By Cuffsandcops

I received a few pairs of gym shorts as gifts from the holidays. Unfortunately, neither pair had a pocket to keep my phone in while I am at the gym. I decided to try and exchange the gifted shorts for some that would be more useful. There was a big box sporting goods store between the gym and my house.

I had visited the sporting goods store before the holidays looking for gifts for family members and then after the holidays in search of shorts I could use. They often had a deputy sheriff working as loss prevention who stood near the entrance to the store. Sometimes it was a female deputy who parked a K9 unit in front of the store. Other times it was a random male deputy. When there wasn’t a deputy, there was a guy whose shirt said police in large letters on its back. He wore a duty belt, but it wasn’t clear if he was affiliated with a specific department. I later learned, from a coworker who had a friend who was a deputy, that the sporting goods store had been experiencing a high volume of theft and had been employing the officers to help stop the shoplifting.

One cold and snowy weeknight, I decided to stop at the sporting goods store on my way home from they gym. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed there was a marked sheriff’s department SUV parked in the first row of spots. I parked my truck and headed into the store. There was about an hour before the store was set to close. I observed a handsome deputy standing near the entrance talking to one of the store employees. I headed back towards the men’s clothing section and looked at the shorts they had on display. Nothing really interested me, so I began checking out the sale and clearance racks they were positioned in the aisle. I didn’t find anything I wanted there either.

There couldn’t have been more than 3 other shoppers in the store. On my way to the exit, the sheriff was standing by himself near the entrance. He wore his vest over his uniform shirt and a lot of his gear was attached to it. The deputy looked to be around 40 years of age with short blond hair. I walked up to him and asked if I could experience being handcuffed. He opened a double cuff case on the front of his vest with his right hand and pulled out a pair of black melonite chain handcuffs. The deputy grabbed my right hand, thumb side down, with his left hand, thumb side up. He slapped the handcuff on with his right hand. My right arm was extended in front of me, palm facing out. The deputy had control of the cuffs and my arm with his right hand. He said that when they arrest some females, they must close the cuffs farther due to their small wrists and proceeded to close the cuff very tightly around my wrist.

The deputy took a long arm key off his duty belt, unlocked the cuff, and removed it from my wrist. He talked about how this pair was his favorite because they had a lever double lock. The deputy called them M&P cuffs. He showed me how to lift a lever on the cuff to double lock it instead of having to insert the butt end of a cuff key into hole or slot to double lock. I had never seen a pair of cuffs work like that. The deputy used the key to unlock the cuff completely and motioned like he was going to put them back in their pouch.

I asked if I could try them on behind my back and the deputy stopped putting his cuffs away. He told me to turn and face away from him. He grabbed my left hand with his left hand, turning my palm out, and pressing the handcuff on using his right hand. The deputy took hold of the handcuffs with his left hand and took my right hand with his right hand. With a quick move, the second cuff was applied, and the lever was pulled on both cuffs double locking them.

I turned to face the deputy with my hands double locked in his cuffs in the entrance to the sporting goods store. A couple store employees from the checkouts started to notice the interaction between the deputy and myself. The deputy pulled the second pair of handcuffs from the double pouch on his vest. They were a pair of Peerless hinged, my personal favorite. He talked about how they don’t allow for as much movement when applied properly. The deputy returned the hinged cuffs to their pouch and made a circle with his finger, signaling me to turn away from him. He inserted his key into the cuffs and after a turn in each direction, one to release the double lock and one to release the cuff, my wrists were free from the steel.

I looked at my wrists as I continued to face away from the deputy. I turned my head and asked if I could try the hinged handcuffs to see how they feel different. The deputy dropped the chain cuffs into their pouch and pulled out his hinged pair. He quickly repeated the application process and used the butt end of his cuff key to double lock both cuffs. I wiggled my wrists and commented how they were more restricting. The deputy took hold of my right hand and pulled up, which put some tension on my wrists and cause me to bend over, demonstrating how much more control the hinged pair provided. The deputy removed the hinged cuffs as quickly as he put them on, returned them to his vest pouch, and velcroed the pouch shut.

Following the suggestion of the clerk from the suburban department I had attempted to schedule a ride along with, I then asked the deputy what the sheriff’s department was allowing for ride alongs. He informed me that there were some forms to fill out on the departments website and was confident that ride alongs were happening again since restrictions related to the pandemic were lessening. I extended my hand to the deputy and told him my name. He shook my hand and told me his name. I wasn’t sure if he gave me his first or last name as it could have worked for either. As I exited the store, I walked past two store employees. The first chuckled at me as I walked by and the second shook her head as I walked out the door.

Once home, I searched for the sheriff’s department website and was able to locate the forms the deputy mentioned under their community relations tab. I printed the 3 forms: an application, a background check, and a waiver of liability. The site said that the forms should be mailed to the main department office. I completed the forms as best as I could and then noticed that they were to be signed in front of a notary. I wasn’t sure if this was to happen before they were submitted or when they were submitted.

The next day I stopped by the sporting goods store on my way home from the guy to see it the deputy was there to ask about the notarizing. He wasn’t there but the female deputy was. I asked her if the other deputy was going to be working there any time soon. She checked the schedule and said he was not. I asked if she could help me get in touch with him as I had a few questions to follow up on the conversation he and I had had. She gave me the phone number to the office he normally worked out of. I thanked her for the information and left the store.

The next afternoon, I used the phone number I was given and it sounded like it was for a fax machine. I googled the office location where the deputy worked from and after trying I few numbers, I was able to leave a message for the deputy. I was told by the dispatch that he was on duty and when he called back the number would come up as unlisted. A few minutes later, my phone rang showing an unlisted number. I answered and it was the deputy. I reminded him of who I was and where we met. I asked my questions about the ride along paperwork. He wasn’t sure about the notary question. I also asked if he was willing to host me for the ride along and he agreed. I said I wanted to thank the deputy by giving him a GShock watch since I noticed he didn’t have anything on his wrists. He said they were not supposed to accept gifts, but then said when we met up again that I could give him one. That seemed like a good sign that the ride along was going to happen.

The next week I decided to stop by the main sheriff’s office to turn in the paperwork and ask about it being notarized. I was buzzed into the lobby and spoke with the officer at the window. He was not sure what to do with my paperwork and said their notary had already left for the day. He photocopied by driver’s license and attached it to the three papers I had filled out. He said someone would be in touch with me in the next few days.

About two weeks went by and I hadn’t heard from anyone. I revisited the community relations website and found a few phone numbers to call. I spoke with a deputy who provided me with the Lieutenant from the departments phone number. I gave him a call and left a message. A short while later, my phone rang, and it was the Lieutenant. I explained who I was and asked if he knew of my paperwork. He said he would investigate and get back to me. Some days passed and I didn’t hear anything. Days turned into weeks and I was giving up hope that the ride along was going to happen. Once a week I called and left a message for the Lieutenant, never hearing back from him.

Then one afternoon, my phone rang, and the number seemed familiar though was not a stored contact. It was the deputy from the sporting goods store. He has directed by the Lieutenant to give me a call and set up the ride along. There was one paper that I was going to have to sign in front of him but the rest of what I had submitted was fine. The deputy said he was training the new class of recruits for the next three weeks but was available for some day shifts after that. The dates he suggested lined up with a planned week off from my work. He chose Thursday in hopes that there would be more action to see later on in the week.

The deputy informed me that riders typically arrive around 0900 and stay until they have had enough. His shift spans from 0700 to 1700. He gave me the address of the office he worked out of and told me I could park in the back by the other units. I was informed that my attire should be business casual and that jeans and sweatshirts were not allowed. I wrote down everything he told me and saved the date in my calendar. He said we should connect the week of the ride along to make sure it was still possible. I sent him a text to his work phone on the Monday before. He responded on Tuesday saying we were still on. I asked if I could bring a water bottle. He told me a polo shirt would be fine to wear.

The ride along is now tomorrow. I am nervous and excited. I really don’t want to annoy the deputy. I have been preparing questions to ask him throughout the day. I’m planning to bring two GShock watches with me for him to try out. I figured an analog one for the first half of the day and a digital one for the second half. If he liked either, he could keep the one he preferred at the end. I have also been thinking of asking him to give me a field sobriety test during the shift and hope I get to sit in the backseat in cuffs. I know its going to be a fun day and I will report out on the ride along in my next story.

To be continued in “Ride Along with the Deputy”…

By Cuffsandcops

Continued from “Side Job Deputy”

The plan was for me to meet the deputy at the station he works out of at 0900. I woke up early to get ready and received a text message from him pushing our meet up back until 1000. The station is about a 15-minute drive from my house. I put on a blue polo shirt, gray pants, and my tactical boots to meet the dress code as described by the deputy. I grabbed two GShock watches, my water bottle, wallet, and just my house and truck keys. I didn’t want to have the cuff key that’s always on my key ring with me.

I texted the deputy that I was on my way to the station and left my house at 0945. I had driven past the station the previous week to know where it was, so I knew where I was going. I pulled into the parking lot behind the station where there were many marked units and other vehicles and found an empty spot. I texted the deputy there I had arrived, grabbed the items from my truck, and walked towards the station. I didn’t know if the deputy was inside or in a vehicle. All the doors required authorized entry, so I stopped on the sidewalk next to the building.

As I turned around to look back at the parking lot, a unit pulled up with the passenger side window down. The deputy asked if I needed a lift with a big smile on his face. I opened the door and got in. The deputy immediately handed me a flashlight and said it was a good thing to have on hand. I then held out the two Gshocks, a GW9300 Mudman and a GA700 for the deputy to choose from. I suggested he try one for a few hours, then the other before making a final decision. The Mudman had gold accents like his uniform. The GA700 is an analog and digital combo and easy to read. The deputy selected the Mudman, took off his smartwatch, and strapped the GShock on. I put the GA700 on my wrist.

The deputy drove his SUV around the corner and pulled into some parking spots on the side of the building. He talked about how he drove this unit every day he worked. He shared it with another deputy, but she was out of work for a few months, so only he used it. We got out and he talked about the lights that he had flashing and the markings on it. We were using a traffic unit and it had some differences from the more common units on the road. He opened the backseat door and talked about the updated seatbelts that no longer required officers to reach over the person sitting there in cuffs. The deputy closed the door and asked if I was ready to go. Before pulling off, the deputy said he expected if we were to get into a foot chance with someone, that I would be running right along side of him. I assured him that I had his back.

We weren’t on the road more than a few minutes when a call came in. The deputy responded on his radio, and we headed to the scene. He allowed me to get out of the SUV and I helped take inventory of the items in vehicle that was getting towed. The deputy tested some evidence using a kit from the back of his vehicle. Once the car was towed, we headed to the hospital. There was a line up of EMTs with patients waiting to be checked in. The deputy handed over the person’s phone and the business card of the tow. I noticed one of the EMTs had a GShock on worn on the underside of his wrist. We left the hospital and headed back out on the road.

The deputy wanted to fill his tank because he had planned on assisting the state troopers with an investigation in the afternoon and thought we could potentially get into a pursuit. While filling up, the deputy chatted with a detective from the city police. While we drove away, I learned that the deputy was 41 years old, had worked for the department for almost 16 years, grew up in the area, and served in the military. He talked about how he loved being a traffic officer and how most departments no longer had units devoted to traffic. The deputy said he could easily drive over a hundred miles a shift even when assigned to a post or beat, which consisted of an area of the county. He said that he works four days on, three days off, four days on, four days off and was permanently on the 0700-1700 shift. The deputy picks up over time whenever its available including the sporting goods store, concerts at local venues, and late-night bar details.

After getting gas, we ended up at a garage that specialized in first responder vehicles. The deputy and the boys from the shop were very friendly. They showed us a crazy light system they had installed on a unit from a local township. They were also installing the cage in the back of the unit. The boys helped the deputy swap out the wiper blades on his SUV. It was then time to get back on the road.

As we traveled north, the deputy said that valid inspections stickers are gray and red currently. Any other color sticker meant the inspection was expired and was reason to pull someone over. No sooner had the deputy explained this, he threw on his lights, made a U-turn, and had a vehicle stopped on the side of the road. The driver had a suspended license, was in possession of a fake inspection sticker, and had an outstanding traffic issue. The deputy wrote the driver 3 tickets. The driver had to get picked up by a family member and sat in the backseat until that happened. The deputy checked the backseat to make sure nothing had been dumped there. He said there was paperwork involved with that incident, but he would complete it at the end of his shift.

The deputy wanted to get a coffee so we headed to a convenient store. I used the bathroom and we discussed lunch. The deputy told me about a car that regularly stole gas from the store. He then learned that the troopers were taking longer than expected to set things up and we were not likely to be joining in that as planned. We headed to grab lunch. The place was busy, but the line moved quickly. The deputy was familiar to the employees and chatted with them while we waited. We ordered, a police discount was applied, and the deputy covered the bill even though I had offered to. He chose a table and removed his vest containing the majority of his gear and set it in the booth next to him. The deputy was really easy to talk to and the conversation flowed. Once back in the SUV, which had been running the entire time we ate, I asked about his uniform shirt. It was made to be worn with his vest, so the sleeves had patches like a traditional uniform shirt, but the parts that were covered by the vest were a more breathable fabric. We then talked about what pieces of gear were provided versus what the deputy paid for on his own and his preferences for boots and handcuffs.

It started to rain so we drove around through a few neighborhoods and looked at the lake. The deputy took a call from a coworker who was out injured. Afterwards we talked about the impact of marijuana becoming legal and how operating under the influence was measured. I asked about his worst memories and his favorite ones from his career and was told some very interesting stories. We then received a call about someone flashing a gun during a road rage incident and set off to see if we could locate the vehicle. We drove up and down a stretch of highway based on where the flashing had happened and the direction the vehicle would be heading if it were going to its residence based on the license plate that had been provided. We were unable to find the vehicle and the search was called off.

As we exited the highway, the deputy thought he saw the car that was stealing the gas from the convenient store. We tailed it for a bit. The deputy threw on the lights and sirens and pushed to catch up to the car. When we finally got behind it, the license plate did not match the suspected vehicle. The deputy was had gotten excited about the chance to catch this criminal and he was disappointed when it was not the correct vehicle.

The deputy then took up to a location where drivers frequently turn left when there are multiple signs indicating that was against the law. One truck ended up getting a ticket while we monitored the spot. The deputy said it was about time for us to head back to the station. He wanted to show me the inside. The deputy said that I had been asking good questions throughout the day.

I had noticed two pairs of flex cuffs in the passenger side door earlier in the day. I pulled out a pair and asked about them. The deputy sad they had been used on rioters and had to be cut off. I would have asked for to try them on, but the deputy made it seem like he didn’t have the tool to cut them. Instead, I asked if I could experience being handcuffed and sat in the back of the SUV noting that I had already been in his cuffs at the sporting good store when we first met. The deputy agreed and we drove back to the station.

We entered the parking lot and the deputy asked where my truck was parked. There were noticeably less vehicles in the lot compared to when I had arrived in the morning. We drove up behind my truck. I asked if I should transfer my belonging to my truck and the deputy said no. He came around his side of the SUV with his M&P cuffs in hand. I turned my back to him. My left hand was grabbed and cuffed. He them slapped the cuff against my right hand and pulled the lever double lock. The door to the backseat was opened and I got in as best I could. The deputy said to imagine doing that not sober and needing assistance. He closed the door and I sat there for a minute. The door was then opened, and I was motioned out. The deputy took the cuffs off as fast as they went on. He told me to hop back in the front of the SUV and we drove to the station door.

The deputy scanned something to open the door. He had warned me that the station was pretty barebones. On the left side was an evidence room, interrogation room, workspace, and 3 offices for the higher ranking officers. The right side contained another workspace, a bathroom, and three cells. The cell doors had to be removed years ago. There was a bench with a pair of handcuffs attached to a bar in each cell. Some of the restraints looked like they were unusable. The station would only hold a suspect for a very short time before being transported to the central booking for the entire county.

The deputy talked with a fellow about a gun they had recovered the previous day and I was shown a picture of it. The deputy photocopied the tickets he had written throughout the shift. We headed back outside. The deputy asked if I had enjoyed the ride along. I told him I had very much. He then gave me his personal phone number and said that I should join him again in the summer. I said I would like that. He asked if I wanted the GShock back and I told him it was his as long as he would use it. The deputy assured me he would. I thanked him for allowing me to enter his world for the day. We shook hands and parted ways.

After being home for a little while, I sent the deputy a thank you text. I told him to keep me in mind if any opportunities presented themselves that I could get involved with including training scenarios. The deputy thanked me for reaching out to ride along and said most people never look into going on one like I did. He said more ride alongs get me more experiences. I replied I was eager for more. I hoped he was able to get his paperwork done and was home relaxing. I then sent him a video about the GShock he now owned and told him to enjoy the watch. The deputy said it was an okay day, busy but dead. I had a great time getting to know the deputy and getting involved with the calls. I learned a lot and felt a nice connection with the deputy. I plan to hit him up for a summer ride along and who knows what else might pop up in the future.

The End

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By DR754

Today is Saturday, August 6, 1967.

Long story short, I made it out of town ahead of the State Police roadblocks and over the mountains into Montana. I kept going east, trying to put as many miles between myself and Moscow as I could. In Deer Lodge, I passed the towering stone walls of the Montana State Prison – is this what my literature prof would call foreshadowing?

I was getting a bit sleepy, but getting a hotel seemed far too risky – visions of awakening to the barrels of police revolvers danced in my head. Turning off the highway somewhere south of Butte, I drove up a logging road deep into the mountains, then stopped in a disused log transfer site. Flipping on the radio, my heart skipped a beat as a news bulletin crashed through the AM static.

Daring escape from Idaho courtroom – convict on the run – deputy fights for his life.

The news reader proceeded into a sensationalistic recounting of the morning’s events, an accurate description of me and a poor description of my car – thankfully, hardly anyone in America knows what a “Mazda” even is. But it was the last line of the report that burned a hole deep into my soul.

Latah County Sheriff’s Deputy Josh McBride, the court bailiff, suffered severe injuries at the hands of the desperate convict. As McBride attempted to take the prisoner into custody, police say, he broke free and punched the deputy in the head, knocking the lawman out instantly. McBride was rushed to Gritman Memorial Hospital with a fractured skull, and police sources tell us doctors are fighting to save his life tonight.

Oh God.

Since that moment in the courtroom, I hadn’t spared a thought about the bailiff – it was automatic, it was what I had to do to be free. I guess I didn’t mean to hit him that hard, but of course that matters precisely not at all. It’s one thing to stack escape and assault charges, but what if he dies? I’d be a no-doubt cop-killer, and that punch I threw will punch my one-way ticket to Idaho’s Death Row.

There’d be nothing left to look forward to but the 10-foot walk to the gallows followed by a long drop into oblivion. I shivered involuntarily.

Just then, an awful sinking feeling came over me. I glanced down at the deputy’s handcuffs – there, indelibly engraved in the cold steel, were the letters J. McBride. Irrefutable evidence of my crimes literally locked to my wrist. Was this now a murder weapon? Had I just signed my own death warrant?

I could hear the judge now, intoning the fatal sentence:

…that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead.

I shook my head to clear the thought,  whispered a prayer for the deputy and for me, then fired up the turbo and punched the accelerator. Miles to go before I sleep – if I can sleep.

To be continued…

By JakBond

Guy got off the Friday afternoon train at Paddington and made his way slowly to the end of the platform, all the other passengers leaving the Bristol to London train swirled around him, but he really didn’t care, he had plenty of time and he was just enjoying the excitement coursing through his body. He was finally in London, and he was actually about to meet Paul, one of THE best bondage tops he’s found on Recon. It was a typically sunny & fresh day in London, and the busy city bustled and heaved its normal rhythm as Guy followed the directions on his phone.

Within 15 minutes he’d found the address with the blue door he was looking for but he was still 30 mins too early. There was a pub on the corner down the road and Guy grabbed a table outside and ordered a pint, sitting and watching the world rush past him. After all the excitement, the chats, the almost sleepless night(s) before and the very horny thoughts on the train the last hours, he was feeling very, very calm. The time arrived, and Guy, looking at his watch just thought, right, I’m doing this. Standing up, he pulled his bag over his shoulder as he crossed the road and went up to the blue door, pressing & holding the buzzer.

Immediately the door clicked open and as instructed Guy climbed up the 5 flights of stairs, on each landing there were two doors obviously leading to two apartments. On the 6th Floor, there was no landing, and he was confronted with just a single door. As he’d been instructed by Paul, Guy went through this main front door which was unlocked, closing it & locking it behind him. He was in a kind of lit entry hall with a guest toilet on the left, coat rack on the right and a 2nd locked door directly in front that obviously led into the rest of the flat, which was dark. Oh, and there was a vertical chain, padlocked to the ceiling ring and to the floor ring, just suspended there, rigid and tight in middle of the small entry room, with 2 pairs of cuffs padlocked to it at different heights and instructions, together with a 3rd pair of cuffs and a heavy leather hood, lying on the floor beside the chain.

Returning naked from the toilet, Guy read the simple instructions and smiled; they were simple, yes but he could see from the start Paul knew what he was doing. Guy was surprised he was so calm, he was excited, and horny and normally he’d have a hard dick just thinking about bondage, but he was relaxed, his dick soft, despite that horny feeling deep down. Kneeling on floor with the chain at his back and going through his legs he closed the 3rd pair of cuffs around his ankles. There was already now no going back – he was now unable to get out of the flat with the cuffs around his ankles and the vertical chain between his legs. At this thought his dick became hard. Fuck he was excited!

As instructed for “Step 2”, Guy took the foam ear plugs out of the heavy leather hood and rolled them in his fingers before he pushed them deep in his ears, then he pulled the hood over his head and lacing it up tightly, making sure the breathing hole was perfectly aligned and pressing against his mouth, then he tucked the lacing under the hood. Taking the small padlock that had also been in the hood he locked the last holes of the hood closed. He could no longer see anything and the heavy leather hood, together with the earplugs, was deadening nearly all sounds. There was no way he could get the hood off now. Guy took the large padlock he’d also found, and kneeling upright, he straightened against the chain. His hands easily found the D-ring at the top of the hood which he locked to the vertical chain.

Step 3 & 4 were easy, yet this was funnily enough mentally much harder to do than locking the hood on. Despite already being, to all intense and purposes, helpless, he still felt a bit in control and able to defend himself because his arms were still free. Right…. thought Guy, here goes… the upper pair of cuffs were quite large and had been locked already themselves, so they couldn’t be closed anymore, or closed accidentally and damage him. Simple but impressive preparation he thought. Guy leaned forward and pushed his wrists through the elbow cuffs, forcing them over his elbows & up his biceps. Pushing his arms down, his wrists then found the lower pair of cuffs which he closed around his wrists. Click, click, click, click, click… OH FUCK!

Guy’s dick was now rock hard. He immediately started to explore the restraints, but he was really trapped. He’d known he would be as soon as he’d read the instructions he’d found, and from the chats with Paul, but the reality… holy crap. Guy began to strain his muscles against the metal cuffs but it was useless. He tried to move his body to pull the cuffs down from his upper arms but the wrist cuffs & the locked hood prevented this. He tried to bring his legs under him, but the position didn’t work with the ankle cuffs and he just started to hurt his upper arms.

It wasn’t that Guy panicked, but he really wanted to get free. He began working the chain & cuffs, straining, moving his whole body against the restraints. However he was really and truly helpless. What the HELL had he gotten himself into. Where the hell was Paul? He couldn’t hear anything outside of his heart beating, his breathing, the chains rattling and the leather hood creaking as he struggled. Fuck Fuck Fuck… the fantasy, was fast overtaken by the reality. He suddenly strained as hard as he could against the metal, flexing his body, he imagined breaking free… but of course he was easily held. Well, you stupid muppet, thought Guy, this IS what you wanted… Guy knelt there nervously, at points still testing his restraints, aware that he had what felt like the hardest dick he’d ever had.

Paul had entered the room as soon as he’d seen the hood get locked to the chain though the backlit frosted glass. He always loved how new guys chained themselves and found it totally exciting to watch. With the leather hood alone, you’d not hear the inner door open, with the ear plugs under the heavy hood it was impossible for the sub to know he was there. He’d watched as Guy put his arms into the upper cuffs and his dick had also got hard as the wrists were closed in the lower cuffs.

Guy had made himself utterly helpless and he looked amazing: exploring & fighting the chains, oh it was perfect. Paul padded around Guy, admiring the new toy he was going to control for the next hours. What a sexy boy. This whole start and how the subs reacted told him a lot about how a session would be. He could tell Guy was nervous, as most were, but he knew Guy was normally the top himself and he’d not often been controlled, he could already see Guy was NOT submissive but wanted to get back in control; this was so much more fun than the dead fish submissive guys who just sat there totally enjoying their loss of control. Suddenly Guy tensed his whole body against the restraints, straining his muscles & let out a loud “FUCK”. Paul’s dick was now rock hard also, this was going to be so, so much fun!

Guy pulled hard against the chains. Where the hell was Paul – he felt like he’d been there half an hour already, reality he knew it was probably only 15 mins, but, still, where was Paul? Guy was starting to regret his hornyness, how he’d got himself in this situation. But after exploring his bondage & straining as hard as he could he knew he couldn’t get free. Suddenly he thought he felt something on his dick, he jerked away from it – was Paul there? It had been the absolute lightest of touches, if it was a touch at all? There it was again… & again… Well, if it was Paul, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of calling out OR showing he was nervous. Guy straitened up in the restraints, flexing his muscles a bit against them, putting out his chest, showing he was not going to be submissive to Paul.

Suddenly he felt a hand close fully around his dick, gently but firmly gripping his shaft and moving it up & down. Fuck that felt amazing, thought Guy, it was so much more intense than normal! Fuck…! The hand moved slowly, but ever so slightly faster, the firm grip modulating slightly along his dick, it was just stroking his rock hard shaft, the head… and Guy couldn’t believe how intense it felt. Probably because he hadn’t seen Paul, the excitement of the self-bondage start, his brain running ahead at warp speed… this just felt amazing! The hand moved faster & faster & Guy felt himself start to thrust against the hand, harder and with impetus. All his ideas of being cold & reserved had gone out of the window, this just felt soooo good and he started to thrust harder & faster against Paul’s hand.

Guy was in heaven thrusting hard against the hand, oh fuck he was going to cum… and suddenly the hand was no longer there. Guy continued to thrust his dick in the air for a few secs and stopped just as the hand regripped his dick & stroked it again firmly. 30 seconds later Guy was just about to orgasm again, he made a final thrust of his hips and again the hand was no longer there. Again a few seconds pause, the hand was again working his dick and Guy was slowly getting frustrated, he was so close to coming! This time the hand was edging him a little slower, but Guy kept thrusting hard against it, he was now going to cum.

Again, one more stroke would have pushed him over the edge but his dick was just hanging there in the air. Guy let out a growl. It surprised him, he didn’t growl! But fuck he wanted to orgasm.

Paul just ran his hands over Guy’s body, gently exploring his new ‘toy’. He knew this was going to be a very, very special play already from Guy’s reaction. He repeatedly edged Guy, it was so easy to judge from his reactions when he was close to orgasm: his stomach muscles contracted, his glutes contracted, the tell was obvious and he knew he had Guy exactly where he wanted. Paul kept this up for the next 30 mins, and the reactions & frustration from Guy were just getting stronger and stronger.

Eventually Paul decided enough was enough and his hand no longer returned to a very frustrated and growling Guy. Paul stood up and left Guy to go soft; still they’d not uttered a word to each other – again a GREAT sign that Guy was going to be a resistant sub. Paul returned with heavy leather mitts, some chains, ankle restraints and a collar. Soon Guy’s hands were locked in the heavy leather mitts, which were also padlocked together in addition to the handcuffs. The 3rd pair of handcuffs were removed from his ankles and replaced with the humane ankle restraints. These were padlocked directly by a 60cm long chain to the collar that Paul had also locked on. Finally, Paul locked a ball weight around Guy’s now very full balls and padlocked a chain to this. He then removed the three padlocks, releasing the hood, the upper arm cuffs and the handcuffs from the vertical chain. Paul reached under Guy’s arms and “helped” him to his feet. Guy couldn’t fully stand and he couldn’t believe how helpless he felt as Paul took hold of the chain connected to his balls and slowly pulled him into his flat!

“Grrrrrrrr!!!” was all Guy could utter as he was easily pulled into Paul’s flat.

© JakBond 2022. Posted here with permission.

Metal would like to thank JakBond and welcome him to the Prison Library!

Check out BootedRay and FearSlave, who get into a heavy bondage scene involving a locking box, handcuffs, a hood and leather glove worship!

VIDEO at Serious Male Bondage

Title of this video: Love The Gloves

By Robmacz

After an electric afternoon in bed together Tom fell asleep and Chris took the opportunity to make a phone call to his special friend. It was a short call, for Chris had been planning this game for years and Tom seemed the ideal player. Chris’s special friend confirmed that he would be able to make the arrangements, but he needed Chris to do a couple of things first. So as soon as he had finished the call, Chris went through Tom’s suitcase and quickly found his passport. He photographed each of the pages and forwarded them in an email. Then he called Elliott, who told him that of course he would be delighted to provide what Chris asked for as a memento and would email it straight away.

His work complete, Chris took a shower and went back into the bedroom where Tom was still asleep.

‘Wake up sleepyhead, the cocktail hour beckons.’

Tom opened his eyes. ‘What time is it.’

‘Time to get up.’

‘I was having such a great dream.’

‘Care to tell me about it?’

‘Well basically we did all that we did this afternoon, but instead of being here in bed, we were in a jail cell. Man it was so hot.’

‘Well we’ll have to see what we can do about that. Now are you going to take a shower and get dressed? I need a drink.’

Tom took a shower, but it did nothing to cool off his libido. Nor did the sight of Chris in his cream linen suit with a Prussian blue silk shirt, and brown Italian leather shoes.

‘And I thought you travelled light’ said Tom.

‘I knew I would be staying here before we went to jail, so I had a few things sent on ahead. Now the valet has pressed your suit, your shirts are all laundered and your shoes polished.’

Tom dried himself off before starting to get dressed. He had to tuck his boner into his boxer briefs. He was surprised it was still standing to attention after all the activity it had had that afternoon. He put on a white shirt and his suit. He looked a bit formal compared to Chris but he wore a suit well and Chris seemed to approve.

Tom had a tremendous evening, fabulous food, good wine and great company in Chris. It was such a shame that he would have only one more day before heading back home. He felt a connection to Chris that he had not felt with another guy in many years and hoped that they would see more of each other in the months ahead.

‘What are you thinking?’ Chris asked as they were sipping their coffee.

‘Oh, I was just thinking what a great time I have had but I’ll be back home in two days and back to work in three.’

‘How do you feel about your work? I know you said when we were in jail that you felt you had done a proper day’s work and actually achieved something.’

‘That’s exactly it. We cleared a yard together. I won’t do anything that fulfilling for the next year at work. I guess prison puts things into perspective.’

‘It sure does, but the food sucks.’

‘It sure does, but hey they give you all a guy really needs.’

The following day was spent swimming and relaxing on the beach. In the evening they decided to forego the restaurant in favour of room service. Chris had ordered champagne and caviar and that eventually led them back into bed. Tom couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much sex and guessed it would be a while before he did so again.

The following morning Tom had woken early. He always did when he had to be somewhere. Chris had arranged for Joseph to drive him to Raleigh-Durham airport which, once he had changed his ticket, would allow him to fly to London via a one hour stop in New York.

Tom took a shower and then dressed in a white polo shirt and beige shorts with flip flops, putting the rest of his clothes in his bag and locking it closed. He made some coffee and took one into Chris, who was waking up.

‘You’re ready already?’

‘Yeah, I can’t sleep when I know I have to travel. Thank you for such a great week. You were an awesome cell mate and this has been a real treat to end the week off.’

‘So if I said you could spend a week with me next year either here or in Jail, what would it be?’

‘Well this has been lovely, but it’s so hot being locked up behind bars.’

‘Yeah man, I get you.’

Three hours later, having said his goodbyes to Chris and been driven to the airport by Joseph, Tom was getting out of the BMW. Joseph handed him his luggage and wished him a pleasant trip. Tom walked into the airport terminal, the cool of the air conditioning making a nice contrast to the heat of the outside. Tom picked up a couple of magazines from the newsstand before heading to the check-in desk for his flight. There was not much of a queue and within five minutes he had his boarding pass and was heading for the departure lounge through passport check and security.

The wait for the passport check was not so quick. Eventually Tom got to the front of the queue – before being called to one of the desks, where a man in uniform inspected his passport. Tom didn’t see the flicker of recognition in the man’s face as he reached down to press the buzzer.

‘What has been the purpose of your visit to the United States Mr Matthews?’

‘I’ve been on holiday.’

The main behind the desk spent some time looking through the passport before glancing up to see two of his colleagues approach Tom from behind.

‘Mr Matthews?’ One of them said.

Tom turned round startled. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you come with us please.’

One of the officers took Tom’s passport from the man at the desk. The other one unclipped his handcuffs from his belt.

‘Would you place your hands behind your back sir.’

‘What…what’s going on?’

‘You’re not under arrest at this time sir, but we are detaining you.’

Tom felt his hands being pulled behind him and the cuffs snapping round his wrists. He had been used to this. After all, how many times had he been cuffed over the last week? But this was different. Before, he had expected it, but this was unexpected, scary. And yet his dick was hard as it had been when he was cuffed before, twitching, excited, like a volcano as the magma bubbles away, but not quite ready to spew its lava.

With an officer at each side of him, Tom was escorted past the waiting onlookers. He could hear people discussing him, asking what they thought he had done, was he a terrorist or a drug smuggler. Eventually they came to a plain door with a keypad. One of the officers pushed some buttons and the door released. Once inside he saw a corridor lined with doors. Other guys, in the same uniform as the officers escorting him, were walking up and down the corridor and in and out of the rooms on each side. The officers stopped at a room about half way down. There was a window into the room showing a table and a few chairs. One of the guards punched some numbers into another key pad and Tom was led inside and seated on a steel chair behind the steel table.

‘You’d better get some shackles’ one of the officers said.

The other officer returned within seconds carrying some leg shackles. Which he bent down and snapped around Tom’s legs.

‘I demand to know what all this is about’ said Tom, sounding most indignant, though the leg shackles were doing nothing to hold back the volcano.

Tom’s hands were uncuffed from behind his back and he was told to sit. In the middle of the table was a D ring with a pair of hand cuffs fed through the middle. As Tom sat down these cuffs were locked on his wrists. The officers then left the room. Tom was in a state of shock, he could not comprehend what was happening to him. It was not for several minutes that he realised that the mirror he was facing was in fact the window he had looked through earlier. There were likely to be people outside watching him, but what did they think he had done?

There were indeed people looking at him from the other side of the mirror. A man in a white shirt, red tie and rolled up sleeves held up a photo that had been circulated that morning.

‘Well, it definitely looks like him, let’s get him finger printed for a formal ID.’

By this point Tom was very confused. Surely, he thought. there wasn’t anything illegal about what had happened at the roleplay jail. Everyone involved were consenting adults. Who, he wondered, did they think he actually was?

A few minutes later Tom was being uncuffed from the table. His hands were then cuffed again in front and he was led out of the room, taking small steps due to the shackles, and down the corridor and into a small room. Here he had his finger prints taken on a scanner and made to stand against a height chart for a mugshot. He was then led back to the room, the shackles now biting into his bare legs as he took each step. Once inside he was again cuffed to the table and waited.

‘We’ve got a match Sir, it’s definitely him.’ One of the officers said to the man in the white shirt and tie. ‘His details were only released this morning, giving us his alias, so a good result.’

‘Well I think it’s time we had a word with Mr Yates.’

Tom was sitting facing the mirror, his hands cuffed to the table in front of him, his legs shackled. He was scared, not knowing what was going on. It must be a mistake whatever it was. But at the same time he was sexually excited, his dick hard, wondering how long he could prevent the inevitable explosion in his boxers. As he had demonstrated when he came during his strip search, he was never very good at controlling when he was about to shoot a load.

The door opened and the man in the white shirt and tie came in with one of the officers. The officer stood against the wall while the other man took a seat in front of Tom.

‘Well, well Mr Yates, it seems that we’ve caught up with you.’

‘Yates? There must be some mistake. My name is Matthews, Thomas Matthews, my passport proves it.’

‘Well no doubt in due course they will add travelling on a false passport to the escapee charges, but for now we need to get you transported to the prison you were meant to surrender yourself to.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘John Philip Yates, born 22/05/1984 in Nottingham UK, Joint British/US national living in New York, convicted of wire fraud, tax evasion, and bank embezzlement two months ago and sentenced to 20 years in prison. Given bail to put his affairs in order, was due to report to the Federal Penitentiary last week but failed to do so. Your finger prints prove you are indeed John Philip Yates.’

‘There must be some mistake, I want to see a lawyer, I’m entitled to see one.’

‘No, you are being held here as a fugitive from justice. You have no right to an attorney. You will be held here until the US Marshals send someone to pick you up, which could be later today, but most likely tomorrow.’

Then turning to the officer in the corner of the room: ‘You’d better lock him up.’

The officer came over and unlocked Tom’s hands from the cuffs on the table and cuffed them in front of him. He led Tom out into the corridor slowly, as Tom could only shuffle along in his chains. At the end of the corridor there was an elevator. Tom stepped inside, followed by the officer, who pressed the B button on the floor selection panel. Tom felt the lift descending. His throat was dry, he couldn’t comprehend what was happening to him.

As the elevator came to a halt the doors opened and the officer escorted him out into a brightly lit room with white walls. In the centre was a desk with another officer in the same uniform sitting behind it.

‘Hey Charlie, we got a fugitive here. Marshals will come for him later today or tomorrow. You got a cell for him until they arrive?’

‘Yeah, sure Pete. Put him in number 2. What’s his name?’

‘Yates, details all here.’ Officer Pete said as he handed over a file to Charlie.

Tom emptied his pockets and took off his watch and signet ring – the ring he had inherited from his father on his death and was now the fourth generation to own. Officer Pete led Tom over to Cell 2.  Before he entered, Pete removed the shackles that had been biting into the prisoner’s bare leg. Tom, now a practiced inmate, automatically held out his hands to be uncuffed, but Officer Pete ushered him into the cell before letting him put his hands through the slot. As Tom put them through, he asked if it was possible to have a phone call. At present no one knew where the real Tom was, or so he thought.

About the time Tom was being locked in his cell Chris received a phone call from his special friend to say that all was going to plan. The game had commenced.

To be continued…

Two prisoners find themselves locked in cages in a secret dungeon, after answering an online ad for free bondage experiences. The owner of the dungeon is a wealthy real estate mogul in Las Vegas, who has Prisoner of War (POW) fantasies, which he acts out on his unsuspecting subjects. The dungeon is in the basement of his large upscale house, which is only accessible through a hidden door on the main floor of his large house. This allows him to torment his subjects without the neighbors in his upscale neighborhood from becoming suspicious.

Money is no object, so he’s able to outfit his dungeon with an endless selection of kinky gear from around the world. As a result, the pictures in his ad attract all kinds of guys looking for a bondage experience. Once they send him a selfie, he’s able to pick and choose the captives to fit his fantasies.

In a VIDEO available at Serious Male Bondage, his latest subjects are no strangers to bondage. Even though they are worried about being held against their will, their craving for bondage overpowers their ability to think clearly. Their twisted host knows this all too well, and the two prisoners slip down the rabbit hole as the click of the heavy-weight Clejuso shackles are closed around their wrists. At this point there’s no turning back!

This takes place in a Las Vegas playroom, NoEscapeDungeon.com, owned by DungeonDaddy and his boy Lukas Tyler on Recon!

VIDEO at Serious Male Bondage

Title of this video: POW Fantasies

By POW

Unical date: 3752.563.24 (seventeen days until scheduled arrival at Kappa Redulans)

It was morning, or morning-enough given Sam’s lack of concern for actual clock readings.  He got out of bed, dismissed the bedroom, brought up the bathroom, then dismissed that, then had a nice breakfast from a buffet at another of Mr. Featherstone’s most-visited places, and then left the simspace to attend to his “work day”.  Two minutes to verify that the engines and navigation systems were still chugging along, five minutes to drop out of warp to send and receive “plan still on track” status messages, done.  Then it was back to the simspace.

The previous night, while lying in the blissfully-comfortable simspace bed, an idea had occurred to Sam of what he could try next.  It would be a longer scene than any he had done so far, but he deemed it would be safe to try.  The key, he was thinking, was to avoid the pre-programmed sims and go with something that had a bit of randomness built in.  Sort of like his instructions to the trio of holo-stars: “do this to me, then ignore anything else I say except X” only expanded well beyond the scope of a sleepsack.  Maybe that would make it feel more real.  To that end, he spent the morning designing and laying in the program parameters himself, building up characters and settings pulled from the library, defining a range of possible options but only in the vaguest of terms, leaving the actual implementation to be determined randomly by the simspace AI at run-time and making sure to leave himself clearly-defined exit conditions.

With the program laid in, Sam spent an hour at the lake reading to give his subconscious mind a chance to register any objections to his plan.  It seemed foolproof enough – he would be bound at times during the scene (actually, he would be bound a lot during the scene), but never gagged and thus he could always end the program if things got out of hand.  If some restraints remained in place after ending the program, he could summon up Fred or Keck or the coach or pretty much any other character to set him loose.  And as extra backup, the level 3 setting should ensure that whatever he got into, it couldn’t be life-threatening.

Just to be obsessively careful, he did one more navigation and message check before starting.  All clear, of course, and no new messages since his last check a few hours before.

OK. No reason not to go for it, then. Sam returned to the simspace.  A quick salad for lunch, nothing heavy, a half hour of reading by the lake to let his stomach settle and then: “Pyrellia, activate program.”

The warm pool under the purple sky that Bareem had first showed him shimmered into being.  Sam lowered himself into the soothing water.  Now it was just a matter of waiting.  The next steps would kick in at some point between ten and forty minutes after he got into the pool.  He had programmed in a delay but left some uncertainty in exactly how long.

The water felt great at first, but it was tough to relax, knowing what was coming, so the pool’s heat did not soothe his muscles the way it might have.  Instead, he was restless, and found himself standing up from time to time, wanting to pace around but with no room to do it in.  The ominous red-purple sky overhead was not helping, and in fact added to his feelings of unease.  He debated whether he should move the hot tub to his lakeside cabin setting, dithering for a while before deciding not to change the plan now.  Being tense was perhaps a good thing for what lay ahead.  Also, he wanted his lake house to be a place of comfort and peace, unsullied by the memories of what was about to happen.

Over and over, he anticipated the moment and how it would play out when it finally arrived.  Despite all his false alarms, he was still caught by surprise, just for a moment, when it did.  With no warning, the air shimmered, and suddenly, violently, four figures materialized into being on the flat rock surface near the pool.  Each was dressed in chameleon armor, a form of active camouflage that blurred and broke up the outline of the man wearing it, making him difficult to see.  Flashes of background shone apparently right through the soldiers’ bodies, making it even more difficult to get a fix on where each was standing, and they did not hold still to make it any easier.  The moment they appeared, they started moving and shouting, barking orders and commands at Sam that he had no possible way of understanding, let alone obeying.

His heart leaped up into his throat and his pulse began to race.  This was exactly what he had ordered for the afternoon, evening, and subsequent night: a ferocious, unstoppable take-down that he had no chance of evading or resisting.

Bring it on, muthafuckas.

He surged up out of the water with a vague hope of dodging around the soldiers.  The effort was hopeless, just as he had planned it to be.  His one asset – and it was a tiny one – was that his skin was wet and slippery.  His liabilities, on the other hand, were numerous but could be summed up in one short phrase: one naked man against four strong, heavily armed and armored opponents.  If this had been a level 4 scenario – or, stars forbid, actual reality – he would have genuinely feared for his life against these guys.  One itchy trigger finger and it would be game over for Sam.  As it was, they would be able to rough him up a bit, but there was no risk of him dying from their actions.

I hope.  All bets are off if the stress gives me a heart attack!

He aimed for what looked like a gap between the ever-shifting camouflage of the men’s armor, hoping to slip away for at least a few seconds and maybe lead them on a chase.  (One naked, barefoot man vs. four strong booted soldiers.)  Alas, the gap turned out to be an illusion, a fact which he discovered when his shoulder plowed right into an invisible obstruction, probably the thigh of one of the soldiers.  He lost his footing on the newly-wet stone and crashed to the ground.  The soldiers were instantly upon him, swarming over his face-down body and rapidly establishing full control over him.

He tried to squirm, hoping that his wet, slick body would slip through their fingers and give him some chance to escape, to make these guys’ jobs at least a little bit of a challenge.  He scrabbled against the stone ground, trying to use his arms and legs to stand, or at least crawl.  It was not to be.  A crushing weight came down on his knees, then another on his shoulders.  Legs and chest were both pinned to the ground.  All the while they kept shouting at him, though he could only catch bits and pieces.  “… down, down, I said head DOWN!” and “… you fuckin’ move…” and “… shut your goddam mouth…”  Shut his mouth?  Sam hadn’t even realized he’d been shouting too.

His arms were wrestled into position behind the small of his back and he felt cuffs being applied with two quick ratcheting sounds, palms facing out.  Simultaneously, lower down, more chains were clicked into place around his ankles.  Once his limbs were secured, a black bag was yanked down over his head and a string at the neck was pulled taut to hold it in place.  The fabric was thin enough to breathe through and he could even see patches of light and dark in a few places, though he had nothing that could be called actual vision.  Another chain went around his waist (cold!) and the cuffs were locked to it.  Then a chain was fed down from there to his ankles.  When he felt the hands at his feet lift free he tried testing his bonds and found that his ankles were shackled very close together with perhaps only 20 cm of chain between them.  He was not going to be running or even walking anywhere quickly, even if he could manage to stand up from this position, which seemed doubtful.

Rising turned out to not be an issue.  The men hauled him to his feet, two strong grips seizing each of his upper arms.  Damn, that felt good!  Being manhandled by these faceless, anonymous commandos was incredible.  They got him upright with his feet under him, then dragged him forward, not bothering to give him time to take the small, mincing steps that were all the ankle shackles would allow.  His wrists chafed against the steel of the cuffs as they were pulled upward and his toes dragged along the smooth rock.

He couldn’t see the scene change but knew it would be happening.  He was dragged over to a stone wall and left to stand as best he could.  Balancing would have been tough if he had been in the middle of the floor with no vision and feet shackled as they were, but with the wall to lean on he was able to stay upright.  He felt hands fiddling with the string at his neck and then, abruptly, the bag was yanked off his head and he squinted into bright lights aimed straight at his face.  He could see nothing but glare as he heard the clicking sound of holoimages being made of his arrest… capture… abduction… whatever the right word was.  Then the bag was yanked back down and tied off and he once more found himself in darkness.

Next he was dragged off somewhere else where fingerprints were taken.  They didn’t even unlock his wrists for this, just ran a scanner over each digit one at a time.  Just to be a prick, he tried clenching his fingers into fists to block their access.  This earned him a slap to the face, a fist to the solar plexus, and more obscenities screamed into his ear.   Meanwhile, strong fingers grasped his own and forced them one by one into position to be read by the scanner.

“Look, asswipe,” one of his captors said when they had finished, “you can make this easy on yourself or not.  Up to you.”

I know! Sam thought, grinning beneath the bag.

After the fingerprinting, he was subjected to a cavity search, both oral and rectal.  They lifted the bag just enough to inspect his teeth, tongue, and gums with rough, gloved fingers, then sealed him in again.  The fingers that performed the search at the other end were similarly rough, though they did grant him the small mercy of applying lube first.  He squirmed and danced on the impaling digit as its owner performed a thorough and comprehensive search for contraband.

After that he was made to wait.  They chained his neck to a hook in the wall and left him with no instructions or information, no idea of when they would be back for him.  (Well, except that he really did have an idea – Sam The Sim Programmer had specified a duration of between one and two hours.  But Sam The Captive wasn’t supposed to know that.  It was hard to pretend not to, but he tried to sink into the sim and imagine he was really living out these events.)  He stood there for minutes, then tens of minutes, then what had to be more than an hour, growing increasingly fidgety as his body’s desire to change position grew.

Occasionally he tried calling out.  He could hear his abductors around him, occasionally talking among themselves in voiced pitched too low and soft for him to make out words.  They ignored him the first two times he opened his mouth.  The third time earned him another punch in the gut, which he could not see coming and thus could not brace himself against.  His body’s instinct to curl in on itself was not helpful in this position and he pulled hard on the neck chain for ten or fifteen seconds until he was able to force his spine to straighten and get his feet supporting his weight again.  He kept his mouth shut after that and just stood, patiently waiting, a tethered beast of burden with nothing to do until its masters had use for it again.

“Cell’s ready,” he heard one of them say at last.  A minute or two later, he felt hands unhooking the chain from the wall, though it remained locked in place around his neck.  At the same time, other hands were working at the chain connecting his ankles.  “Move,” one of the voices said.  The sound was accompanied by a pressure on the chain, pulling him forward.  He shuffled his feet to keep his balance and found that he could take larger steps.  Not full-length strides, but more than what had been possible before.  His progress was still slow, but he did not stumble as he blindly followed the pull of the chain.

They threaded their way through halls with sounds echoing off the concrete walls all around.  The floor was cool on his bare feet, but not cold.  Occasionally the timbre of the sounds changed and he supposed he was moving past cell doors, either open bars or solid steel.  Eventually he was turned to the side and the pressure on the neck chain eased.  He was pushed rather than pulled forward, then ordered to stop.  Behind him, he heard the solid clank of a steel door closing.

“Back up till you touch the door,” the voice ordered.  He stepped backward one half step, then another, until he felt steel bars against his skin.  “Stand right there.”  The chain was removed from around Sam’s neck, then the hood came off.  While the guard worked on removing the handcuffs, Sam looked around.  Just as he had specified, it was a bare cell.  There was a cot flat against the wall that could be folded down and a toilet / sink combo in the back.  Light came from a bare caged bulb overhead.  The walls were concrete, as was the floor and ceiling.  The atmosphere was both too bright from the lone bulb and yet dim and oppressive at the same time from the dark grey walls.  Perfect.

The guard finished uncuffing Sam’s hands and left.  Sam’s only remaining restraints were now the waist chain, the ankle shackles which he found allowed him to separate his feet to about shoulder width, and a chain leading down from the small of his back to the center of the ankle chain, supporting it a bit.  A second door slammed shut behind him and he turned to look at it.  There were two doors, it seemed: an inner one made of bars with a slot that wrists or dishes could be passed through, and a solid outer one that blocked all sight and muffled most sounds.

Not all, though.  From far off in the distance, a voice was calling out: wordless, pain-filled cries.  The sound of a man being tortured.  Which, as it happened, was on Sam’s agenda for tomorrow morning.  He found himself both anticipating and dreading the experience.  The purpose of this whole scene was for Sam to be the target of an interrogation, one that had the potential to become somewhat harsh.  He was going to attempt to keep secret a six-digit code, while the soldiers who had taken him were going to try to extract the code from him.  They would know whether or not they had successfully broken him when they tried keying the code into a custom-designed device and it either opened or it didn’t.  The interrogators were free to use whatever means of non-life-threatening “discomfort” they were able to come up with… and the library contained many, many examples from both history and fiction for them to draw on.  Sam had not specified what particular techniques would be used on him, thus the dread.  He wasn’t sure whether to psych himself up for “The Pit And The Pendulum,” the Hanoi Hilton, or a Kartashivan truth squad.  The sound of another man’s torment seemed to be itself part of Sam’s own torture, a bit of mental softening up before the physical work would begin.  It was working: the sounds were unsettling to hear and he couldn’t tune them out because they would stop for a while, then start up again and the volume constantly varied.

He spent a few minutes exploring his cell and discovered nothing that he hadn’t already seen from his first glance.  It was a bare, cramped, barren space, long enough to lie down in, tall enough to stand in, and wide enough to turn around in with no adornments other than the stains on the walls.  There was not much room; he could place both palms flat against the side walls with bent elbows.  When the cot was folded down, it would fill the entire width of the available space, so he would have to be standing either by the door or in the back with the toilet to lower the cot into position, then climb onto it from either the head or foot end.  The sense of enclosure was powerful, as if he was in a coffin buried far below ground level.  Only the steady whoosh of air through the vent overhead reassured him that he wouldn’t eventually choke to death on his own recycled breath.

Nothing happened for a very long time.  Sam stood or paced or sat on the floor, listening to the distant screams, staring at the cell walls.  He used the toilet, took a drink by dipping his face into the stream from the faucet at the sink, paced some more with slow clanking steps.  It was a suffocating place and more than once he wondered whether he had bitten off more than he could chew.  But he forced himself to stick with it, knowing that if he bailed out he’d regret it two minutes later.  Nope.  He had to set aside the knowledge that he had designed this scenario if it was going to do him any good.  He had to get into a mindset of believing this was all real or else there would be no point to doing it.  And so he worked at it: this was his cell, this was his fate.  He was stuck here and would just have to deal with it.

The endless hours left him bored and restless, though, and so when the outer door at last swung open with no hint of warning, he was itching to break the monotony any way he could.  A guard appeared on the far side of the bars and Sam got his first good look at one of his captors without the chameleon armor.  Black uniform shirt and pants, black leather belt and boots and gloves, a black helmet with a dark grey face shield so Sam could not see his face at all.  Not a bit of skin showing anywhere.  Definitely human (that romp with Keck had been fun, but had also reaffirmed for Sam where his tastes truly lay).  The man’s shirtsleeves could barely contain his muscled upper arms and his thighs looked as though they could support a rhino as easily as a man.  Mmmm… hot stuff, yes indeed.

The guard pushed a bowl through the slot in the barred door.  Sam, who had happened to be standing by door when it had sprung open, glanced down at its contents: some sort of stew, brown in color but not in a rich-hearty-beefy way, more of a past-its-prime-possibly-decaying way.  He looked up into the guard’s blank face mask.  “I thought I ordered the filet.”  The guard did not react at all.  Emboldened, Sam reached out and took the bowl.  The guard stared at him impassively while Sam tried to think of another wisecrack to try to puncture that impenetrable armor.

“Eat,” the guard said before Sam could come up with anything.  “You have two minutes.”

“Or what?” Sam countered.  As wisecracks went, it was not inspired, but it was the logical response and it came out of his mouth before he could to stop it.  An instant later he wished he could pull the words back in.  This was not a schoolyard playground scene and in the role of prisoner he had almost certainly just crossed the line between mouthing off and noncompliance.  Noncompliance was bound to have consequences.

Sure enough, the guard’s opaque helmet turned to the side.  “Scorpio, gimme a hand.  Fucktard here’s got an attitude.”  A second guard appeared.  They palmprinted the lock open and slid the door to the side.  Sam reflexively backed away, but there was nowhere to run.  They started barking orders at him as they swarmed into the room.  “DOWN ON THE FLOOR!  NOW!  MOVE!  DOWN, DOWN, GET DOWN!”  Sam’s heart started pounding again – this was NOT what he had in mind as the outcome of getting sassy with a sexy guard!  He started sinking down, but either he wasn’t moving fast enough for them or they just wanted an excuse to rough him up some more, so they pushed him down faster.  He was able to set the bowl on the floor off to the side before their weight landed on top of him.

Once again, the cuffs went on, securing his hands to the small of his back.  Then the chain connecting his waist chain to his ankle shackles was pulled up short and locked in place.  He was hogtied – or hogchained – flat on his belly on the concrete floor, heels tugged up toward his ass, arms pinned helplessly behind him.

All he could see were two pairs of boots near him.  One of the boots reached out and nudged the bowl toward his face, then right into his face.  Sam was forced to lift his head to avoid getting smeared with the viscous liquid.  “One minute left, genius,” the guard informed him.  Sam got the point.  He lowered his mouth into the bowl and started inhaling, swallowing the stuff as fast as he could manage.  It was at room temperature, which didn’t increase its appeal any, and when it hit his tongue he discovered It had no seasoning at all.  He struggled to get the flavorless mush down.  I think this is actually worse than the synthesizer food, he pondered as he swallowed.  Wouldn’t have thought that possible.

It must have taken him more than a minute to eat everything in the bowl, or at least as much as he could.  Much of it had gotten smeared all around his mouth rather than going inside it.  But his captors apparently felt like they had sufficiently humiliated him and intimidated him into compliance because they did not attempt to force-feed him or yank the bowl away.  He finished licking it clean, then tried to clean off his lips and chin with his tongue.  Lacking hands, that was impossible and he could feel the liquid slowly drying on his face.

A gloved hand appeared from above and picked up the bowl, then the boots started moving toward the door.  “Get a good sleep, asswipe.  I got big plans for you tomorrow.”  With that, the inner door closed, then the outer, and then the light went out.

To be continued …

At CMNM.net, Matteo’s balls have been drained and his arse pummeled. Now he feels dizzy and useless. The men keep his head down, and all he’s aware of is the stench of the men around him and their harsh, demanding voices. He thinks his embarrassment can’t get any worse. But he has no idea that his enemy — well trained naked stud Nick — has been yanked back into the room for their plan to completely humiliate both men!

See more like this at CMNM

Bruno Boni is not in the mood for putting up with any bullshit, especially if you’re a hot-shot businessman. So when Denis Vega is arrested, Bruno shows him no pity and handcuffs him to a chair ready to show him who’s in charge now.

Denis turns out not to be as cooperative as he‘d expected, so Bruno resorts to forceful action in order to get him exactly where he wants. And, that’s on his knees begging for his leniency with Bruno‘s meaty, uncut cock deep down his throat.

Bruno gets his way with Denis‘ ass bent over his desk, and ready for a seriously hard pounding by the hard-handed investigator.

See the video at Men At Play

Check out what happens at CMNM.net:

See more like this at CMNM

Issiah Carlye has been sentenced to five years in the state prison. Of course he claimed he was innocent and maybe he was, but once sentence was handed down by the judge Issiah was taken into custody immediately. Officer Denali chained the 34-year-old up with cuffs, shackles, belly chain and black box right in front of his family to be taken down to be processed into the jail! When he comes into the jail all dressed in his nice clothes, tie and even fancy dress boots, it will be the last time for a long time that he will be in them… yes sir, for a very long time if not forever.

See the video at Guys In Lockup

Title of this episode: ISAIAH CARLYE – FOR PRISON – CAVITY SEARCH – BONDAGE – JAILED – SOLO

Check out these leather handcuffs! And yeah, fuckers, these do LOCK!

Click for Leather Handcuffs

Metal handcuffs are available here

More Bondage / BDSM gear from Mr S here

The moment Warden Cole Connor of Riders Correctional Facility gets word of Chris Damned’s outburst with the DA, he arranges a private meeting with the aggressive inmate and his top guards. In a cold interrogation room, he demonstrates on Officer Dillon Diaz the correct way to please the wealthy men who pay to fuck his inmates. While Chris watches, Cole brings Dillon’s face into his full bush before shoving his hairy dick down Dillon’s deep throat. Continuing his demonstration, Cole pushes Dillon over a table, spreading his asshole wide open. Dillon is then served a relentless finger fuck and aggressive rimming. Not yet satisfied that Chris has learned the proper etiquette, Cole shoves his big hard cock inside Dillon’s spit-wet hole before positioning him on his hands and knees for an intense bareback fuck. Cole flips Dillon onto his back and continues to slam his ass until they both cum on Dillon’s stomach. In the midst of the action, Governor Max Konnor calls the warden requesting an urgent meeting. How will Dillon handle getting dicked-down by the warden, and what is so urgent that the Governor needs to meet with Cole ASAP?

Video HERE

Title: RIDE Or DIE: Breeding Ground

Site: Raging Stallion

VIDEOS of scenes that are similar to this at BreederFuckers

Alexander Gustavo has been taken into custody and turned over to officer Angelo, who has a very unique indoctrination process for new prisoners. The muscular 6-foot-4 cop puts Gustavo onto his knees and uses his nightstick to persuade the young stud to suck his huge uncut cock. Gustavo protests at first, but judging from the sloppy deep throat blow job he gives Angelo it’s pretty obvious he’s done this before. After gagging on his captor’s giant meat Alexander gets on the desk and surrenders his tight hole to Angelo’s probing tongue. Angelo alternates between eating out Alexander’s hot ass and sucking his long, thick, pierced cock then flips him over onto his back and shoves his cock in the guy’s ass. He fucks him deep then kicks back on the desk so Alexander can hop on his massive tool and bounce up and down. Alexander squeezes a load out of Angelo’s dick with his tight ass and attempts to get his nut but Angelo won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead he spits in his face, slaps him and drags him off to his cell.

Title of this video: Hard Time – Scene 2

Site: Hot House

This is a video from KinkMen. It’s called “Perverted Punishment”

Brenn is a married soldier based in San Diego. He’s driving eight hours to San Francisco to meet Timmy, bringing toys, condoms and lube. Extremely nervous and cautious, Brenn finally shows up and the entire police department pounces on him as the curious neighbors watch. Are they going to take him downtown and book him? No, it’s not that kind of show. All the cops take the law into their own hands and teach this perv a lesson. After they give him a good beating, they shove their cocks into Brenn’s mouth and hole. Brenn begs for mercy but they keep on going until they blow their hot loads all over his face. To add insult to injury, they kick him out into the street completely naked.

Click for Perverted Punishment – Brenn Wyson

See all the KinkMen male BDSM vids here

Johnny Utah — author of the popular “Florida Trap” story that was originally featured in the Metalbond Prison Library back in 2021 — has recently ADDED to this series! There will be at least one and probably TWO brand new parts to this male bondage fiction, and to get everyone ready for the conclusion to this saga I have decided to re-post all the earlier chapters, every day or every other day, starting later today.

If you enjoyed this story when it originally appeared, this will give you a reason to refresh your memory. And if you are NEW to this story, I hope you will enjoy! As I mentioned to the author, in my view this is one of the best in the male bondage prison story genre.

I have corrected a few typos from the original and made a few other very minor edits. Please note that the “click for next part” link will not work for 1-2 days in each part until the next part re-appears.

—Metal (July 26, 2023)

By Atlanta Stud

Nestled in Iowa, just 25 miles northeast of Fort Dodge, is the small town of Eagle Grove, with a population of just over 3500.  It’s a farming community with solid farm boys, strong from the endless days working on the farm and playing sports.  Two of those boys, Seth and Jacob, were close. With their parents’ farms next to each other and being the same age, they’ve known each other since they were toddlers.  Now, aside from farming and sports, there’s not a lot to do in Eagle Grove, and boys being boys, Seth and Jacob found ways to have fun growing up.  The usual playing catch, trying to get the forty-year-old LTD to run again that’s been parked behind the barn all those years and hanging out in the woods were just a few.  By high school, Seth and Jacob’s physiques had developed quite nicely, both being about 5-foot-11, with muscled arms, defined pecs and definition in the abs region.  Seth sported chest hair with a nice treasure trail going down the abs, while Jacob had a light dusting of hair in the chest region.

It was early fall of their sophomore year of high school. One Saturday morning they were hanging out in the woods horsing around when Seth saw a coil of old white cotton rope, which looked to be about 50 feet in length, draped over the front fender of a black ’48 Dodge sedan that had long been abandoned and wasn’t but a shell of a car now.  Seth didn’t know it, but a week earlier, Jacob had brought the rope with him and did a little self-bondage.  Not much, you see, just roping up his desert tan booted ankles and loosely tying his wrists, pretending to have been kidnapped.  He had left the rope on the fender so it could get a little more weathered.

“That’s weird, what’s this rope doing out here?” Seth blurted out loud.

“Who knows, someone probably just left it here when cutting through the woods,” Jacob said.

“Must be a good 50 feet of rope,” Seth said as he held it in his hands.  “Remember back in middle school when we pretended to be Bo and Luke Duke and see who could escape the villain’s rope?”

“Yeah, I remember, Seth. You never made a good villain. Never could keep me captive as I recall,” Jacob said.

“Oh yeah, well get over here, Luke.  Get up against that old fender and put your hands behind your back.  We’ll just see about that,” Said Seth in quite an authoritarian tone.  Jabob’s heart was racing.  His self-roping was fun, but it’s not the same as getting roped by someone else and not having control of where the ropes are placed and where the knots are cinched.  Jacob leaned up against the passenger side fender and Seth roughly pulled Jacob’s hands behind his back and tied them snug in an X fashion.  Jacob felt around for the knots when Seth was finished but couldn’t find any in reach.

“Yeah, good luck, Luke, I mean Jacob.  Those knots aren’t anywhere within reach.”  Seth still had a lot of rope at his disposal and with it he pulled Jacob backwards and up to a tree roughly two feet in diameter.  With Jacob’s back to the tree, Seth wound rope around his chest a few times before cinching it off and still had enough left over to let the rope drop down to cinch up Jacob’s desert tan boots.

“Let’s see you get out of that one, ‘Luke Duke’!”

Jacob was in rope heaven and completely stuck.  Oh, he tried getting out, but to no avail and the only result he got was a raging boner that was clearly obvious and he blushed when Seth noticed it.

Seth stepped up close to Jacob, looking square in his eyes, their faces only about six inches apart.  “Looks like someone’s enjoying this.  You like getting tied up, don’t you, boy?  Looks like some things never change, huh.  Always had a suspicion you liked it when we played Bo and Luke Duke, and yeah, I was right, huh, boy? Maybe I should leave you here for a while so you can try to break free.  You won’t though, but I know you’ll try.”

“Please don’t, Seth.”

“Don’t worry, pal, I won’t leave you here, I was just kidding.  I’ll take you off of that tree and we can head back to my place.  Folks won’t be back until Monday and I got something I bet you’ll like.”  Seth untied Jacob’s feet and removed the ropes from around his chest.  He was standing there now with his hands bound behind his back with a trail of extra rope dangling down, which Seth quickly picked up.

“Um, you forgot to untie my wrists, Seth,” Jacob said.

“No. I didn’t.”  And with that, Seth took the extra rope, pulled it between Jacob’s crotch so it acted like a leash forcing Jacob to make the mile long walk back to Seth’s house with his wrists expertly bound behind his back.  Once back at Seth’s house, Jacob was led upstairs to Seth’s bedroom and was told to sit on the wooden desk chair while Seth went back downstairs to grab a couple bottles of soda.  When he returned, he had Jacob stand and then untied his wrists.

“Here you go, pal. I’m sure you could use a cold drink by now.”

“Thanks Seth.  So, what’s this thing you got that you said I’d like?”

“Oh yeah.  Well, when I went to Des Moines last weekend to pick up some parts, I stopped at an Army Navy store.  They had some pretty cool things.  Matter of fact, I want to go back and get me a pair of desert tan boots.  I didn’t have enough cash on me last weekend for the boots.  But I did come back with these.”

Seth opened up the top drawer of his nightstand and held up a pair of shiny Peerless chain link handcuffs.

“Oh wow.  Those the real deal?” Jacob asked.

“You got it.  Peerless brand according to the box and keys.  Here, check them out.”

Jacob took the cuffs and examined them.  He hadn’t held a pair of real cuffs in his hands before.  He ran the arms through a few times, listening to the solid click of the teeth catching the notches firmly holding the arms in place.  He grabbed a cuff in each hand and tugged them apart as if to test the chain connecting them.  They held firm.

Seth snatched them back from Jacob’s hands.  “Here, try them on.”

Jacob held out his hands in front, and within seconds, they were firmly locked in the cuffs.

“Now we’ll just use this piece on the end of the key — and there you go — double locked, buddy.”

Jacob tested the steel and realized very quickly just how secure the cuffs were.  After being locked in the cuffs about ten minutes, Seth pulled out the keys from his pocket and unlocked Jacob’s left wrist.

“Of course, the perp really should be cuffed behind the back.”  And with that, Seth, using the free cuff as leverage, forced Jacob’s right arm behind his back and had him cuffed behind the back before he knew what hit him.  “There you go, buddy.  Like a real criminal about to be hauled off to jail,” he laughed.  “Let’s see, it’s a thirty-minute ride to the county jail, so I figure you should stay locked up for thirty minutes.”

“Come on, Seth.”

“Thirty minutes, buddy.  And I’m putting the keys right here in your front pocket.  So close, yet so far away.”  Seth laughed as Jacob sat back down on the old wooden desk chair to wait out his time.

“Oh, like I was saying, I want to head back to the Army Navy store to pick up some boots.  You should go with me and check out the other things they had in the case.  Couldn’t believe it myself at first, but they have genuine leg shackles, and I saw a box that had something like ‘transport restraint’ written on it.  Be cool to see just what that is, huh?”

“Why don’t we go now?”  Jacob asked.  “Not like we got anything else to do and Des Moines is only 90 miles away.  You can get your boots and I can check out all the other stuff they have there. And we can grab lunch, too.”

“Uh-huh, you just want me to take those cuffs off you, buddy.”

“No really.  I want to check it out.  Of course, I don’t want to ride there cuffed behind my back, so yeah, you’ll need to take them off.”

“OK, let’s go.  Stand up so I can get to the cuffs.”

Seth took the cuff keys and unlocked Jacob’s left wrist, and Jacob brought his hands to his front so he could rub his wrist.  In a quick motion, Seth grabbed the free cuff and locked it back on Jacob’s wrist again, this time in front.

“Hey, what gives?”

“You’re right, you won’t be riding there with your wrists cuffed behind you.  They’ll be locked up in front.  Let’s go, buddy.”

Metal would like to thank the author, Atlanta Stud, for this story and welcome him back to the Prison Library!