought ‘that was easy.’

* * *

“Doris, I just saw some burglars go into Russ Cochran’s place. Get the police on the phone.”

Doris dialed the number and handed the phone to her husband. “Hello, New Island police? This is Victor Fleming of the Palms neighborhood watch. I just saw some burglars go into a place here. The address is (omitted). They’re driving a dark Chevrolet, license plates (omitted). They’re still in the house. You can catch them if you hurry. Wait a minute! They’re coming out now. And they’re carrying another guy who is bound and gagged. He seems to be fighting them, not wanting to be taken. They’re taking him to their car. They opened the trunk of their car and put him in. One of them is hurrying back to the house and is closing the front door, locking it, and putting the key under the doormat where they’d found it. The other one got into the driver’s seat and has started up the car. The door closer got in the passenger’s side and they’re leaving. Again, the license number is (omitted) and it’s a dark Chevrolet.”

“Wow, that was quite a story to listen to. I hope they catch them. I wonder who the guy was that they took out.”

“I don’t know. I know it wasn’t Russ Cochran. I would recognize him. At least we did our good deed for the day. I’ll have to report this at our next neighborhood watch meeting.

* * *

Bobby had gotten to Old Middlefield Road and turned off onto it. He had about 15 miles to go yet to get to the Hermans’ place. He and Harry were joking about their part in Jerry’s ‘kidnapping.’ At least, that’s what they made Jerry think they were doing. They wondered about stopping along the way and driving into the woods a little way, opening the trunk and talking over where they should dump him. They were absorbed in the possibilities when Bobby suddenly noticed a red light in his rear view mirror. He pulled over.

When the officer came up, he said, “Surely I wasn’t exceeding the speed limit, officer.”

The officer had his gun drawn and said, “get out of the car and put your hands in the air.” Both Bobby and Harry were shocked to hear this. Harry looked to his side and saw another officer with his gun pointed at him. They both got out with their hands in the air.

“Get against the car with your feet spread and your hands spread apart with palms on the car.”

The two obeyed on opposite sides of the car. The two were patted down for weapons, and had their hands cuffed behind them. They were both taken to the police car. Harry was put in the back seat, but the officer with Bobby said, “where is the key to your trunk?”

At that point Bobby knew something was up. He got a smile and asked, “did Russ put you up to this?”

The officer said, “this is not a joke. You’re in big trouble. Now where’s the key to your trunk?”

“It’s on the key ring with the ignition key, still in the ignition. But all I was doing was picking up a guy to transport him to a party. He’s in the trunk, bound and gagged.”

The officer opened the back of their car and put Bobby in alongside Harry. Once the back doors of the police car are closed they cannot be opened from the inside. Both Bobby and Harry were starting to get hard-ons from the cuffs.

The officer went to the trunk while his partner kept an eye on the two. The officer opened the trunk and found Jerry. He looked up at the officer and smiled. The officer helped him out of the car, and when he saw that his restraints were locked on, he said “wait here” and came back to the police car. He opened the back door and said to Bobby, “I’ll need the keys to his cuffs and gag.”

“I don’t have them. Russ Cochran does.”

The officer thought a minute, and called in, “I’m on Middlefield Road about 4 miles up from where it intersects New Island Road. I’ll need a backup. I’ve got the kidnappers.”

When Bobby and Harry heard him call them ‘kidnappers,’ they looked at each other and said, “no way.”

But the officer wasn’t near enough to hear this. He had walked up to Jerry and said, “you’ll have to wait here. Apparently those two don’t have the keys to your restraints. But I’ll ask you one question, and you can either nod your head up and down for a ‘yes,’ or shake it back and forth for a ‘no.’ Were you being kidnapped?”

Jerry nodded his head up and down.

The officer said, “that’s what I thought,” and walked back to his patrol car. He told his partner to wait here with the victim, that he was taking the two suspects in to be booked.

When Bobby and Harry heard that they were to be arrested, they both looked at each other. Harry said first, “you’ve got it all wrong, officer.”

The officer just started reading them their rights, saying that they had the right to remain silent, that anything they said can and would be used against them. On hearing that, they both decided to remain silent, since they were going to be arrested anyway, and what they had to say could wait.

The officer took off with Bobby and Harry, siren wailing.

When they got to the city police headquarters to be booked, they found a crowd. Apparently there had been a party that had gotten out of hand and a fight broke out. The pair were kept in the car until all the others had been booked and charged. It was quite a busy night.

While they were alone, Harry said, “a fine mess you got me into, Bobby.”

“I’m in it, too. Wait’ll I get hold of Russ Cochran. But he’s up at the Hermans’ waiting for all three of us.”

* * *

Russ was wondering aloud, “what’s keeping them? They should be here by now. I don’t understand what could go wrong. We’ll have to delay the party until they can get here.”

Meanwhile, back at police headquarters, the wild party group had been taken care of and Bobby and Harry could be taken in and processed. The arresting officer got another to help him, and they opened the back door of the police car and pulled them out, taking them in to be booked.

The officer at the desk took Bobby first. “Name?” Bobby told him. “Address?” Bobby told him. The officer looked up and said, “aren’t you Clem Haskin’s son? He’s going to be mighty surprised to see his son being arrested.” He turned to the arresting officer and asked, “what’s the charge?”

“Kidnapping.”

The desk officer let out a whistle, looked at Bobby, shook his head, and wrote that down. Then he gave a copy of the paperwork to an officer standing alongside and told him to go process Bobby into the jail. The officer took Bobby’s arm and started walking him into the facility. Bobby was still cuffed. They went through a locked door and started down a corridor. Bobby realized that he was now going to be in jail. He was getting worried, and his cock was getting harder.

The officer at the desk took Harry next. “Name?” and went through the same process with him. Before long Harry was being taken down the corridor and through the locked door into the jail. The officer told the officer taking him to be sure to keep the two separated.

By now Russ Cochran was getting worried and called the hospital to see if any of the three of them had been reported being admitted. None of them had, of course.

At this time another police car drove up to the jail with Jerry. He was still cuffed and gagged. He was taken inside and told to wait. Bobby had finally been processed, given his jail uniform, and was put in a cell. Almost immediately he was summoned to be questioned by the arresting officer. He had to be cuffed again to be taken to the interrogation room. When he got there he was told that he had the right to have an attorney present, but he declined. He was sat down, still with cuffs on his wrists behind his back, as was the jail policy when transporting a prisoner.

Officer, after turning on tape recorder setting on the table: “This interrogation is being recorded. It is starting at 2118 hours on October 31. It is between myself, Officer Reginald Forsyth, and the prisoner Robert Haskins. I have already read Mr. Haskins his Miranda rights, and have told him that he has the right to have an attorney of his choosing present, but he has declined. Is that right Mr. Haskins?”

“Yes. But this is all a misunderstanding.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, and I’ll ask the questions.   Now, did you on the evening of October 31 break into the home of Russ Cochran at (address omitted)?”

“I entered the home after picking up the key from under the doormat where Russ Cochran told me I would find it.”

“Did you and Harry Guardino remove one Gerald Smith from Mr. Cochran’s home and put him in the trunk of your car?”

“I did, since Russ Cochran told me to do so.”

“I see. And where was Russ Cochran when he told you to kidnap Gerald Smith?”

“Russ Cochran is at the Hermans’ place up on Old Middlefield Road where he is having a bondage party to which all three of us were invited, only Harry and I were to pretend that we were kidnapping Jerry to take him there.”

“This interview is now terminated at 2127 hours on October 31.”

Turning to the officer who was standing at the door, the arresting officer said, “keep the prisoner here while I go arrest Russ Cochran.” Bobby let out a gasp when he heard that, and the officer turned to him and said, “you’re the one who said that Russ Cochran told you to kidnap Gerald Smith.” Having said that, he left.

The arresting officer, outside, saw that his partner was back, and told him to get in the car and he would fill him in on what they were going to do. They took off with siren wailing.

It took some time to drive the distance to the Hermans’ place, and when they got there and pounded on the door, announcing to open up, that it was the police, there was stunned silence in the house. Mrs. Herman, dressed as a vampire, opened the door. The arresting officer walked in and announced, “is Russ Cochran present?”

A 50-year-old man dressed all in leathers stepped forward and said, “I’m Russ Cochran.”

The officer told him to face the wall and put his hands up high, spreading them and his feet. Russ Cochran did as ordered, the officer patted him down, and cuffed him behind his back. He read him his Miranda rights. Russ finally said, “I don’t understand. What’s the charge?”

“Kidnapping.”

“Preposterous.”

“We’ll be the judge of that. Come with me downtown where you will be booked.”

The officers put Russ in the back seat and left. The others at the party were pretty stunned with what happened.

When the officers got to the jail, they took Russ Cochran in to be booked. He went through the same routine that Bobby and Harry had gone through earlier. When he was processed and issued his jail uniform, he was taken to the room where the officer had interrogated Bobby, cuffed as Bobby still was.

When Russ was brought into the room, he saw Bobby and asked, “what have you been telling them?”

“The truth. But they don’t want to believe it.”

The arresting officer turned on the tape recorder, again giving the time and date, stated who was present, and asked Russ, “do you have the keys to the cuffs and gag that are on Gerald Smith?”

“Yes, of course. I put them on him.”

“Ah, so you admit that. Where are the keys?”

“They’re with the contents of my pants, which are now kept somewhere in this facility.”

The officer told the other officer at the door to bring Russ Cochran’s personal contents when he was processed to the interrogation room. They all waited silently for the officer to do so, recorder still running. When the officer returned he put the envelope on the table. The arresting officer opened it, and dumped out the contents on the table, clothes and all. He pawed through the contents and separated out the keys. “Which ones are the keys to the restraints on Gerald Smith?”

Russ looked at the various keys and said which ones were the appropriate keys. The arresting officer then told the other officer to bring Gerald Smith into the room. There was another silent wait while the officer did so. When Jerry was in the room he saw Russ, and calmed down. The arresting officer picked up the keys and tried them on Jerry’s gag and cuffs, found that they fit, but kept them locked on! He said for the recording, “the keys in possession of Russ Cochran fit the restraints on Gerald Smith. This confirms his statement that he was the one to put Mr. Smith into the restraints. There doesn’t seem to be any further information that can be gained by continuing this interrogation, so it is ended at 1019 hours on October 31.” With that, the officer turned off the recorder.

He told the other officer in the room to go get Harold Guardino, the other prisoner in the case. Everyone was wondering what was going on. When Harry joined them, also having his hands cuffed behind him as was the policy at the jail, the arresting officer ordered him to sit as well.

He started in, “I’m tired of you people believing that you have the right to take someone bound and gagged out of a house and put them in a car trunk, driving off with them, looking for all the world to anyone observing you that you are kidnapping them. You may think it’s a fun thing to do, but it caused us police to spend a lot of wasted time on this nonsense. I’m going to keep you in those cuffs, all four of you, and put you in a real jail cell to spend the night, separate from each other. And I’m going to have the other three of you gagged as well. Maybe then you can realize that what you are doing should be kept indoors and not out in public. Otherwise, the kidnapping charges will be dropped. Officer, get some gags, and make them tight. And get four sets of ankle cuffs as well that have a connecting chain. Put those on them after they are in their cells after wrapping the connecting chain over their handcuffs so that they will be in a hog tie.” With that, the arresting officer left the interrogation room, knowing that that is something they would like.

The four looked at each other, and Bobby, while he could still speak, said, “It looks like we’re going to get what we wanted to have tonight. And we’ll be kept that way all night in a real jail cell. I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to it. Maybe we can do this again next year. Happy Halloween.”

Metal would like to thank Mr X for this story!

Master Jack sent the pictures above, of Mr. Mike kidnapping PFC Phlege (of blessed memory). Fucking hot if you ask me!

To see more like this, visit Master Jack’s site, Bondagezine.

Also check out the PFC Phlege author page in the Metalbond Prison Library by clicking here.

Check out what happens to this officer — at Boot Lust!

Phenix Saint fucks Luke Riley while Luke is tied up and suspended from the ceiling fan. This is a classic shoot from Bound Gods.

Luke Riley just got out of prison, and he’s already involved in a ransom scheme. Holding up in an old trailer, in the middle of the forest, he’s watching over Phenix Saint while his buddy is trying to get the ransom money. Running out of beer, Luke is bored, frustrated and getting horny as hell. He takes it out on Phenix, who is restrained in the closet. Phenix gets flogged and is made to suck cock. When Luke passes out on the couch, Phenix breaks free and turns the tables on him. It’s no longer about sex, it’s now about power. Phenix ties Luke to the sleeper sofa and gives him a taste of his own medicine. He then suspends Luke from the ceiling fan and fucks him until he screams for mercy.

See more like this at Bound Gods

By ty dehner

The holiday season was approaching quickly. Jack was feeling the pressure of the holiday gift-buying dilemma. He knew that time was running out, but just what do you get your family that has everything in life already? The city was filled with shoppers, and occasionally Jack would notice one of the cute guys. He loved this time of the year, for guys wore boots and jeans. Of course, Jack didn’t look half bad in his full motorcycle leathers. The day had been dry and almost a bit balmy for December. So Jack slid into his leathers, put on his helmet and headed to the city on his Harley. Christmas was tomorrow, and Jack hadn’t gotten anything purchased yet. He was seriously thinking that a check for each person his list might not be such a bad thing.

After downing a warm cup of espresso, Jack admitted defeat and headed back to the parking garage that held his bike. He almost was feeling relief that this shopping thing was over. But there was something he was missing. Something that he wanted for Christmas. As he walked he thought about how he would love to be with a Man, a Man that loved leather like him. A Man that loved to tie Jack up and use him. A Man that would love Jack as Jack would love him back. That is what he’d like to find tomorrow morning, Christmas Day.

As Jack stepped into the crosswalk, the bell-ringing Santa noticed this man in black leather. As he continued to ring his bell, he smiled.

Signing the last of the eight checks, Jack yawned. It was nearly Christmas, and he sighed at that prospect of waking in the morning alone on Christmas. He turned out the tree lights, taking in the pine scent of the fresh tree. Heading to his room, he pulled down the covers, taking off all this clothing. His leathers from earlier where on the foot of the bed, his helmet laid next to the nightstand. He climbed into bed in his white briefs. Jack was tired as the light went out, for his long night’s sleep to Christmas.

The electric clock read two something in the morning. Jack’s house was dark but very quiet. There was a sound of small steps on the roof, followed by some light giggling. Jack stirred a bit but didn’t wake. The door to his bedroom began to open. Around it peeked a head of a small man, almost elflike. Above him peeked another. The one on top pointed to Jack lying in the bed. They looked at each other and nodded. They snuck around the bed and climbed up on it. They both carried pouches with them. One began to pull Jack’s arm up toward his head. He reached into his pouch and pulled out gold rope. The elf worked it around Jack’s wrists snuggly, and then he moved to the headboard and secured it tightly. The other elf did the same with Jack’s other hand. One stopped and checked out Jack’s face, giving a thumbs-up to his partner elf.

They climbed under the sheets and blanket, moving down off Jack’s body. Eventually, they worked it off him and used more of the gold rope to secure his legs to the footboard of the bed. One of the elves returned to Jack’s head, taking a large piece of red tape out of his bag, then a green sock. He quickly shoved it in his mouth and taped it shut. This stirred Jack, and he struggled in his bondage. He woke slowly, opening his eyes to see a figure standing over him. He closed his eyes, then woke again, realizing his captive state. He screamed into the gag, only to have a leather-gloved hand stoke his face.

It was then that Jack could make out the person standing over him. It was Santa, or at least someone that looked pretty much like him. There was the beard, but he was wearing a leather cap. His hands were covered in leather, and it looked like he had on a black leather biker jacket. Santa stroked his captive’s face up and down, at times holding his nose to stop his breathing. Jack would struggle in the bondage. The leathered hand worked its way down Jack’s body. At times tickling, Jack wanted to get release, but his cock was growing, giving away his secret to Santa. Toying with Jack’s cock, Santa squeezed it tightly. Jack arched his back, then Santa dropped and grabbed Jack’s balls, squeezing again. This time causing Jack to moan in the gag.

Jack couldn’t believe this, how did he get this way and who the fuck was this guy? Santa left for a moment. The one elf came and dug is booted feet into Jack’s tits, the elf grinned so Jack could see him. Jack swore into the gag. The other elf came and took both his hands, closing Jack’s nose. Jack struggled, as the other elf started kicking Jack’s exposed balls. Squirming for breath and to stay away from the pain of the kicks, Jack yelled into the gag. The elf let go as Santa returned.

Santa reached into the bag he brought, pulling out a pair of nasty tit clamps. He dangled them in front of Jack, who shook his head “no.” Jack was into the bondage, not the pain. Santa patted his chest and installed the clamps. Jack yelled into the gag, as Santa pulled on the chain that held the clamps. He smiled at the helpless body on the bed. He brought out more gold rope and tightly tied Jack’s balls and cock until his cock turned blue. He stretched his balls to the footboard. Then Santa reached into his bag, pulling out a red candle. He lit it, as if by magic, and let it melt a bit. Slowly he turned it and dropped it on Jack’s chest. Jack leaped as the hot wax touched him over and over.

Santa set the candle down, picking up the helmet that Jack left on the nightstand. He took it, putting it on Jack’s head. Then Santa pulled out some tape and began wrapping the helmet, over and over, sealing the helmet and Jack’s sight. Picking up the candle again, he began dripping wax more and more, covering the tit clamps making them part of jack’s body. He covered his chest.

He sat the candle down again. Pulling out his shaving kit, he lathered up Jack’s crotch and shaved his cock and balls clean. Jack was now naked in his crotch. The candle was returned along with another. Santa now didn’t just drip, but poured the hot wax over Jack’s hard cock and balls. He was coating it with layer after layer of wax. It wasn’t easy though, cause Jack was struggling in pain as the heated wax cased his tender skin. The gold ropes were holding extremely well, and Jack’s cries were now muffled by the helmet.

Santa was enjoying his work. He climbed upon the bed, straddling his captive. Taking the helmet, he removed it from Jack’s head. Santa pulled own his pants, revealing his cock and ass. He moved up on Jack’s chest, taking the tape that held the gag in in his hand. He ripped it off and pulled out the sock, quickly replacing it with his dick. Jack didn’t get a chance to even moan as Santa’s dick filled his mouth.

Jack looked up to see this old bearded man face fucking him on Christmas Eve. If his dick could, it would’ve gotten harder. Santa was a rough fucker, slamming his dick in and out of Jack’s mouth. At times, Jack’s wax-covered dick would hit Santa’s leather jacket. Jack was squirming as he was reminded of the tit clamps digging into this chest as Santa sat on them. Over and over, Santa fucked Jack’s face. Jack choked at times, other times got a taste of the pre-cum. Then Santa was getting close to the edge, he started reaching behind him and hitting Jack’s waxed balls and dick. Jack was struggling, he wanted escape, this was pain now. But Santa was in control, he fucked deep down Jack’s throat. Jack struggled, arching his back as best as he could, his hands struggling to reach his dick to give release. He wanted to cum but couldn’t make it happen. But Santa made sure Santa came. His other hand closed around Jack’s nose, cutting off his breathing. His dick and balls being swatted, he couldn’t breathe, a dick filling his mouth, moaning and begging for mercy, Jack couldn’t handle all this, and Santa loved it. He slammed three more times and then laughed deeply as his load shot right into Jack’s throat. Over and over it shot, as Jack struggled to catch his breath as Santa released his nose.

Slowly, Santa pulled out, as Jack cleaned his dick. Santa bent down and kissed Jack, deeply with love and appreciation for what he just gave Santa. Santa looked Jack deep into the eyes, “Son, you have given me my gift this evening. Now I am going to give you yours.”

With that Santa stands, pulling up his pants. He re-gags Jack with more tape. He takes a leather hood from his bag and slides it over Jack’s head. Then the helmet is returned and strapped on. Santa reaches down and unties Jack’s feet, then binds them together at the ankles and above the knees. He unties Jack’s hands, slipping them into red stockings like those that hang by the chimney. Santa takes tape and wraps Jack’s hands securely.

He stands the sightless Jack up and takes more tape and wraps the hands to Jack’s waist. Then Santa takes red plastic wrap and begins wrapping this boy up. From head to toe he covers him over and over in plastic wrap. He takes the wrap and secures it to the helmet, poking a few holes for air in the neck. Then Santa takes some white tape and criss-crosses the package over and over. He rips over the wax covered cock and balls, pulling them out. He takes red ribbon and ties a big bow around them. Totally helpless, Santa pushes Jack onto the bed. Taking his leave, several other elves come into the room and help carry Jack out.

Secured in the sleigh, Jack imagines the site of the city below him. Only his mind wonders when he will be set free. The tits have long since gone numb, and his cock and balls feel weighted, but his cock has never gotten soft. Or could it, secured the way it is? The helmet feels heavy on his head, and he sweats into the leather. His entire body is sweating into the plastic.

Jack’s sight is returned as Santa cuts away two small areas above his eyes on the helmet shield. Behind Santa, above him, are the lights of a tree. Jack is on the floor below a tree.

“Son, I heard your wish as you walked by today in the city. I always strive to make everyone happy on Christmas. You are a gift to someone that has searched to own something like you. My gift to you is for you to be owned by him.”

With that, Santa walked away. Totally helpless, Jack tries to look around and scream for release. But nothing comes. He struggles, but there is no way out. He now has to piss something awful. But his thoughts return to what Santa said.

“… someone that has searched to own something like you.”

What does Christmas morning have waiting for me? Jack wonders. He struggles more, but knows he is getting his gift. A gift he’s wished for his entire life.

The End

Metal would like to thank ty dehner for this story, which originally appeared on the Ropedweb site along with several original images, including the ones below:

By Strappeddown

They came for me in the middle of the night. I didn’t believe it would happen. I couldn’t believe that this was real. It happened so fast. Someone shouted orders, and the lights flipped on, arousing me from a deep sleep. I was groggy and confused, blinded by the sudden brightness, and overcome with a rush of fear induced adrenaline as I realized they were coming for me.

They wore identical black uniforms, like a police SWAT team. Their faces were covered with hoods and goggles, and their torsos were thick and padded with riot gear. In the time it took me to open my eyes and sit up, they had surrounded my bed. I was slow to think. I didn’t react. I just sat there in disbelief. I could feel my heart beat, like it would burst from my chest. THUMP…THUMP…THUMP. I tried to cry out, perhaps to scream, but I somehow couldn’t vocalize, nothing would come out.

Then they were on the bed with me, their bulky gear engulfing me. They were close enough for me to see their eyes through their goggles. Their gloved hands grasped my ankles and knees and arms and shoulders and I was pushed down into the mattress.

“One Secured,” I heard one of them say, and then the others followed: “Two.” “Three.” “Four.”

Then everything stopped and was quiet. I realized I hadn’t taken a breath … that is why I couldn’t yell out. I gasped.

I heard one of them say, “Ready?”

The goon to my left side shifted down and I heard him say: “Yup.” Then I felt a sharp prick in my shoulder. “Hold him for five.”

“Help.” I had my voice back, but it wasn’t the loud shout I thought it would be, it came out as a quiet whimper. I couldn’t get enough breath behind it … my heart was still pounding in my chest. “…help … me…” It came out like a whisper … not enough air.

And then I finally inhaled. I took a deep breath, and then another. Breathing never felt so good. Had I forgotten to breathe? How can you forget to breathe? It seemed like each breath took forever, all the while I was staring up at menacing dark figures that hovered over me, pushing down on my shoulders and arms. I realized I could see my reflection in their goggles.

I took a third breath, and suddenly I felt numb. It came across me all at once. Like diving into a freezing cold swimming pool. I stopped focusing on my heartbeat and instead wondered if this was perhaps a dream. With each breath I receding, pushed deeper and deeper into the bed.

***

I thought about how I had met him … his screen name was “MrControl68” and I had started a dialog with him probably two years ago. Online, I was all about the flirting. Hitting guys up, chatting with them awhile about bondage and kink. All the while masturbating at the idea of actually hooking up with someone. I never did. As soon as I’d get off I’d log off … until the next time I was horny.

Unlike a lot of guys who eventually just ignored me, “MrControl68” — or just “Sir” as he liked to be called — always seemed willing to chat. This was despite probably a half a dozen times where I had agreed to meet him out at the bars but never showed up. Over the years I think he had actually gotten to know me pretty well. He knew what kinky things turned me on the most. He’d talk about locking me up in cages, strapping me down to his bondage bench, or restraining me for hours in a straitjacket.

Two months ago he had really wanted to finally meet, and we set something up for a bar, real close to where I live. I had almost gone, too … but at the last minute I chickened out. I just couldn’t bring myself to go.

The next time I was online he sent me a message that said he had figured out what kind of boy I was. I figured he was mad, and rightfully so. I thought that this was probably the end of our online relationship. I didn’t respond to that message, but then he followed it up with a message that said I was the kind of boy that would need to be “taken.”

That of course was a new direction for our chats, and the idea was a big turn on for me. Over the next few months we chatted about it frequently, about him coming in the night and taking me. He had described it in detail. How he had a group of men who could and would do it. How I wouldn’t have a choice, when the time came. I had fantasized and beat off to it frequently.

***

“He’s ready.”

In a flash, the men had moved off of me, the weight on my limbs that I had forgotten was there was lifted, but I couldn’t move. I was relaxed … no, I was more than relaxed, I was stoned … I stared blankly at the ceiling.

Then he was there, towering above me. He had a grey uniform shirt and a black leather biker’s jacket. His bearded face smiled down at me. “So we finally meet,” he said. His face was rugged and kind, his profile photo didn’t do it justice.

Why hadn’t I just gone to meet him? All those years, he seemed like a nice fellow … but I hadn’t, and now, I lay here, unable to respond.

“We’ll talk later. For now, my boys will take you to my dungeon for some much needed R&R.”

Then he was gone and I was staring up at the ceiling again. The men returned, and I was suddenly being stuffed into a large canvas bag. I watched them do it, as if I was a bystander. They lifted my body and dropped it into the bag like I was nothing, as if I weighed nothing at all. I regretted wearing those ratty old boxer briefs to bed … but how could I have known? Then they zipped up the bag and I was plunged into darkness.

I must have fallen asleep after that. I don’t remember the journey, or how I got out of that huge black duffle bag. When I woke up I was in a warm place. I could detect light, but I couldn’t see anything. My face and head was covered with some sort of soft and snug canvas material. There was something in my mouth … a gag! I couldn’t push it out … I was forced to suck on it like a pacifier. My arms were affixed across my chest, hugging myself. It took me a moment to realize I must be in a straitjacket. I tugged and pulled my arms. It was secure, but not so tight that it was uncomfortable. My legs were bare, I tried to scoot around. I was in a cell of some kind, there were cold metal bars to my left and a solid wall to my right.

Then I remembered conversations we had had, about straitjackets and cages. I had often said that it was my ultimate fantasy … to be strapped in a straitjacket and locked in a cage. He had told me he had both, and would be happy for me to try them out. How many times had I masturbated to that fantasy?

I pushed myself up against the wall. I try to say something, but all that would come out around the gag was a muffled murmur. I sat quietly, listening. I could hear absolutely nothing. I tried to call out again, but there was no response.

I sat there, wondering what time it was, how long I had been there. How much longer I would be there.

He had done exactly what he said he was going to do. He had taken me.

But how long would he keep me?

Metal would like to thank Strappeddown for letting me share this story, one of many he has banged out on his Tumblr page.

You can also find Strappeddown on Recon.

In order to sneak up on John, the guys from BreederFuckers costume up and accost him in the gym locker room to nab him. Once they have him, he knows what’s coming and he’s fucking terrified!

It’s amazing how a man’s nervous perspiration can make his ripe masculine scent fill a room in no time at all. They get close and intimate, stripping this hunk down to his jock strap. He’s given a severe lashing so he knows to follow our every command or else he’ll be severely punished.

To see more, go to BreederFuckers

Apartment renter Will is particularly easy on the eye with his big brown eyes, athletic young body and bashful demeanour. Contract signed, landlord Adrian collects the cash deposit and hands over the keys. Late evening, Adrian retreats to his lair and a bank of monitors. It turns out that the flat is rigged with cameras. Unbeknownst, Will takes a dump in the toilet with Adrian watching his every move. Adrian settles down to enjoy the rest of the night’s entertainment — the young straight Will fucking his fiancée like an animal. Dave joins Adrian, leering over the innocent lad’s naked body and the couple’s most intimate moments laid bare and exposed in the most sordid of ways. It’s streamed live in breath-taking close-up on several cameras.

The low debauchery of Adrian and Dave doesn’t end there. With Tracy off to work all night, Will is left to sleep off his coitus without a care in the world. The two pervs take the opportunity to let themselves into the flat and hungrily set upon Will. Bleary-eyed, Will doesn’t know what’s happening when Dave binds him spread-eagled. The bedclothes are torn off, revealing a totally naked young lad — easy prey to two older sadists. Adrian pulls his belt off and tears into the stud’s peachy backside, carving bright red lash marks into his skin. Will is gagged to muffle his screams or else risk waking the neighbours for what comes next. Dave unleashes his hard thick cock and inserts it into Will’s tight sweet rectum, fucking the lad thoroughly. Adrian jumps on and too fucks the terrified straight man. Both tops spurt hot cum over the captive’s red ruined hole, thoroughly enjoying all they have taken from him.

To see more, go to BreederFuckers

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.”

“Well, what if I am? I’ll never get him.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can get rid of Jeff tonight . . .”

”Very funny. If I fought . . . thought you were serious, I’d take you up on it.”

I wouldn’t have minded putting Terry through another course of basic training. He and Jeff were happy, though, despite the fact that both of them were just working in the bars, and probably always would be. Maybe when they were 45 they’d finally scrape enough money together to buy their own bar. I could see it in the “Gay and Lesbian News”: “Now Opening: Trixx! Your Hosts, Jeff and Terry.” There was something wrong about that. On looks alone, Terry deserved more. Maybe Jeff did, too. Guys should get what they deserved. Terry should, and Jeff should, and I should too. I was drunk all right.

“Sounds like fun,” he said. “But listen, man. I don’t worry about nothin that I can’t get.”

“What if you didn’t like what you’d already got?”

“You mean Joey? Joey’s a sweet guy. Cute, too.”

“Sure he is. I’m not talkin about Joey.”

“Then what are you talkin about, man?”

“I don’t know. If I’m not talkin about him, I guess I’m talkin about me.”

“It’s a free country, Jase. You can talk about anybody you like.”

“I’d just like to be somewhere . . . that I belong. You know? You know what I’m sayin?”

“You mean you don’t belong in the Alibi?”

“You’re a cute guy, too, Terry. What I mean is . . . I don’t know, I thought when I had a lover, that would be it. I’d be at home, sort of. You know? Now I’ve got a lover, but I’m not at home. I’m not even at home with me.”

“I don’t know, Jase. But you sound like that guy in the kids’ book.”

“Kid’s book?”

“Yeah, my little nephew’s got one. It’s about this guy, this ancient guy, that’s tryin to get home to his island. But there’s this girl that’s keepin him on her own island, so he can’t get home. It’s pretty interesting, for a kid’s book.”

“I think I know that story. What do you think, Terry? Does he ever get to his own island?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t finish the book.”

“How about another beer, Terry?”

Next morning, it was the same as before: me and 351699, noticing each other at the shuttle stop. But this time we had an appointment.

The weather was turning cold. I was shivering inside my jacket while I waited in the shadows beside the fence. But is it that cold? I thought. Of course it wasn’t. That wasn’t why I was shivering. Then Jake came out of the shadows on the other side.

“Hi!” I said, too soon, too nervous. “How are you, Jake?”

“Doin good. Cold today, though. Thanks for comin.” He was wearing his big convict coat, but he hadn’t bothered to button it. He put his hands in his pockets and smiled, like he was proud of me for braving the elements, despite the fact that I was such a weak little guy.

“Want a sandwich?” I said. I’d brought two.

“Thanks anyway. They’re gonna feed us pretty soon.”

“Coke?”

He looked like it was hard to decide.

“Sure, man.” I held the can out over the fence, and I felt his hand gripping the other end. That was as close as we’d come to touching. Was that my hand shaking, or his?

“Haven’t had one of these things in a long time,” he said, looking down at the can. “Not sure that I like it anymore. Listen, man. Yesterday, when I grabbed your food . . . I was just horsin around with you.”

“That’s OK,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. This guy is amazing, I thought: nobody else would have brought that up, then dropped it like that. With Joey, it would have been just the start of a whole evening’s “talk” about what it “meant” to our “relationship.” With this guy . . .

“What do they feed you, man?”

Another downward look. “It’s mush, man. Mush, stew — whatever. The officers call it con chow. We call it turd balls.” His head was down, but I think he was smiling again. “It’s like . . . like mush, you know, with some gobs of meat and stuff floatin around in it. They give it to you cold.”

“Sounds disgusting.”

“I dunno. You get used to it. It’s OK.” His chin went up. His eyes were bright. “I got sick on that sandwich you gave me yesterday. I was shittin all night, man.” His nose crinkled, and he broke into a grin.

“I’m sorry!”

“No big. Hey! You gotta do SOMETHIN in your cell at night. Why not shit?”

Man! I thought. I can think of other things to do. I almost told him that. But I stopped myself.

“So you . . . live by yourself?”

“Right. I’m the only one in my cage. I used to have a cellie. I don’t have one now. They put him in another gang.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I dunno. Probably. Usually they don’t do that. Usually you’re stuck with the guy they give you. But what they do is, they’ll put a new con in with an old one. I don’t mean old, like 40 years old or somethin. I mean some guy that’s been in for a while. The old one trains the young one. It’s easier that way. And they’re together, so if somethin goes wrong, the guards have a lot less to think about. I mean, they can just whack em both; they’re both responsible. See?”

“I see.”

I wasn’t sure that I did. I just kept thinking, two guys in a cell, two guys in a cell. . .

“My cellie, he was the old one. He’d been there . . . he was one of the first cons they sent to Durant when they opened the place.”

“It was closed for a while, right? I mean, it’s really old?”

“Oh, yeah. The joint goes back to the middle ages, practically. But they had it closed. Then they started it up again, when they got these laws. You know, the anticrime things. And my cellie, he’d been around, like, almost from the very first day. I got there a little later. Anyway, he’s gone now. So I guess I’m the old one in the cell. They’ll use me to train whoever’s next. Pretty funny, right? I’ll be the trainer.”

“You don’t look that old.”

“I’m 19. He was 25.”

“How was he?” I asked. Then I thought, oh Jesus, that’s what they’d ask in a bar! “I mean, what was he like?”

But my first question was the one that asked what I really wanted to know. How was he when they got it on? IF they got it on. Maybe they didn’t! Maybe Jake never got it on with anybody. Maybe he was still a virgin. God, for one night with this guy . . .

“I mean . . .”

“Jerry was all right. He kept the cage clean. The cages are pretty small. When you’re livin with a guy in a cell like that, you’re always in each other’s face. But Jerry was OK. He showed me a lotta stuff.”

He said it like there was no way it could have a double meaning. It said it like he was talking about the boy scouts tying knots. But was he as innocent as he sounded? I could see a glint in his eyes. . . .

“That’s good,” I said. “Now tell me about yourself, man.”

“I’m a convict. What about you?”

“I’m . . . uh . . . I’m an assistant managerial analyst at Freer and Sons.”

“Oh man,” he said. “That’s another world.”

“You’re right.”

“I don’t know anything about shit like that.”

“It’s not important.”

“Sure it is. I want to know.”

“I spend my days making phone calls that my boss doesn’t want to make.”

“Oh,” he said, disappointed. “Did you have to go to college to get that job?”

I guess that was one way of putting it. “Yes, I did.”

“Was it hard? College, I mean.”

“Not really.”

“You must be smart!”

“Not really!”

“So you’re maybe 21, 22?”

“I’m 23.”

“I’ll be 20 next week. But then you knew that.”

Innocent, my ass! He had to know what was going on. If I was the kind who remembered his birthday, then I was the kind who was jerkin off over his picture, too.

“Happy birthday, man.” I hoped that wasn’t another stupid thing to say. I hoped he wouldn’t come back at me and ask how I expected him to be happy, considering that he was gonna spend next Thursday workin his butt off in the fields, just like it was any other day, while I was gonna spend it with my butt planted firmly in my cushy little chair at Freer and Sons, drinking diet cokes and chatting with important people. But he didn’t say that. He looked pleased.

“Thanks man! Good-bye to bein a teen-ager, huh?”

He smiled and pushed his chest out, like he was saying, I’m doing pretty good for an old man, don’t you think so . . . punk? He didn’t say “punk,” but that’s what I felt he said. Or should have said. I had that body sickness again. I was three inches taller than he was, but he looked like he was about a hundred times tougher. I had never looked like that, and I never would. I was a geek that worked in an office and went to a “health club” twice a week to “work out.” I was only 23, but lately I’d been noticing that my wrists were limp most of the time and my eyes were already getting that campy look, the look you get from checking guys out and sneering at the guys you can’t get. . . . I didn’t want to discuss the aging process.

“Jake,” I said. “How did you . . . why are you . . . ”

“You mean, why am I in prison?”

“Yes, if you want to talk about it.” Yet another stupid remark. It was the kind of thing that a guidance counselor would say.

“I don’t mind talking. That’s what my cellie used to complain about. I’m a big talker, once I get going. You know that I’m in for kidnaping.” When he said that word he raised his chin, like he was proud not to be in prison for some petty crime. Everybody needs to be proud of something, I thought. Then his chin dropped slightly, and his eyes got dark.

“Actually, though . . . what I did was deal some drugs.”

“You don’t look like a drug dealer, man.”

“Yeah. That’s what they told me, when they busted me. They told me what a nice kid I looked like. I didn’t look like a dealer at all. Well, maybe the earrings. So OK. Maybe I wasn’t a dealer. Maybe there aren’t a million drug dealers in this country. Did you ever buy drugs?”

“Uh . . . sure.”

“Well,” he said, “somebody sold you those drugs. Right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” I remembered Ricky Gavin. He was a skinny kid who lived in my dorm. Everybody called him Nose. “I see what you mean,” I said.

“Anyway, that wasn’t my job. I was a janitor. You probably never met a janitor, did you?”

Christ, I thought. Where is this going? I’d met janitors. There was a janitor in our office. He shambled past my cube every afternoon about 5 and dumped my wastebasket out. His name was Tony. I knew that because it was written over his shirt pocket. Good looking guy, too, if it hadn’t been for his attitude. I complained to him once about the soap running out in the john. “I don’t do the johns,” he said. “Then what do you do?” I said. He just walked away from me. I felt embarrassed after that. I was an incredible faggot.

“Not really,” I said. “They come around at night.”

“So did I. That’s how I met a couple of guys like you. No offense, dude, but that’s what they were. They’d all be hangin out, you know, workin in their cubes, and I’d come around and empty their trash for them. One night I walked in, and there was a bunch of em hangin out, and they were talkin drugs. When they saw me, they got quiet. I was pullin out the wastebasket when one of em said to the other ones, ‘What’s the matter? It’s just the janitor.’ Then one of his buddies said, ‘Maybe HE knows how to get us some.’ That guy had been talkin to me before, the second guy. I thought he was a nice guy. I used to run into him when we were waitin for the elevator. When it came, I’d step aside for him, since I was the janitor, but he’d tell me to get in first. That was nice. He told me one night that his name was Tom. He was sort of like you, actually. I mean, he was a nice guy.” He stopped, like that was the end of the story.

“So what happened next?”

“Well, after Tom said, ‘Maybe he knows how to get us some’ — meaning some blow — I said, ‘Sure. How much do you want?’”

“You said that?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why. I guess I wanted to show off for Tom.”

“Did you get him some?”

“Sure I got him some, and those other guys, too. I knew where it was. I wasn’t exactly living in the best part of town. Tom and his friends all looked in their wallets and so forth, and they collected their money, and they gave me five hundred dollars. I said I would get them some coke.”

“Five hundred wouldn’t buy much coke.”

“They were gonna give me the rest after I did the deal. They weren’t gonna give the janitor a big wad of money up front. They thought I was a dealer, though. And I wished that I was. I thought, maybe this is the way you start. I had some money that I got from my mom. It was the insurance, you know, after she died. $25,000. It got split up, of course, but I got some, and that’s how I bought the coke. I thought maybe, if this starts paying off, I could get enough to go to college. And I liked that Tom guy.”

“So that’s how it started.”

“Right. It didn’t last long, though. I bought the stuff, and I took it to the office, but they wouldn’t pay me, man. I gave em the coke, and I asked for the money, and they stiffed me. Tom, the guy I liked — he took the coke and he put it in his briefcase and he put the briefcase on the other side of his desk, where I couldn’t reach it, and he said to me, ‘Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate your help.’ I remember looking at that briefcase and seeing his initials — TCW, Thomas C. Williamson. He was a big, buffed out guy. He was always workin out in this exercise room that they had for the suits. I guess the company thought that workin out was good for their attitude or somethin. More buff, more aggressive, maybe. Anyway, the company put one in.”

“We’ve got a room like that.”

“Do you use it?”

It was like that was his purpose in life, to make me ashamed of my body. But I knew he didn’t mean it that way.

“Sometimes.”

“I wished I’d been able to. That would have been fun, dude — just me and all those junior executives, workin out together. I used to think about that. Just the suits and the janitor, man. As it was, I could’ve used the exercise. Back then, I was just a puny little runt.”

“Like me, in other words.” That’s what I thought. But I didn’t say it. What I said was, “That’s hard to imagine, looking at you now.”

“Thanks, dude!” A minute ago, he’d been gloomy and angry. Now he was grinning again. “Anyway, it wasn’t much of a fight. I got mad and went for the briefcase and grabbed it, and the rest of them grabbed it back and threw me down and kicked me a couple times; then they marched me down the hall and tossed me out of the office and locked the door. I heard them inside, laughing. They thought it was funny. I guess they were right, in a way. The strange thing was, they weren’t that old. They were about the same age you are. But that’s what they did. So then I had to figure out a way to get that money back.”

“You never thought about just letting it go?”

“Letting it go?” He looked puzzled. “You can’t let something like that go. Something you care about.”

“No, I guess you can’t.” I suddenly thought, I wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of Jake Cleveland. Not if I got there because of something he cared about. “So what did you do, man?”

“I got this buddy of mine, that I’d been in high school with, and we got a gun that he had from somewhere, and we went over to his house, Tom’s house, which was this house that he’d just bought. There wasn’t any furniture or anything, just a lotta cardboard boxes and one of those bed things that you lay on the floor. So maybe he didn’t have any money, after all. But he had that house. And he had his friends. So if he didn’t have any money, he could’ve gone and got it. Anyhow, we went there and knocked on the door, and he opened it, man, without even lookin to see who was out there. Just opened it up for us. I mean, the guy was that . . . confident, or somethin. So we showed him the gun and told him to come with us and we took him to this motel where we’d gotten a room, and we were holding him there till he called the rest of them and got them to come up with the money.”

“Did they?”

“Shit, no! All they did was, they played for time. They knew we couldn’t keep him very long. We couldn’t hold out forever. They were afraid to call the cops, but they wouldn’t give us the cash, either. Happens all the time in the drug business. You know that.”

“Sure.” I didn’t know anything about the drug business.

“They knew we probably wouldn’t kill him. So they wouldn’t pay. Anyhow, what happened was, my buddy got nervous, after a day or so, and he went out to get some cigarets, and he never came back. The next thing I knew, the cops were breaking down the door and I was riding the bus to the Durant Unit.”

“What happened to your buddy?”

“I dunno. I guess he’s in college. That’s what he was planning to do. Anyway, kidnaping is a mandatory life sentence. ‘Life without possibility of parole,’ as the judge told me. That’s something I didn’t know at the time. I guess that my buddy knew it, or he wouldn’t have taken off and told the cops. What he told them . . . he said I’d tricked him into giving me the gun and then I’d forced him to help me with this kidnaping thing, which was holding Tom for ransom, cuz I thought that he had money — just that, no drugs involved — but my buddy finally managed to escape.”

“And the cops believed that?”

“Yeah. I know it’s stupid, but people believe in a lotta stupid stories, when they want to. And my buddy knew that Tom would back him up, cuz it left the drug thing completely out of it. Which he did. They’d fixed it up between them. And it didn’t make any difference to my case, anyway, cuz I really did kidnap Tom.”

“But Jesus, what a couple of slimeballs!”

“I guess so. I used to think so. I used to lie in my cell and stare at the ceiling and hope that they’d both get caught committing some other crime, so I could watch em stumblin off that prison van and start crawlin into their first suit of browns. Oh man . . .! How I wanted to see that!   But now, lately . . . ”

“Lately?”

“Just lately I . . . I’ve been thinking that they betrayed me, that’s true, but you don’t betray somebody if he doesn’t . . . you don’t betray somebody into something that he doesn’t . . . already want.”

That made no sense at all. He looked like he knew it too. Two little lines had appeared, one on each side of his nose; two precise little lines. There was some idea that he was trying to find.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Neither do I. But now I think, maybe I don’t need to worry about any of that. Not anymore.”

What could you say? I was completely confused. It sounded like he’d decided that he didn’t mind being locked in a cage for the rest of his life. But maybe that’s not what he meant. Maybe he meant that he didn’t intend to stay in that cage.

To be continued …

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It’s Chloroform, Duct tape and Nipple Torment in this vintage shoot from Bound Gods

Patrick Hunt is a perv and he’s peeping through studly Parker London’s window. Patrick breaks in while Parker is in deep sleep. He chloroforms the stud, duct tapes and ties him to his bed. The perv torments the stud’s chest and cock.

Pissed, Parker breaks free from the bondage and completely dominates Patrick. He gets his bondage toys from his bedside drawers and beats the living hell out of the intruder. He fucks Patrick suspended in bondage and showers him with his load.

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From Jalif Studio

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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.

Above the sink were two thin metal shelves, one of them stacked and one of them empty. That would be the shelf for my “personal articles.” On the wall to the left was a line of steel pegs, with a brown convict coat hanging from one of them, taking up most of the space between the wall and the bunks. The place was full, all right. I didn’t see how I could even get in there . . .

“I said INSIDE!”

I scurried in, and the door clanged behind me.

Now the real panic came. JESUS! The bunks were steel, the toilet was steel, the floor was steel, the ceiling was steel, the walls were steel, everything was steel, with big steel rivets running up and down and back and forth to hold it all together, to keep convicts like me from ever getting out of it. I remembered what the judge had said. He said I was going to be “confined” in the Durant Unit for 20 years, or till the end of my life. Now I knew what “confined” meant. It meant being locked in a steel cage, packed in a tiny can with another piece of meat, condemned to living your life in a kennel so small that its only purpose must be to remind the animals inside it that that’s what they were. I’d felt confined when I was living with Joey! Now I was locked up with a total stranger, with this thick body lying on the bunk with CONVICT stamped all over its clothes. I’d be kenneled with that thing . . . for the rest of my life!

No! I had to escape. I had to get out! Where was the officer? I had to tell him! I had to make him understand. I had to get out, and he had to let me.

I turned back toward the bars . . . but when I turned, my bedroll jammed on the upper bunk. I turned the other way . . . and that huge convict coat slid down off its peg and cascaded onto the floor. It was lying there, a mountain of brown — and it didn’t belong to me, it belonged to that other thing in the cell! Oh Christ, I thought. I’ve got to pick that up, and pick it up fast. I knelt down like a slave, scrambling for the coat — and knocked most of my own gear onto the floor. I was feeling around in the dark, trying to collect it all . . . and I heard a voice from above.

“Welcome home, convict,” the officer said.

I looked up. Officer Nolan was standing above me on the other side of the bars, watching. I wanted to scream something, scream for help, fall on my face and lick his boots and suck his dick and beg him to fuck me in the ass, beg him to do anything he wanted to do to me as long as he LET ME OUT OF THERE! . . . I tried to scream, but my throat was frozen; I was choking on my guts . . . And meanwhile, I knew that I had to pick all that stuff up off of the floor. Even while I was trying to scream something out, my hands were busy, trying to please the officer.

He stood watching, with a sneer on his face. It was a bored sneer. He’d seen it all before.

Then he looked to the right. “You there!” he shouted. “Git up, boy. Don’t you know you got company?”

I turned toward the bunk. The brown form was shifting; it was starting to rise. A brown arm reached out, flexing itself. Then another arm flexed under the body, pushing its owner up.

“I said git up, convict. I brought your reward. Git up and enjoy it. It’s your kinda thing, boy.”

What was that? What did he say? I turned to the bars again, but the officer was already gone.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something big and brown rushing up behind me. This was it! The convict was attacking me!

I couldn’t escape. I lifted my bedroll and held it out, doing my best to keep him away from me. Fat chance. One jerk of his arm, and the thing went flying.   Then he was on me, crushing my body against him with his huge brown arms. . . .   God! The guy was already raping me!

“What’s the matter, fish! Can’t you show your cellie how happy you are to meet him!”

Then I realized — the voice was Jake’s. I opened my mouth . . . and his tongue leaped inside me, hot and hard and determined to stay.

You could tell it was the first time he’d ever done that. His tongue was clumsy as a fist; his hands were twisting my body and smashing it onto the bars. He was an ignorant, brutal convict who had never made love before.

“Is that the way you do it?” he said, when he finally pulled out his tongue.

We were face to face. It was Jake, all right.

“Yes! I mean . . . Jake! What’s happening . . .? How did you . . .? You’re still in prison!”

“Sure I am. Where did you think I was? I’m a lifer, man. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“But . . . What was it . . . What did you . . .”

“Let’s just say that I wanted you,” he said, snapping on the lightbulb. “And now I’ve got you. I’m a lot better at kidnaping now than I was before.”

His nose was crinkling. He had that teenage grin on his face again.

“So everybody’s happy,” he continued. “The screws are happy. I’m happy! And I know that you’re happy. Right now, you’re probably the happiest one of all.”

I couldn’t deny it.

“So pick all that stuff of yours off the floor and stow it under the bunk. Stow your bedroll, too, man. We only need one bedroll in this cell. And hey,” he said, pulling me toward him and running his lips across my mouth, not soft but hard, like a guy who’s in a hurry to wipe something off, “while you’re down there, convict, pick up my fuckin coat that you dropped, and put it back on the peg.”

“Yes Sir!” I said. I was shaking all over. If this was a dream, I was ready to enjoy it.

I picked up his coat and brushed it off, and hung it back on its peg. Then I knelt and looked under the bunk. Half the space was taken by Jake’s gear. It was all carefully stacked, neat and clean and orderly. The other half was free. He’d been keeping it free for me.

I made the best stacks I could out of my underwear and shirts and trousers, and shoved them under the bunk. Jake bent down and grabbed the baggie that held my “personal”stuff. He laid it on the vacant shelf over the toilet. “But this,” he said, dropping the Regs book on the floor, “you can stow. From now on, you’ll learn everything you need to know from me.”

He kicked it under the bunk. “Now stand up,” he said. I stood up.

“Let me see . . . ” he said, holding me at arm’s length to inspect me.

I looked at Jake, then I looked at my own body. We were the same. The same brown uniform. The same black boots. The same black prison numbers, stamped in the same places. We were the same. We were two convicts, locked in one steel cell.

“I like it,” he said. “It’s you.”

“Funny — that’s what the guy in the uniform room said.”

“Brian’s got good taste in clothes.” His hands were holding my shoulders, and his fingers were flexing my skin, like I was his dick and he was starting to beat me off.

“You know that guy?” I asked. Talk was starting to seem a little beside the point. My hardon was back, in a big way.

“Of course. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“Your friend!”

“Sure. It helps to have friends in Processing. I told him there’d probably be a skinny little faggot coming along today — sort of goodlooking, but not much in the body department.   Or the brains department, either.   I guess he recognized you from the description I gave him.”

“That’s right. He could tell how important I was.”

“Yeah. Sure. Anyway, Brian and me, we got together. No, not that way. I mean we talked. About what you needed to know. What you needed to know about the joint, that is. Not about your cellmate. That was for me to let you in on.”

I turned my head to the left, trying to kiss the hand that was locked on my shoulder. The hand shot up and slapped me.

“You listenin, boy?”

“Yes Sir!”

“That’s better. Keep doin that.” Now the hand was gripping my neck and pulling me forward. His tongue jumped into my mouth again. He could have stayed forever; I didn’t mind. But he pulled out as suddenly as he’d pushed in.

“Brian probably tried to seduce you,” he said. “Right? I thought so. He tried that with me, too. A lotta times. But I can wait for what I want.”

That was certainly true. But I could imagine what the boys in the bars would think . They’d never believe it. They were living in another world.

He slipped off my cap and hung it from the peg behind me. “Nice cut,” he said, running his hand across my new bald skull. “You’re not a queer anymore.” He was smiling like we were sharing a joke, or like he was an owner, petting his dog who’s just been groomed.

“Whatever you say, Jake.” His hand was sliding down my body, peeling open my coat.   In a minute, there were two coats hanging next to each other on the wall. It was hard for me to get my shirt off, because by that time his hand was inside my trousers, grasping my root.

“And just in case you picked up any ideas from College Boy . . .” he said.

“I got no ideas, Jake.” My hands were burrowing into his crotch, behind his boxers. His dick was enormous, ripe and fresh as fruit in a basket, fruit that you can’t wait to eat. Then I almost came, because now there were two hands clamped on my own dick.

“You better not,” he growled. “I’m keeping this thing to myself.”

“Yes Sir!”

“Take your hands off my dick and get out of that t-shirt.”

“Right away Sir!” I got the tee off. Now my chest was rubbing, cold and small and naked, against his thick brown muscle-filled shirt. My hands dove back into his trousers, where the heat was. I could feel his meat shuddering to my touch; I could feel my own meat twisting in his coarse convict hands. Christ! I thought. I’d never known what hands were for.

“Jake! I want to . . . ”

The hands closed in, squeezing off my words. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t breathe. “Jake . . . please . . .”

“Not now, convict. You’ll soil your uniform. Besides, that’s not the way I want to do it.” He bent his head, rubbing his hard bald dome across my shivering chest, while slowly, methodically, one by one, his mouth bit into my tits. I wanted to shout, yell, scream in agony . . but all I could do was close my eyes and let the waves of terror and desire wash over me, like tall black waves on a white, white shore . . .

“Jason,” he said.

I opened my eyes. His hands were still locked on my dick, but his lips were caressing my neck, softly and carefully . . . Then he raised his head. It was hard for me to see anything . . . there was too much pain . . . my eyes were too wet . . . but I saw that his eyes were that way too.   It’s strange, I thought, how innocent he looks.

“The only thing you’ve really gotta know,” he said, very softly, “is who’s gonna be the boss in this cage.”

“I understand that, Jake.”

“Then it’s time to get naked.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. I took me less than a second to start tearing his shirt off.

“Hold on!” he said, laughing at me. “Already you’re startin to fuck things up. Watch what you’re doin for a change. That’s what got you in trouble in the first place. And when you’re finished, convict, I don’t want to see anything out of place. You can tell right away, in a cell like this.”

“No Sir!” I said, grinning back at him. “There won’t be anything out of place.”

I opened his shirt and pulled it slowly past his tits and down from his tall cliff of muscles, and hung it carefully up on its peg on the wall, and I stripped off his t-shirt and hung that too. Then I knelt on the floor and opened the five buttons on his trousers, licking the metal circles and slowly prying them off through the holes, till his crotch was open and his dick slithered out of his boxers and into my mouth, like a wild animal diving into its hole.

“That’s enough,” he said, jerking my head back with his two big hands. I looked up, afraid that I’d done something wrong. What did I know? I was just a dumb bald little convict, learning how to suck his cellmate’s dick. “That’s not the way we’re gonna do it either. Remember,” he continued, smiling like a kid who’s getting his first baseball glove, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. So get your ass in gear and take off my boots.”

I bent down and started untying them. They were nicked and dinged and scuffed — boots he’d been living in, before I even knew he existed. Touching the boots was like touching him. I got the laces loose on the first one, and the tongue flopped out, long and hard, with the hard wings of leather opening out on either side of it . . . and then I couldn’t help myself, I had to start licking the tongue and the hard little holes in the leather and the hard white leg that began where the leather left off, and the black shackle right above it. . . Licking and kissing . . .

SMACK! Jake’s hand fell on my naked head. “Save that for later,” he said, bending down and brushing his lips along the place on my dome where my forehead used to start. “We’ve got other things to do right now.” So I hurried and pulled off his boots and set them down together next to the wall, under his coat, and I pulled off his trousers and shorts and hung them on the wall beside it. Then I turned and saw him standing there, naked and white in the whitish light, white with black shadows flowing over his muscles, giving them definition, like an old picture of an iron statue that nobody knows exists anymore, except the person who happens to find it hidden in some old building somewhere. So he had to give me another smack on the head to keep me from kissing his feet and sucking his dick again, like I wanted to, and I went back to work and took off the rest of my clothes and hung them in the right places, there on the steel wall. We were naked — two big, naked animals, confined in our little cage.

“I guess you’ll do,” he said, grinning at me and grabbing my cock. “I guess you’re the one I wanted.”

Suddenly, for an instant, I was sober again. I’ve heard that when you’re drowning, you’re calm for one second, and in that second your whole life passes before your eyes. And that’s what happened. I saw everything that went on in my life. Parents, so-called. High school and college, what a joke. “Friends.” Joey. My “career path.” My cube at Freer. “This is your semiannual evaluation from the firm of Freer and Sons.” Then the truckful of convicts. I want to be on the other side. No, please don’t put those cuffs on me! The trip to the Durant Unit. “Yes Boss! No Boss!” The trip to my cage.

It looked like a joke — a joke flashing by too fast for me to understand. My English professor, a pompous little guy with a little mustache: “The secret of comedy is incongruity. We laugh because we witness the incongruity of human life.” Was that it? Life? A bunch of things that didn’t fit together?

“Why?” I said.

Jake looked at me as if I’d said something hilarious.

“Because,” he shrugged, “you belong here.”

I looked at him. Where had I heard that before? Everything seemed to be coming back . . .

“You belong here,” he repeated. “I mean, this is the place where you wanted to be.”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re right.” That’s what was funny. It wasn’t things that didn’t fit. It was things that fitted too well.

After I said that, there was a second when Jake looked relieved. Then he turned into a kid again.

“Great!” he said. “So let’s get going!”

He dragged me forward by my dick, and we fell on his bunk together. The shelf was narrow, way too narrow for two men. “It’s a tight fit,” he said. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“If you say so, Jake.”

He ignored my remark. “Now that I’ve started,” he said, running his fingers over my dick, “I think maybe I’ll get into this sex stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” I said.

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to be an expert on something.” Then he couldn’t say anything more except “ahhhhhhhhhh!”, because I was licking his tit and biting it.

“Whatever you say, boss,” I answered.

“Then roll over,” he said. “I’m coming inside.”

When I woke up, Jake was standing at the bars, looking out. He wasn’t exactly in uniform. The only things he’d put on were his boots and his shirt. The end of the shirt trailed over his naked ass. The lightbulb was off, but there was sunlight filtering into the cell, so I knew it must be morning. I could read the letters stamped on his back: CONVICT 351699.

That was reassuring — it was Jake; it wasn’t a dream. Or, if it was, it was also reality. I was really in that other world.

I swung my legs out of the rack, my shackle clanking on the metal edge. It was a loud noise, but Jake’s muscles didn’t stir. He just stood at the bars, waiting.

The steel was freezing against my feet. My boots were waiting against the wall, under my uniform. I could read the numbers on that shirt, too. 353308. My uniform, all right. I slid into the boots. It was cold inside them, but they didn’t feel as heavy as they had last night. They felt like something that I’d always worn.

I was in a hurry, so I didn’t bother to deal with the laces. I could hear them slapping the floor while I walked to the bars. There was just room enough room for two convicts to stand behind them, side by side.

“Good morning,” Jake said, looking sideways.

“Good morning,” I said. My shoulder was naked against his shirt.

Then I felt him moving in back of me. His hands were gripping my waist; his dick was hardening in my crack. My own dick pressed into the cold steel bars. Jake’s head was resting on my shoulder. We were both looking out.

Across the walkway, across the air space, across the tall, double-barred window that faced our cell, the snow-covered grounds of the Durant Unit rolled away in the distance. The earth was white, the trees were white, the sky was white, the world was white, totally white; everything was bare and white, except for a thin brown line, far away, where the sun was rising, and a thick brown line, close up, where the road snaked down the hill from the penitentiary — a brown line of convicts, shoveling the road. They were all convicts like Jake and me, convicts in boots and uniforms, convicts with their arms pumping together, hefting white snow off a hard black road.

“Like what you see?” Jake said.

I leaned back in his arms. His chest was a wall behind me; his arms were chains encircling my body. “Looks good to me,” I said.

“Happy new year,” he said. “This year, and all the years to come.”

To be continued …

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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How many of you guys would let the men of Serious Male Bondage kidnap you and take you away?

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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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Chris Harder is lost in the woods and is found by paranoid wilderness survivalist Christian Wilde. Captive and bound, Chris cannot escape Christian’s brutal torment.

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