This captive is gagging for domination, from the way his prick stands up. Bound in place, this prisoner has to take a deep pounding with a vicious power tool.

Video at Brutal Tops

A muscular captive gets tied down to the discipline bench and gets his ass wrecked.

Video at Brutal Tops

Check out what happens to this prisoner at Brutal Tops:

See the video at Brutal Tops

In this video at Brutal Tops, a fresh businessman gets nabbed. By the time he understands what’s going on, there’s no way he can escape from the firm restraints. Look how this fucker pathetically flails in place! Haha! There’s nothing this dickhead can do to get away from the punishment! His suit is DESTROYED a piece at a time.

See the video at Brutal Tops

A captive gets strung up naked for discipline. Only a little attention is needed, and his desperate dick grows stiff.

See the video at Brutal Tops

A muscular captive is tied up stark naked and suspended in the middle of the room. Master Derek is even more of a sadist.

See the video at Brutal Tops

By felon

I was “restrained” from writing sooner as I had to return to work. I still seek real-time prison action – hope you enjoy!

At the pull-off on RTE 19 in West Virginia, my captor stopped and left me restrained in the car while he made some purchases in a CVS. He returns as it begins to rain, I have the feeling I have been drugged, feeling sluggish but still aware of where I am, etc. My ears have been plugged, so it is difficult to hear him on the phone, he has a radio unit in the car but always uses the phone. We take off again and leave RTE 19 and proceed on a narrow road into the mountains. It is raining and getting dark.

We drive several miles and he pulls off the road. There is a narrow private gravel road with a chain and padlock blocking entrance. He gets out removes the chain and drive onto the road. We drive several miles on this deserted road and seem to be entering a farm, but very overgrown, and come up on a barn, a house, a concrete building sunk into a hill and a parking area with several pickups.

Out in the distance beyond the barn is what appears to be a target range for shooting. Strung between the buildings is camo netting to obscure views from above. He leaves me in the car, grabs my file folder, and the clear plastic bag with my ID, wallet and cash, but missing my car keys and apartment keys. I wonder where they are. He is gone into the building for several minutes, and then he returns with two other men — both in their late 60s and in black camo fatigues. All large built men, they open the door and I am removed and led into the building.

I am wearing my orange Wythe County prison garb and tennis shoes with no laces. The building is bright and clean. I am un-cuffed and my hands are lifted above my head and attached to a heavy chain. The leg irons remain. One of the men takes a penknife out of his pocket and proceeds to cut my orange uniform off. It is warm. My head has been shaved and I feel the intimidation of being naked in a room with three men. Then a younger man, who turns out to be a nephew of one of the men, comes in with a bucket and soap and sponge and proceeds to wash off the day’s sweat. He returns with a hose and washes off the soap with cold water. I am lowered, unchained and led into a concrete block room. No windows, it is clean with a bench and a bucket to piss in. The door slams shut and is locked. I am left there for at least an hour, and I can hear vehicles entering, car doors slamming, etc., then footsteps passing the door.

I sit down again and look up and realize a camera is imbedded in the corner of the ceiling. Finally the door opens and my original captor is there. He tells me to put my wrists together and he cuffs me again and leads me into another room. There is a table and three chairs, and I am pushed into a chair. My cuffs are padlocked onto a clamp embedded in the table. Then the other two men that I had seen earlier arrived in the room with file folders and a digital camera.

On the wall was a computer screen. One of the men indicated I have been taken there for the punishment phase of my confinement. He pulls out a flash drive, and I see a tow truck loading my car on a flatbed at the garage where I was picked up, the license plate removed and then the car was covered with a green tarp. After the truck drives off, This captor pulls out a paper bag and removes my license plate and lays it on the table.

“We have control of your car and it will be broken down and sold for parts if deemed necessary,” he says. Then he opens a file folder and removes several pieces of paper. I am told to review the information from the folder. It is basic stuff, name, address, job information, etc., and in addition there was a Power of Attorney Form, already signed by a “witness” and awaiting my signature. Things were getting serious, probably more serious than I expected, but I was trying to keep calm, of course they are trying to intimidate me, and guess what it was working. Needless to say these men meant business. this was not go be a two-hour play scene.

***

Fear coupled with confusion began to surround me. Here I am in the woods of West Virginia, my car long since towed away, no ID, no money and completely at the mercy of this group of men.

The captor from home, along with three other men, now cram into the concrete block office while I am cuffed to a desk. The TV screen on the wall shows my car being placed on a flatbed, license plate removed and covered with a tarp.

The license plate is laid out on the desk in front of me. In addition there are several pieces of paper, all filled out and apparently awaiting my signature.

I am told these papers when signed give my consent for my captor to assume Power of Attorney, make all decisions, control finances, contracts, etc. The POA agreement is dated for today and is open-ended. The witnesses have already signed the document. My short three-day punishment session has been extended. One of the men behind me forcibly reinserts the worn leather ball gag before I even have a chance to respond. I was told this group of men is part of a larger group of men that meets quarterly, to administer punishment to men under their control.

He wasn’t saying anything I didn’t know or suspect already. I assumed something would happen, but was unsure of the result.

I will be taken into the “intake” room and prepped for the actions of the group. I have still not been in a cell. The men were all mature men ranging in age from approximately 60 to 75 years young.

Two of the men were armed. I was unlocked from the table and led into the next room. A small clean white painted concrete block room with a custom padded leather table, with restraints at the four corners. There the rest of the body hair was removed and the crotch hair removed, my right wrist was strapped down flat on an extension added on the table, and my wrist area reshaved. Then the younger nephew left the room and returned wit another man, a new face I had not seen. He was in hospital garb and proceeded to put in an epi plug on my right arm. When done, he injected the epi and sedated me. The reason? So he could tat my wrist with a small ID number and a special design. (More about that later). When I woke up I was still on the table with a cath inserted, a cath bag on my right leg and a plug up my ass. I was told I would be the first felon of the weekend and had been prepared for punishment. Heavy metal clamps were screwed together on both arms and legs, while a leather and metal posture collar was locked on my neck.

I was given some time to rest and recover from the sedation, as the men present enjoyed various liquid libations, they would stand over me and pour beer over my gaged mouth. Eventually I had swallowed enough that is proceeded to drain into the cath as I laid there.

I noted my arm was taped at the wrist, I haven’t seen the tat yet.

As these guys socialized in the room I found out the wrist tat was added so others not there would have a way to determine my name, vital information, etc., from their database. This was an organized group-obviously more than I expected. With what I had experienced so far thru laser, electronic etc., these men were well-versed in intimidation, and they enjoyed the process doing it! I also noted my right ankle and some sort of mark added just above were the metal band was locked. I had no idea of the time, the light was never off in the room, and I could hear noise outside the locked door. There was some kind of discussion going on…

I am always interested in hearing thoughts from kinky readers, and I will respond. It is so hard to find men in western PA into kinky metal long-term bondage — felon

By FirefighterSIR

Part 9: Work

“Only 3 more feet!” shouted the Captain just before he began swinging the pick again.  The slave did not look up but continued to shovel the dirt and rocks out of the trench he was buried in up to his knees.  The sweat ran down into his face and made it hard to see.  But when he did take moment to look up, he could see the Captain was right.

They had almost finished the trench, its end marked by a tiny yellow flag snapping in the warm breeze blowing down the length of the canyon.  The Captain had taken the lead on the digging, swinging the pick to break up the soil enough for the slave to shovel it out and carve the trench.  The only fortunate thing about the project is that it was almost done and that the day had not been hot.  The slave had been trying to focus on each shovel full of dirt, pushing himself to complete each toss, not looking up, should he lose focus and strength on another grueling day as the 24/7 labor muscle slave at the Bear Trap Ranch.

Arranged just beyond the tiny flag were 8 concrete piers that the Captain and slave had cast days earlier.

The Captain had decided to build a new truck shelter with a solar array on the roof.  That meant digging and casting foundation piers and digging a 200-foot long trench across the dry grass from the camp compound to the new structure.  What that meant for the slave was days and days of backbreaking work.  The soil of the Bear Trap Ranch had long since given up the last of its moisture to the summer heat and even now, in September, months since the slave had been collared on the ranch, the ground was more like rock than soil.

The Captain worked with the slave each and every day that He could and seemed to have boundless energy to spend on the hours of hard work that were involved with keeping the ranch running.

On this project, he had shown the slave where to dig the foundation holes alone while he would be away in town fetching supplies for the remote ranch.  That day, the slave had been given a time limit to have the holes dug and ready.  Ben’s chain, connected to a ring in his collar, had been wrapped around a small oak tree nearby. The length allowed ample room for him to work.  The shade of that tiny tree sheltered a cooler full of frozen water bottles, protein drinks, and special rations for the day.  The Captain left at 9 am and was due back at 3 pm.

Even through the Captain was late, returning around 4pm, the slave had not quite finished the last hole by the time the massive pickup appeared on the dirt road, trailing a cloud of dust.  The slave had encountered a large boulder buried in the soil, and he had labored for hours in a futile attempt to dig around the rock and lever it out of the way.

The Captain slammed the truck door and walked briskly over to the work site, the two dogs bounding behind him with excitement.  He gave the slave a stern look and inspected each hole, 8 all together, 3 feet deep each, until he stopped at the last hole.

It was only 1 foot deep but about 8 feet wide now, heaps of dirt and gravel lying all around it.  The slave was totally covered in sweat and dirt, his eyes staring downward inside rings of dust like a muscle-bound raccoon.  The Captain stepped down and scuffed his worn black boots on the rock, tapping it with one toe.  He looked over at the panting slave, a stream of sweat running down his chest onto his abs and his metal bound cock.

“Boy, you did not complete the project in the time allowed. What do you have to say for yourself?” said the Captain.

Ben gulped and caught his breath, “The rock SIR, the rock.  I could not get it out. Too big.”

“You should have called, why didn’t you call?”  The Captain asked sternly.

The slave felt the sudden rush of his own single-minded stupidity!  The phone!  The Captain kept a cell phone packed in the cooler with the other items in case the slave had an emergency or issue while He was away (the cell phone also contained the combo to the lock around its neck, but the slave did not know that).  It had been there the whole time but the slave had not thought to call and ask what to do about the rock and instead had burned through three hours of digging.  The slave slumped back on his haunches and moaned in frustration.  The Captain explained:

“The rock is an ideal foundation, you should have stopped when you hit it.  You would have had lots of time for rest had you done that.  Now you will be too tired to workout hard with me!  The slave groaned.  Workout?  After such a long day? Fuck, I will never make it, he thought.

The Captain reached down and unlocked the long chain from the slave’s collar.

“Shower” he ordered and walked off.  The slave struggled to his feet, his legs and arms heavy and sore, already stiffening in the cool evening air.

Workouts were the reason the new shelter was being built.  In the past month, the Captain had turned the old truck shelter into a sort of open-air gym and dungeon.

The building was a timber framed open structure, setting directly against the north side of the camp compound fence.  It had eight thick timber posts that held up a set of trusses for the roof.

The shelter was big enough to cover the huge, 22-foot-long pickup truck totally but recently more and more space was given up to a bench press, squat rack, roman chair, and racks of steel plates.  Dangling from the rafters were dozens of chains and straps to hold manacles and a heavy-duty sling to support the full weight of the muscled slave’s body when it was strung up, beaten, tortured or raped.  Framing now lined the sides of the shelter, ready to accept panels of siding when the weather turned cold in late October.  But for now, it was wide open.

After showering, the slave waited for the Captain to begin the workout.  He stared at the door of the cabin and He soon appeared wearing boots and tight black Under Armour shorts.  The slave had to admire the impressive gains the Captain had made in His own body since taking on the slave.  The Captain seemed to thrive on having a work slave and threw himself into every task as much as he demanded the slave to do the same.  Each week the Captain drove the slave to the gym in the tiny town of King City for a truly intense three-hour workout.  In the gym, the collar had to disappear, but the slave protocol remained.  The slave, his body clad in black and white Under Armour gear, was the Captain’s workout partner, silent, massive and strong.  They would work out with nary a word spoken, the Captain listening to an iPod.  All the other men would stop and stare at the duo, envious of the slave’s incredible bulging body.  If men started a conversation, the Captain would explain away the slave’s lack of interaction with a sad but scripted story of a distant cousin struck dumb and deaf by a childhood disease, and now totally dependent on the charity of the family.  That usually stopped the questions but not the envious stares.  The slave had observed more than one pair of gym shorts tented as he worked his muscles with the Captain.

The Captain came in under the shelter and the slave tried to steady his exhausted limbs. They were trembling with fatigue and he could barely grip the first set of plates to set on the bench press bar.

“First set: 20 reps,” the Captain ordered. The naked slave laid down on the bench and gripped the bar, trying to focus and breathe.  He lifted the bar, the Captain looming over him in the spotter position.  He lowered the bar, but his arms were jelly! He struggled to make the first rep and grunted deeply as he reset the bar on the supports.

“One,” said the Captain.  The slave looked up past the bar at the firefighter.  His cock was swelling in his shorts and his eyes gleamed hungrily.

He was holding two sets of handcuffs in his hands, and he quickly locked them on to each of the slave’s wrists, then the bar.

He walked around to the front of the bench press and straddled the muscled captive with his own legs.  He brought his body down to bear on Ben’s spread chest and pushed forward until his bulging shorts were inches from the other man’s face.

“I like workout night, when it is your mouth getting the workout, boy.”  He said as He lifted the slave’s head to meet His shorts.

The slave eagerly bit and mouthed the black Under Armour fabric, and the dominant man ground it into the slave’s face.

“Take it out,” ordered the Captain softly.

The slave eagerly complied, realizing that he would be getting a workout of the mouth instead of the body.  He gripped the bar and craned his neck to pull down the tight shorts and allow the Captain’s swollen cock to drop out. He tugged with his teeth again to free the big shaved balls.  The Captain smiled and pushed his nuts into the slave’s hot open mouth.  The slave took them eagerly, worshipping each fleshy orb with the deep gratitude of being able to be used hard, long and with purpose.

To be continued…

Metalbond would like to thank FirefighterSIR (aka The Captain) for this story — and for the original photographs that accompany each installment.

With his cock and balls bound to his toes, just a little kick will cause the restrained fucker intense pain. Look at the muscular captive try with all its might not to lash out. Haha! There’s nothing this whore can do to stop them from getting off utterly DESTROYING his arsehole by tearing it open.

Video at BreederFuckers

By Taurus

Part 7 – incarceration-adx_20x

Flanked by boring concrete walls, Luke had to try and find new and interesting ways to keep himself active that was not touching himself – the hologram that now formed the ceiling of the cell bore this very commandment, among other warnings that safewords are not in play, that any attempts to escape or pleasure oneself would result in the swift application of extremely strict and punishing bondage, and that excretion of waste matter would be automatically enforced for him.

Luke was no philosophist, but he was at least aware of the fact that if he wanted to truly escape, he would have to first escape digitally by countering the super-powerful software that knew his every thought, then escape physically by getting his naked body out of whatever shackles that held him.

In short: “difficult” was the word.

Naturally, with Luke being a bodybuilder and fitness coach, he turned his mind away from the sexual desires of playing with his dick and pinching his nipples, and directed his frustrations into physical exercises.

Quickly, Luke decided that whenever he felt compelled to touch his dick, he would go through the full workout routine: crunches and push-ups, followed by a short stretching break that consisted of yoga poses, finally followed by jumping jacks and running in place. Before long, he found his armpits had stunk up as his body glossed itself with sweat.

However grueling the exercise may seem, electing to not do it means facing down the temptations of Luke’s perpetually hard cock that he was absolutely not allowed to touch.

It felt like a couple hours had passed when glowing chevrons directed Luke to lie back down on his bed, to “await instructions”. As he did so, the bondage of many chains and cuffs that he had previously experienced returned and immobilised him completely. He was left to watch as his warden – assuming the form of Matt – entered the cell and began setting up a feeder system similar to the one he was hooked up to in real life.

Luke quite accurately predicted that his sustenance was to be energy paste and energy paste only. However, he did not account for the possibility that his sense of flavour would be deactivated momentarily for maximum suffering – he noticed this fact because as he ate, he felt as if he was drinking distilled water despite the fact that the paste in the physical feeder was chicken flavoured.

Or it should have been. No telling whether Matt had switched it out for plain military emergency rations, of course.

Having consumed the whole bag of paste, Luke expected the bondage to cease, but instead was alarmed to discover that he was still chained up as tight as ever even after the warden had left with the feeding system.

Before he could struggle for any meaningful amount of time, however, the ceiling rulebook was replaced with a message to him, charmingly addressed to a “Prisoner.”

“You have been given the opportunity to leave this cell. Do you accept or decline?”

Luke accepted. It felt fine now, but he knew he would go crazy if he was trapped inside this cell – suffering was better than looking at concrete.

***

Luke was barely able to open a crack in his eyes for any longer than a few tenths of a second at a time. The sun hung directly overhead, ready to overload his pain receptors if he were to resist his biological urges to keep his eyes intact. That said, he was still able to catch a few glimpses of the scenery around him.

The air was still, and eerily silent – no birds chirping or shrubs rustling far off in the distance. The promised grassy plain was perfectly flat and stretched off into unthinkable infinity. As he tried to move his body – slowly being baked – he found that the heat seemingly had an oppressive weight that denied him the last pleasures he could find in this infallible incarceration.

Luke’s olfactory senses told him that the grass was sterile, perfect from day zero – there was no refreshing smell of cut grass, or the scents of herbs and flowers. Or perhaps it was just the gag in his mouth preventing him from appreciating the scents that did exist.

Maybe both.

With breathing through the mouth gone from the already very short list of ways he could vent heat, Luke’s body began producing sweat. Every time he blinked, an anxious thought that maybe a drop of sweat from his ample brow hairs would enter his eyes and it would sting painfully with no way he could stop it invaded his mind.

Was this what being staked out would feel like? Minus the bed and more itchy grass?

Despite the obvious fact that Luke was not exactly enjoying his bondage, he knew this was the right choice –

***

“Prisoner.

“You have been given the opportunity for physical movement and exercise outside your cell. Do you accept or decline?”

Luke accepted, however painful this obvious invitation to back-breaking

***

In a fade to black, Luke was teleported to a cobblestone walkway, seemingly floating in the sky as gleaned from the context clue that all he could see over the railings was clouds.

Mesmerising as the scenery was, Luke was now most concerned with his task – to drag the cube of stone half his height he was bound to across the path in front of him.

Two holographic faceless guards marched alongside to his pace, whipping him with lashes of light that were simulated, but nonetheless delivered very real signals of pain to Luke.

The guards demanded a pace that was impossible to keep up (with); Luke was convinced that the pace was bullshit, and that they simply decided to require at the last moment everything he just gave, plus slightly more. He was always at least a foot or two down from his target, and his punishment would be five lashes to the backside.

Contrary to his assumptions, Luke would find no respite in being “ahead” either. Luke would take lashes to his chest and abs if he went too far ahead.

Just like the bondage he had experienced just now, the only pleasurable thing about this was the scenery. Pointless yet infinite labour, designed only to make him suffer. Still, he was thankful for it. Anything was better than –

***

It felt like a couple hours had passed when glowing chevrons directed Luke to lie back down on his bed, to “await instructions”. As he did so, the bondage of many chains and cuffs that he had previously experienced returned and immobilised him completely. He was left to watch his warden entered the cell and began setting up a feeder system similar to the one he was hooked up to in real life.

Luke very accurately predicted that his sustenance was to be energy paste and energy paste only. Additionally, his sense of flavour was deactivated momentarily for maximum suffering – as he ate, he felt as if he was drinking plain water despite the fact that the paste in the physical feeder was chicken flavoured.

Or at least it should have been. No telling whether Matt had switched it out for plain rations, of course.

Luke was getting very used to the cuffs and straps and chains. When he wanted to move his hips by an inch to one side, the muscles in his leg on the other side would tense up instinctively to “pull” him over. This description would have been more comprehensive, if not for the limiting factor that shifting his hips was the full extent of Luke’s allowed movements.

Even that came with its own caveat: he would incessantly pray that this freedom would not be removed from him. He was but a single naked man, powerless against the simulation that could easily deny him this movement with hundreds of methods.

More or less, blinking and breathing were his only concerns.

***

“Vantage, run diagnostics; check Subject’s neural activity.”

It took the highly powerful AI but a few seconds to produce a full report on Luke.

“All variables are as predicted in prior simulation. Telemetry indicates Subject’s neural activity levels are 23 percent under the First Dangerous Threshold. No issues foreseen.”

“Cross-reference previous simulation data.”

“Subject’s performance in current test is extremely positive -“

“Vantage, it’s exactly this that concerns me. Do the cross-reference.”

As quickly as ever, Vantage was able to present on Matt’s tablet a broken line graph of Luke’s average neural activity in each test.

“Factor in memory intensity.”

The last data point for the current test dipped uncomfortably low – for an extended, memoryintensive scenario that required a primer like the incarceration scenario Luke had entered, he was doing shockingly little work.

***

One summer, as I strolled along the coast, singing the songs of the fishermen, a man emerged from his bathing in the sea, and sang for me without fail accompaniment and counterpoint, in subtly shifting harmonies and scintillating overtones that compelled me to look at him – one wizened, thoroughly mature, and unmistakably powerful, who could send tides gentle like the pull of the breeze, or drown cities with storms howling like Charybdis of the deep.

I inquired how he could sing as he did. He replied simply, because of practice – the many years of hearing the same melodies over and over became his ataraxia, yet eventually he would find delight in rippling the static waters.

He had curious sensibilities; he was laissez faire enough to embrace my improvisational glissandos and admittedly slightly excessive rubato, but he had an acute sense for the details – insisting that our song was in C-sharp major, and not D-flat major.

***

A couple hours had passed when glowing chevrons directed Luke to lie back down on his bed, to “await instructions”. As he did so, the bondage of many chains and cuffs that he had previously experienced returned and immobilised him completely. He was left to watch as Matt entered the cell and began setting up a feeder system for him.

It was a given that his sustenance was to be energy paste and energy paste only. This was the only diet that was befitting of a prisoner – utilitarian and almost industrial in its application.

***

Inane Ramblings

The silence has a sound:

Yearning most profound;

Pains that hound;

Twisting, ‘round and ‘round.

The above,

Parlance without resound.

***

“Master, I think I know how to answer you.”

“Finally!” Hans joked, stroking his slave’s shaved head. “But answer honestly – I promise I won’t punish you, whatever answer you give.

“I want to know.”

A large grin appeared on Bruno’s face. His master really did care for him like a human and not like something he could throw out and replace on a whim.

He made up his mind.

“I think every slave wants to cum, Master. Secretly, we all hope we get to cum because we think we did something big, like breaking what we thought was our limit, or cleaning more of the house than you asked.”

“But?”

“But,” Bruno placed some comedic emphasis on the word, “it’s not going above and beyond, it’s just doing something we should do.

“So…yes, Master, I tried my best at sucking you because I was hoping for an orgasm, but I didn’t suck for an orgasm, if it makes sense.”

“It makes a lot of sense, and I think you’re a good slave,” Hans said, patting his slave on the back.

***

“Vantage. Stabilise subject.”

***

“Vantage. Stabilise –

***

“Vantage –

***

***

***

“Interfacing halted.”

To be continued…

By convict 975468

On the third or the fourth day—it was hard to keep track of time–the 12 civilian prisoners were allowed to dress in their own clothes.  Then they were chained up and moved by truck to the airfield, where they were taken into a military plane and locked to benches running along the side.  After a flight of several hours, they landed at another military base.  MP’s boarded the plane and unchained them from the benches.  They were led off the plane to an army truck, placed in the back, and secured.

Upon arriving at the base stockade, they were removed from the vehicle and led inside.  They went through two barred doors into a room with barred doors leading in several directions.  Their handcuffs and leg irons were removed and they were told to strip and put their clothes in the plastic bag given to each of them.  They were taken through the barred door to their right into what turned out to be a shower area.  They were sprayed with a foul smelling chemical and after a few minutes were allowed to shower it off.  They were issued olive-drab towels.  When they were dry, they were returned to the first room. The bags containing their clothes were gone, replaced by two stacks of skivvies and tee shirts.  One of the MPs said, “Civilians are not allowed to wear a uniform, so you’ll have to make do with these.”

After moving through another barred door, followed by another, they found themselves in a cell block.  A whistle was blown as the second door was opened.  Here there were only two-man cells.  Ted was placed with a man that had so far avoided being paddled.  They went to the back of the cell and knelt with their hands behind their heads until the cell was locked.  Once all of them were locked up, an MP explained the rules, which were much the same as those in the first stockade.

A whistle blew, and they got up and shook hands.  Ted used gestures to suggest they agree that one of them would keep watch while the other one slept.  The guy nodded agreement.  Then another whistle blew, and three MP’s came into the cell block – each carrying a nightstick.

“OK monkeys,” one of them said.  “Time for a little monkey training – get up on those bars.”

Huh?  What did that mean?

“I said climb on the bars!  Use your feet and paws, monkeys!”

They started climbing up on the bars.

“No.  This is how you are going to do it.”

The round vertical bars ran through several rectangular horizontal bars.  With his nightstick, the MP tapped the four-inch horizontal bar that was waist high.

“When monkeys get on my bars, they start with the balls of their feet on this bar.  Then they reach way up and grab a bar up there with one hand, and put their other hand on their heads.”

Ted and the other prisoners changed their positions so that they complied with the instructions.  But that wasn’t enough.

“I’m a nice guy,” the MP continued, “but I don’t like those toes invading my space.  When I give the order ‘up,’ pull those toes back and raise those heels.  Because I might just bang against the bars with my stick like this.”

He violently dragged his nightstick along the lowest horizontal bar on Ted’s cell.

“When I decide to hit the bars like that, those toes had better be fully ON the bar, and those balls had better be OFF, or something might get HURT.  UP, monkeys!”

Ted and his cellmate tried to fit their toes to the bar.  So did the prisoners on the other side of the walkway.  Ted soon realized it was very stressful holding the bars with only one hand.  Yeah, and they all looked like monkeys.

“Now,” the MP continued, “being such a nice guy, I might say ‘down’, in which case you could lower your heels and rest again with the balls of your feet on the bar.  But I really don’t like those toes sticking out into my corridor.  UP!”

The pain was excruciating.  But finally he said “DOWN!”

Then banged his stick against the bars of Ted’s cell.

“Hey weak little monkey.”  Ted’s cellmate had lowered his heels before he said down.  “I know just what we need to get you stronger.”

He ordered Ted and his cellmate to their knees at the back of the cell.  The cell door was opened and his mate was called out of the cell.

“Back on the bars.”  Ted climbed back on the bars.  From there he could see what was happening as two MP’s tied the cellmate’s hands to a rope attached to a pulley hanging on the ceiling and tied off on a hook on the wall.

“Since you don’t understand the meaning of ‘up,’ we will help you to learn.  UP monkeys!”

The men in the cells rose up on their toes and a MP pulled on the rope until the guy’s toes were barely touching the floor.  After about ten minutes, and having to change hands on the bars twice, the men were shaking from the stress, and the poor fellow’s rope had stretched till he was putting some of his weight on his toes.

“Down.”

The MPs lowered the man until his weight was on the balls of his feet.  After less than a minute, the MP said, “I really hate those toes in my corridor.”

“UP!”

The men got back on their toes and the guy in the corridor was raised again till his toes just touched the floor.  Three times in the next ten minutes they were ordered to switch hands.

Finally, the MP said, “I’m so glad we had time today to teach you monkeys to hang on the bars.  Now we can look forward to everyone playing the game.  DOWN.  All right, on your knees.”

The man was placed back in the cell with Ted.  They remained on their knees for some time, and when the whistle blew, they found a sandwich and a bottle of water for each man.

The afternoon was punctuated by regular visits from an MP.  On one visit the prisoners were required to hang on the bars again.  Ted’s cellmate struggled and shook, but he kept up on his toes as ordered.  Later the military prisoners returned from their work, and after supper things were quiet for a while.

Ted didn’t think it would stay that way, and he was right.  Around what he guessed was ten o’clock, two MPs came into the cellblock and played a game of monkeys.  The first set of monkeys-on-the-bars was followed by intense exercise.  Then it was back on the bars for an extended period, followed by more exercise.  It lasted over an hour, and within less than two hours the MPs were back for another session.  The games went on all night.

At dawn the prisoners were required to get out of their bunks and get ready for the day.  Then they were kept on their knees at the back of their cells.  Soon breakfast was passed out.  It was hearty–eggs, fried potatoes, sausage, and toast–all at room temperature with congealed grease for extra flavor.  Ted ate with gusto.  This was the best he’d had since he’d been in custody.

When they had eaten they returned to their knees as the military prisoners were led out to their day of labor.  But then the MPs came for the other prisoners.  Each prisoner was taken out of his cell and told to put on his civilian clothes,  and chained up – wrists attached to a waist chain.  They were lined up in two rows and given irons connecting the right leg of one to the left leg of the other.  Ted was pleased to find himself chained to Blake, whom he liked and had come to trust.

Once outside, they were required to climb into the back of a large military truck.  It’s hard to climb when you’re chained up like that—unless you’re a monkey, which nobody was.  But finally the prisoners figured out how to coordinate with their buddies, and they got inside.  They were seated on benches on either side of the truck, and chains were passed through their legs and locked at the front and rear of the vehicle.

After they left the military base, they were driven along the main highway for 20 minutes and then through a forest which turned into a gravel road which led to a large area cleared of trees.  There was a gate at the head of the road, with armed soldiers guarding it.  The truck slowed to a stop. The MP’s removed the padlocks and unlocked the chain.  The tailgate of the truck was lowered and the prisoners were ordered to get on all fours and crawl backwards to the edge, and then lie on their bellies and slide off, dropping to their feet on the ground.  Blake’s chinos were snagged on something so the two men dropped at slightly different times and were both off balance.  They fell to the ground.  Blake’s pants were ripped open from the crotch to his knee.  The guard immediately shouted, “Get the fuck up and stand by the side of the truck.”

Now they were facing a weather-beaten shack about the size of a small house.  Several Division of Public Order officers in their black uniforms were standing near the door.  The MPs removed the chains from the prisoners, climbed into the truck, and left.  As soon as they were gone, an officer in a uniform with silver insignia on the lapels and silver eagles on the epaulettes came out of the shack and approached the prisoners.

“You have been identified as disruptive and a threat to the social order, and assigned to this Civics Training Unit.  Being so designated, you are decommissioned as citizens.  Your privileges and so-called rights are hereby removed.  You now belong to the Division of Public Order.  The division has total authority over you. As a condition of a public emergency having been declared, no court has jurisdiction over you or this unit.

“The purpose of this unit is to remove you from society, and isolation is therefore mandated.   The camp is not on any map, and satellite images are blocked, as we are located by military installations.  No one that you know is going to find you.  What does that mean for you?  It means that you are here and you are going to stay here.  I have every expectation that this will be your home for the rest of your lives.  You will work. You will obey the rules.  You will do exactly as you are told, exactly when you are told to do it.  Otherwise you will be punished.  Any slacking or violation of a rule or hint of disrespect or insubordination will be punished.  You are not citizens — as such, you are not deserving to be treated as men, and you will not be addressed as men.

“My advice is that at this moment you accept your fate and resolve to adjust to your situation.

“In coming days you will learn the rules.  Do not expect them to be ‘fair.’  Many of you are here because you ‘demanded’ ‘fairness.’   But these rules are not designed to be fair.  They are designed to control you, to humiliate you, and to remind you that you are not men and that you deserve to be punished for the threat you have posed to the good order of society.  The first rule for you to learn is that you are to remain silent unless you are told to speak, or until you are asked a question by an officer.  There will be other rules, and, as I have said, you will inevitably learn them.

“You are some of our first internees.  You may be given the privilege to assist in building this training camp, both for yourselves and for the many others who will join you here.

“In a few minutes you will begin what I call ‘general work.’  A few days from now you will understand that any other kind of work is a privilege.  You will be willing to beg for the privilege of assisting in improving this camp.  Unfortunately for you, begging will not help.  It will be up to you to demonstrate your enthusiasm for your work and your desire to improve the camp.  If you want privileges, you must show your superiors your eagerness to work harder and faster and longer than your fellows.

“Repeat after me, ‘I am a civic correction worker.’”

“I am a civic correction worker.”  A few of them said it.

“Louder!”

“I AM A CIVIC CORRECTION WORKER!”  Most of them said it.

“LOUDER!”

“I AM A CIVIC CORRECTION WORKER!” All of them said it.

With that the senior officer turned and walked away.  Ted tried to look around, but a guard stepped forward and hit him across his chest, ordering, ”eyes front!”   They were then ordered to kneel on the ground with their heads bowed and their hands behind their backs.  Ted was wondering if they were going to have their heads chopped off!   Ted heard a loud mechanical noise coming up behind him.  Then he felt cold steel buzzing across his head, and saw his hair falling in clumps onto the dirt.  When he was told to stand, he saw that Blake was bald, and so were all the rest of them.  And so was he.

The prisoners were chained up, right ankle to the left ankle of their “partners.”’  Ted and Blake were chained together again, and now they were not only partners, but they looked remarkably alike.

They were ordered to turn to the right and were led about a hundred yards to an area fenced in with a primitive barbed wire fence.  A heavy timber connected to a section of barbed wire was locked to another timber with a heavy chain.  After the chain connecting the timbers was removed, one timber was pulled aside, allowing them to enter the enclosure.

Once inside, they saw a huge hole in the ground, with terraced sides – an old, open-pit mine, with a steep road winding down to the bottom.  By the entrance, there was a large army tent.  They were directed to the tent and their guards came forward carrying metal backpack frames to which large canvas bags were attached.  They were then led over by the road leading into the pit.  Nearby there was a large pile of broken rocks varying from the size of a baseball to a football. The lead guard shouted, “Each of you will fill his partner’s backpack half full of rocks from. To assist you in learning how to keep your footing while descending into the pit, for this first time only, your pack will be only half full.  OK scum, down into the pit with your rocks!”

They set off along the road winding down to the bottom of the pit.  Down and down, Ted and Blake trudged step by step.  After they had stumbled a couple of times, Blake suggested that he step forward with his left foot as Ted stepped forward with his right.  It was difficult to coordinate at first, but they were soon doing better.  Every now and then the chain connecting their ankles would catch on a rock, and they would almost fall.  But they continued, step by treacherous step, until they reached the bottom.  There were guards who directed them to the large pile of rocks.  They climbed up to the top of the pile and dumped their loads.

Now they moved to a second pile, where they were told to load each other’s pack to the brim.  The weight was unbelievable; they struggled to maintain their balance.  With a crack of the whip over their heads, they turned and started the long climb back to the surface.  Each step taught Ted more about his new life.  The work was senseless, stupid, pointless, and cruel.  It went beyond humiliation, but he didn’t have a word for it.  How could this have happened to him?  Tears filled his eyes; he was defeated.  Then he stopped — not climbing, but crying.  Now he was angry, but that passed quickly — it took too much effort!  A jerk of the chain caught on a rock brought his attention back to his feet, and to Blake and the need to coordinate and concentrate on their efforts.  His thoughts moved to his feet–left now, right now, left, right, left.  Eventually they were back at the top, directed to the correct pile to deposit their rocks, then to the other pile, to load up their packs, then down the road, back up the road — again, and again, and again.  It was a mine, but they weren’t mining anything except hard labor.

Finally it was getting dark.  They were ordered to put their backpacks in the storage bin.  Then they were led through the gate, and along the path past the shack toward an area that even in the dim light Ted could tell was surrounded by a barbed wire fence.  They approached another primitive gate, which was opened to allow them through.  Inside the fencing were a number of large tents surrounding an open area, where men had formed up into groups, standing in straight lines facing a raised platform.  Around the open area there were poles with lights illuminating the area.  At the far side of the enclosure there was a very large tent, also lit up.

They were led past four groups, each consisting of eight men standing side by side, with three rows of eight men standing behind them.  Each of the 32 men stood with his legs shoulder width apart and his hands behind his head. Each was standing rigidly, looking straight ahead.  Ted noticed that none of the men made the least effort to look at them as they passed.  When they had passed the fourth group, they were instructed to line up side by side —  eight of them now forming what would become the first row of the fifth group of 32 men, and the other four lined up in the second row.  They were instructed by the guards to stand like the men in the other groups, not to move, and to face straight ahead.  They were told that whenever they were formed up they must always follow these rules.  If they moved or looked around — the guard pointed to a whipping frame on the platform.

Once they were formed up, a guard stood before the groups and shouted, “What are you?”  All the prisoners shouted, “I AM A CIVIC CORRECTION WORKER!  I AM A CIVIC CORRECTION WORKER! I AM A CIVIC CORRECTION WORKER!”

The guard shouted, “Eyes on the frame.”  As they looked, a man from the first group was led to the platform, stripped of his clothes, and tied to a frame.  A guard came forward with a tawse and gave the man 10 hard stripes across his shoulders, ass, and thighs.  After the first couple of strokes he was screaming and begging.  Finally he was untied and allowed to put on his clothes and return to his place.  This performance convinced Ted and his peers that their lot was strict discipline.

They continued to stand in formation and after about ten minutes, someone from the large tent called, “Group 1.”  Group 1 was marched in order to the tent, then the other groups.  Group 5 was last, and when they got to the tent they were given metal bowls and a spoon.  They followed the serving line, and each of them received what appeared to be some sort of stew.

Ted didn’t find it very tasty.  I was a mixture of vegetables, beans and grains.  It didn’t matter, he started wolfing it down. There were no tables or chairs – no place to sit.  The chow line snaked around the tent, and as he rounded the far corner he saw that it ended near the serving line.  He saw one prisoner who had not finished eating, forced by the guard to throw away what was left in his bowl and place it on a stack on the table. Ted nudged Blake and they both began eating as fast as they could — finally turning the bowl up to eat directly from it.  They were able to finish just as they approached the table.  Even so, it wasn’t enough food.  Ted knew at once that in order to survive and perhaps find a way out of here, he was going to have to be very careful. He wondered if one of the punishments was reduced rations.  Regardless, he knew he must be very careful to keep on the right side of the guards.

To be continued …

Master Derek is one of the sadists at Brutal Tops who enjoys tying up a captive in the men’s room.

See the video at Brutal Tops

By SlickChaser

At some point, 27 and dumb, I realized dating wasn’t my thing. I didn’t care for girls, guys or both in a long term relationship in terms of life goals like buying a house, having kids or going above and beyond to look impressive to social media. I did want to experience some levels lf BDSM without the same commitments. Some dabble in one location with a munch group eventually lead to some dabbling with a bi-man (called “Gerry” for this story) after moving to a new location and job.

Gerry responded to some posted messages on a FetLife board post with my new local munch. Over time, I would visit and the order of operation was pretty simple; he would use some bondage gear and his setup mini-dungeon in the 2nd bedroom of his condo while I had to provide something everytime to help elevate the experience. Week one it was a ball gag head harness; week two a zipper PVC hood with only nostril and mouth opening; week three a collar he recommended; week four a new set of leather cuffs; week five a leather chest harness and butt plug harness with various sizes butt plugs. It was week five when the experience became a two sided affair, quite literally.

Up until that point, the process was simple. Show up at the condo, strip, Gerry would set me up in the various bondage gear in different manners; one time it was on his bench with suspension points with both hands and feet in the air; another in a strappado; another in a metal framed chair with hands and legs secure tightly.

Gerry loved a few of his things; mainly the full on mittens and his assortment of cock toys; flesh light, cock and ball separators, tens unit, nipple clamps, and more. Usually it was a pretty simple affair; he would usher me quickly to the room, show whatever new item he asked for, I would strip, he would set me up however he felt necessary, play and tease me for an extended period in various ways, then end with a hand or blow job of epic proportions. He would always joke “if I were only a woman, I would make a lot of money” for providing the mind blowing experience. We would chat briefly, come up with a new item to bring or purchase, then be on our way. No strings attached.

For week 5, he asked me to explore this particular new armbinder and a stricter posture type collar. The armbinder was all leather, with two shoulder straps and a large center ring where the straps and actual mono glove attached. I knew it would be demanding to wear, but the thought seemed enticing. The start of the session was similar to the past; he asked me this particular week to wear some shiny patent leather combat boots I had lying around, and a pair of shiny black PVC pants with a full front to back zipper I had already kept for my own pleasure.

He had positioned me on one of his special bench and rack combos; feet were chained to the front and floor, midsection and thighs were secured by several leather straps, hands locked into his favorite mitten cuffs and chained above my head at the wrists. He had me wear the new posture collar, the black hood and an additional leather blindfold that strapped through the back of my head, and came around my nose. He asked me to bring all my gags and opted for my largest 1.75” ball gag harness, which was no problem except I did like to excessively drool. For the session, he had inserted an electric stimulator torpedo, thankfully small.

The butt play thing was still new to me, though heightened the feelings and experience. He stroked and play with my cock, using a vibrator, his hand, and a flesh jacket on and off. To make it more strict than before, he had used my collar and the front d-ring to secure it firmly to the bench. It was hard to control myself, moaning through drool and bubbles as he played with me for what seemed longer than usual. As normal, he ditched everything to suck me off, resulting in a huge load ejected out. He undid my bonds, but different than usual, left my gag, hood and collar on.

“You know, so far this is a one sided deal, in my opinion. It’s been good, reallllly good, for you. But maybe we can make it realllly good for me. What say you?” Gerry as usual sounded incredibly friendly, though somewhat more serious than usual. I couldn’t really think of any response, though as he removed my ball gag, taking a deep breath for a second, I just said “yeah, why not.”

He didn’t take off my blindfold, hood or collar, but stood me up, fitted me in my chest harness, then I heard him rummage through a closet in the room. I heard a large rumbling in the room, what sounded like something on wheels that then was locked into something in the floor. I heard him walk over behind me on the wood floor, then take my arms and remove the mittens.

He then pulled two leather straps onto my arms and rested on my shoulders, then asked me to hold my palms flat to each other at the small of my back. I knew it was time for the armbinder. Quickly he pulled a zipper tight which enclosed my arms tightly to one another. Thankfully he didn’t try and make my elbows touch like I had seen in photos before. The hand sack at the bottom had a little free room, but it was tight and firm. To make it more taught, he applied two additional straps around the arm binder, one above my elbow, the second right at my wrists.

Standing for a moment in utter silence, I tried to move my arms, with barely an inch or two of movement side to side, and basically couldn’t move them front to back unless I leaned my back either way. I had never experienced that level of tightness, but it was stimulating, even though I had just popped off an orgasm just minutes before. A moment later, Gerry asked me to step forward and kneel down.

He slowly led me down onto my knees, landing on what felt like a soft platform for each leg. Once set, he leaned me forward into what felt like an almost vertical pad. Little did I know, it was a metal constructed contraption where the main front piece could be mounted on an angle to lie someone forward, or backwards, and use the bottom portion to support the person on their knees. The front piece was rectangular, mounted on swinging hinges that were set by quick pins, like those from gym equipment. It positioned my back nearly upright, but the front support only covered from just above my crotch to the top of my chest. He fastened some leather straps that went around the front and my arms, leaning my forward so that once the three straps were fastened, I was still vertical.

My legs were also strapped into each of the leg supports, two across each calf, then each ankle was attached via some clips to the ends of the supports. A final Y strap was used to attach the d ring from the end of the armbinder to the same attachment point for each ankle. It was all taught, almost perfectly fitting to my size and evil in every way. But I instantly felt myself becoming hard again, despite the enormous ejaculation I already had.

Finally, Gerry clued me in to what was about to happen. “Don’t you ever wonder how I became so good, at, you know, getting the finish done on you?” My brain took a second but put the clue together; I was about to suck away in his cock. I laughed a little but then worryingly said “I’ve never done it before, I don’t think I’ll be very good.”

Gerry laughed a little as I heard him rummage. “Well I know that, but you have to learn. This is how I learned from my first partner. Controlled, coached, directed by me. You’ll figure it out over time.” The phrase “over time” meant this likely would become a thing. I wasn’t stoked on the idea, but was clearly in a predicament I couldn’t avoid.

“So, tell you what. I’ll hook your cock into the vibrator and stroker sleeve, while I direct you how to suck away, and we’ll see who cums first. Obviously if you squirt, I’ll jerk it out on the side, otherwise, you’ll get your first taste today.” I didn’t really have a response, only rocking myself a little bit as I heard him open a bottle of lube, lather my penis and the attachment, then slide it on. He had something clipped on the front to support the vibrator, holding it just right against my somewhat hard cock. Like our sessions as normal, there was no small talk, just a click, and the vibrator on a low setting, thumping on and off. Ultimate tease mode. My brain had to wrap around how to cum again, while I knew what was about to happen.

“Okay, so just imagine you are sucking on some fingers and you don’t want to snag any of them with your teeth.” I felt Gerry place his fingers in my mouth first, then something I never thought I’d experience; a large, hard and firm cock began to enter my mouth. He held the back of my hooded head, and with the posture collar, I couldn’t rock anywhere back or forth. Slowly he inserted it deep into my mouth; I pretended it were my fingers, and slowly sucked against them; just now I had no control on how to pull out.

“Oh, that’s a quick rush. Okay, now you’ll lick the tip a little and I’ll do the rest.” He pulled out, positioning his tip perfectly along my lips. Instinctively, I leaned my head as forward as possible, with the collar limiting most of the movement. I used my tongue to slowly lick, turn on the tip slowly, then quickly run it back and forth on the underside, and just kind of kept playing around. All the meanwhile, I tried to desperately get my mindset to my cock becoming harder, though the tease mode of the vibrator on and off was limiting things. Gerry pulled completely away for a second, then proclaimed “let’s go back in, shall we?”

I felt him place his right hand on the back of my head, and I positioned my mouth completely open, and he slowly inserted his cock once again, but this time he kept progressing in, running it to the back of my throat, then not letting up. With the finite room allowed by the collar, he jerked my head back and forth; I simply was trying to run my tongue along the bottom and thought to just keep sucking a little. What seemed like forever, he let his cock out, and I gasped for breath. I felt my own cock become slightly harder and more intrigued to get to a point of cumming again. In my mind, I had a chance to possibly beat him.

Seconds later, I felt his cock at the tip of my lips. In a strange moment, I licked his tip around with my tongue again, and he slowly inserted once again. This time he stroked gently in and out; usually 3-4 pumps in my mouth, then he would pull out. About the fifth time, I began to hear him jerk off in between. I knew he was starting to try hard now, and my thoughts were confirmed as on the next insertion, he once again grabbed the back of my head, and went in and out as deep as possible. When he went slow, I kept trying to suck and run my tongue as tight as possible; the “smack” sound that filled the room when he would pull out was strangely satisfying. Each time he jerked off, I was slightly more stimulated. I almost wanted to make him cum first just to show I could do it.

As he inserted the next time, I began to try and move my head myself, even knowing I was limited. Gerry saw this, lamenting “I think maybe you’re enjoying this a lot. I’m ready to finish up.” He once again grabbed the back of my head, and went slowly into the deep throat position, back out to jerk for a second, then back in to pulse as quickly as possible. I tried to move my head against his strokes as well, but his hand made sure to force me where he wanted. I felt myself approaching a point I could possibly cum, but knew he was getting closer. Each time he pulled out, I would take a quick breath, but then just immediately open my mouth with my tongue ready to lick more.

Several more times of him forcing me to suck back and forth, and I then tasted something in my tongue; some precum. “How long do I have now?” I said to myself. As he went for the deep throat, he began to pulse himself slowly and methodically again. I went full bore, twisting my tongue around his cock, sucking it, doing anything I could think of. As he pulled out to jerk off, he made a loud moan. Seconds later he slowly forced his cock back in, and after he grabbed my head and slowly pulsed twice in and out from my deep throat, I finally felt it; squirt, squirt, then a long squirt of warm gooey substance. As he moaned and cummed all inside me, he once again forced himself to pulse in and out, then stopped near the tip of my mouth as he finished by jerking the base of his cock.

What felt like an eternity, he pulled completely out; I had the urge to spit all the cum out, but Gerry quickly snapped my mouth shut with his left hand on my chin and right hand on top of my head. “Just swallow it. Learn the right way.” Two or three big gulps, and the warm cum finally made its way into my throat and away. I still had some sticky bits left, which slowly ran out with drool as he allowed me to reopen my mouth. All the while, the vibrator was still running.

I heard Gerry walk away, then back towards me. “Now, let’s see if you can pop off again. Let’s do this for you.” He stepped in front, inserted and fastened the ball gag harness again. I still had some parts of cum in my mouth, and once he re-inserted the gag, it became a running fountain of drool.

He turned the vibrator into a deep constant cycle. I wanted to finish badly. Gerry kneeled down, and touched and massaged my balls; they were uber sensitive and within seconds, I felt near the edge. He backed his hand away, perfectly knowing what he was doing. I was at the point of almost spitting out drool, my mouth still tarnished by the cum taste and leftovers. As he massaged them again, I finally felt my cock unleash. The cumming was a relief, but also brought about a tightness and feeling through my body I had never felt. My instinctive moan came out as a “ooosppph” as large bubbles of drool and cum forced itself out of the way of the gag.

Gerry turned off the vibrator, wiped down the floor of the mess I created, then left me for a few moments to collect my thoughts. He took off the gag, collar and hood, still leaving me slightly bound. He kneeled down, quietly whispering “well that was fun. You have a lot of potential to make me happy, and you have a lot of opportunities to get off.” I didn’t have too much to respond to other than “yeah, worked well” as I tried to cleanse my mouth. Swallowing as much cum as I could left quite an aftertaste and mental image. The image itself stuck with me, but in a good way. He finally released me from the predicament, and he gave me a big hug and helped wipe me down.

As I packed up to leave, I felt weird, but satisfied knowing I provided for him. My mind continued to say to me “that was weird and unexpected”, but I was ready to do it over. Certainly he had more plans moving forward. I was apprehensive to return, but, when Gerry asked when we should meet next week, I simply said “I’ll be back at the same time and place, hopefully ready to suck another load out.”

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

By Rubrpig

4798 woke up and lay on his bunk in the blacked-out cell he had been confined to since he was transferred to the super max wing of the correctional facility.  He shifted trying to get comfortable but the heavy steel 5-point chains he was locked in weighed heavily on his chest as he lay there.  Sitting up made no difference as the weight of the chains dragged at the heavy steel collar of the chains forcing him to slum forward.

Just then the light flashed on in his cell and he knew that it was morning and he would be fed soon.  The food slot in the door slammed open and his food tray slid in.  The food was always the same and tasteless for the most part.  Boiled chicken, rice and boiled carrots.  He was fed the same 3 times a day without any variation.

He finished his food and waited for the food slot to open in the door and he shoved the tray out with his right foot.  He sat back and waited till the guards checked the tray and the slot slammed shut.  He knew his hour in the exercise yard would be soon.

Since the chains had gone on he did not look forward to his hour in the exercise yard.  The heavy chains combined with a 25-pound steel ball and chains locked onto his right leg for the hour he was in the yard did not improve his attitude about what was happening.

The door slammed open and his four personal guards stomped into the cell.  As usual, they were dressed in black fatigues, full riot body armour, helmets and face shields.  They were always heavily armed as they had no fear of 4798 trying to grab a weapon due to his heavy chains.

They dragged him out of the cell and forced him to shuffle down the hallway.  They pointed to the door to the exercise yard and he shuffled over to it and stood waiting at the door.  One of the guards knelt and locked the shackle of the ball and chain to his right leg.  The door opened and he was shoved through into the caged yard.  He had to keep moving the entire hour or he would be punished.  He shuffled around dragging the heavy ball behind him.

He wondered how much longer he had on his sentence.  He had signed up for 12 weeks at the correctional centre and the experience was to culminate with several weeks in Super Max.  He then began to think what he could do to antagonize his guards again.  Despite his protests to the contrary, he was really enjoying the heavy chains he was locked in.  Being in shackles 24/7 was his idea of bondage heaven.  The 3 weeks he had spent at the start of his visit was memorable as he was locked in a heavy leather straitjacket 24/7 for the 3 weeks of his stay at the mental hospital that was part of the correctional facility.

He decided to try to resist once his hour was up in the yard, as he knew the guards would definitely react to any rebellion on his part.  They had warned him repeatedly that he was to remain docile at all times.  The door to the yard opened and he shuffled over to it dragging the ball behind him.  He stepped into the prison building and just as the guard unlocked the shackle from his right ankle he shuffled right and threw his weight at the guard kneeling beside him.  The other three guards then reacted and grabbed him and slammed him against the wall.  He was pinned by 2 of the guards.

The one he body slammed got to his feet and stood in front of 4798 and slammed his right fist into 4798’s gut.  4798 slumped over and groaned from the hit.  He was then dragged to the punishment area.  He smiled to himself as the guards dragged him down the corridor and into the punishment room.  He was held tightly as his heavy chains were unlocked.  He was then ordered to strip and he quickly stripped off his prison uniform and was soon standing naked in front of the guards.

He was grabbed by two of them and the other two guards quickly put heavy leather 4 buckle suspension cuffs on his wrists.  He was dragged over to a wall and was lifted up and put on a tall box.  Two of the guards locked chains on the cuffs on his wrists and then activated a winch.  The chains tightened up and he was slowly lifted up and his arms spread out wide.  The box he stood on was removed and his entire body weight was now suspended by his arms and shoulders.  As he hung there, the tension built up in his arms and shoulders.  One of the guards came over and brought a short ladder.  He got up on the ladder and ordered 4798 to open his mouth.

He obeyed and the guard quickly fitted a steel spider gag into 4798’s mouth and strapped it tight to his head.  The guard got down off the ladder and put it away.  By that time, 4798 had begun to drool and a string of drool dropped from his mouth.

He hung on the wall and the stress of the crucifixion bondage he had been placed in was taking a toll on his shoulders.  It felt like his arms were being pulled from their sockets.  He moaned and that just made him drool more.  One of his guards walked up carrying a step stool and he got up on it.  He put nipple clamps on 4798’s nipples and then he hung a couple of small weights from the chain so the clamps tightened even more as well as stretching his nipples.  He groaned and drooled.

The guards turned and left the punishment room leaving 4798 alone to contemplate his predicament and his rebellious behaviour in trying to shove one of his guards.  His head drooped as he hung on the wall.

Time seemed to pass slowly as he hung there.  His arms and shoulders had gone numb and he was drooling continuously now.  The door to the room opened and he slowly raised his head and stared.  His guards returned and they were followed by Captain Ferguson. 4798 knew he was now in serious trouble.  Captain Ferguson walked up and asked 4798 if he had really expected to get away with pushing a guard but all 4798 could do was moan and drool.

The Captain turned and ordered his men to remove 4798 from the crucifixion bondage and get him cleaned up and back in his uniform and chains.  Once that was done, they were to bring him to his office.

It took a while for the guards to get 4798 cleaned up as he had become very weak from the bondage so his arms were almost useless.  But they got him cleaned up and back in his prison uniform and chains.  They dragged him along the cell corridor and to the main entrance door to the Supermax Prison.  The main door opened and 4798 was dragged out and along the corridor to Captain Ferguson’s office.  Once there, a guard knocked on the door and was told to enter.  The guards and 4798 entered the office where the guards saluted and reported that 4798 was prepared and delivered as ordered.  Captain Ferguson nodded and dismissed the guards leaving 4798 standing and swaying on his feet, his head bowed.  He was trembling from exhaustion but remained still.

Captain Ferguson stood, his heavy body armour creaking as he shifted his heavy muscular body.  He looked at the prisoner standing before him and remembered what he had looked like when he arrived 11 weeks earlier.  That confident and muscular man had been replaced with a weakened man who had actually become in his mind a prisoner.  The captain smiled and he told the prisoner to look at him.  4798 looked up and listened as the Captain spoke.

He told the prisoner that he was being paroled despite his lack of good behaviour.  4798 looked startled and the captain told him that his 12 weeks were almost up and he would be released in 3 days.  During the remaining 3 days he would be taken to the medical facility to be checked over and given rest and food to regain his strength.

The captain barked an order and 4798’s guards entered the room.  They were ordered to take the prisoner to the medical facility to be processed out of the prison.  They nodded and dragged 4798 out of the office.

End of Part 8

At Brutal Tops, a captive is restrained like a pig on a spit. He is forced to worship every grimy inch of a construction worker’s boots. Any hesitation results in total and merciless PUNISHMENT!

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The men of Brutal Tops know how to make things rough for a muscular captive. Check them out:

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At Brutal Tops, Master Aaron knows how to destroy a captive’s arse. This restrained muscular animal can’t move a fucking inch without causing itself absolute AGONY! And all it takes is a little flick of the switch to send electro shocks to the his most sensitive bits. Haha! It takes all its willpower not to leap off the block.

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By Taurus

Epilogue 1 – Explanations

“Revolution for prison; recent developments in implant interfacing have triggered significant change in incarceration. Prisoners will only experience their sentences mentally while their physical bodies experience only a small fraction of their sentences.”

Luke returned the tablet after listening to the

“Mr Dominique, are you sure you -“

“Yes. As Subject L, I understand perfectly how this stuff works.”

“No,” the officer stood up, “I’m asking if you need some clothes.”

Luke chuckled. “Officer Dunn, it’s summer. That and I’m gonna be posing for a photo shoot all day, so underwear will be all I need to really wear anyway.”

“Will you be alright? You can use Pleroma under supervision for now, but as it is, some of its…functions have to be removed.

“At some point we must wipe and incinerate the Pleroma servers, and then rebuild the whole program as ‘Project Chrysalis’ like you asked us to.”

The bodybuilder hung his head and looked shamefully at his erect cock.

“Matt, he…planted a lot of ideas in my head.

“Look, even after two weeks of regular therapy, my body still rejects wearing clothes after a year in the nude. I need time to become a normal person again, and I need to get over killing Matt. Or at least using the program looks…it felt like…”

“Ah, fuck it,” Luke frustratedly exclaimed as he pushed against the table and fell onto his backrest.

“You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to – I’m not interrogating you.”

“No,” Luke stood up as he looked back at the suited man, now with renewed strength, “I’m telling you because I want to, not because someone told me to.”

There was a pause (and an uplifting of the mood) as Luke sat back down, fumbling slightly to get his cock and balls back under the table.

“Mostly I’m fine,” the bodybuilder reassured with a slightly tired smile. “But before I go, did I get permission for my visitation request?”

“Yes.”

Epilogue 2 – Clothing

With his 3D image souvenir from his first time in this simulation as a reference, Luke moaned and twisted his body as all the bondage he commanded to appear slowly applied itself to him cuff by cuff and chain by chain; a sensual affair halted by the killjoy that was a warning message to stay still and square.

The bondage was as ludicrous as he remembered: tight straps pushed out his pecs and squeezed in his abs, and four cuffs secured each limb in a spreadeagle. Chains secured his collar to the floor through the hole in the bed and his myriad cuffs to the bed frame, while rigid bars fixed his hands and feet in place.

Not all was identical, however. Luke decided that it would be good to also lock his hands in fist mitts, clamp his nipples down, and stuff his ass with a prostate massager plug. This time, he could freely get hard – he had no chastity cage on.

Only then was he satisfied, and gave the command to apply the ball gag.

That and the command to scan himself. Like last time, too hot to forget.

***

Luke had his 15 minutes of fun in solitude, humping at the air as much as he could – his movement trumps only being welded to the bed frame – moaning his doubts away.

The experience was far more pleasant than one may fear it to be. He was in control, getting gently stimulated in all the right places. Hell, the bed was designed for him in the first place – measurements have not changed at all.

He bit down on the gag, chewing lightly, as if to savour the supple texture of the pain he so happily inflicted upon himself. This buffet of sensation was multi-sensory; the slightly pungent but arousing scent of his sweat enhanced the taste of silicone in his mouth, as the chain between his nipples danced and jingled.

All of a sudden, the ball gag was removed. The straps quickly unravelled and the gag floated upwards, disappearing from Luke’s awareness.

This was no surprise, however; Luke had scheduled this exact event.

“Hi there, Master.”

“You’d still call me that?”

“No, just for convenience. Like how you’d reprogram my mind rather than discipline me like a real sub.

“And then you’d make me pretend I was on vacation in another country.

“Then you’d then say that isolating me from everyone I knew was ‘love’ and not what it really was – abuse.”

Although the prison simulation was usually run by AI guards, Luke had arranged for humans to escort Matt in the simulation, who obviously tried to stay quiet, though understandably could not help but let out little gasps.

So far, the visitation was proceeding as predicted by his AI – Vantage, who had enough data on Matt to almost perfectly simulate his thinking.

It was predicted that Matt would likely not express any emotions, but he definitely would be quiet. So far, so good.

“Don’t worry though, I didn’t come here to gloat.”

“What’re you doing then, hmm?” An oily tinge of unease coloured Matt’s question.

Luke, though bound humiliatingly, savoured the moment as his presence towered over his owner he could not even bother to see – not in real life, not in simulation.

“I made a mistake. I did come here to gloat, as well as to lift a curse.

“You know, you never knew what loyalty was. Your AIs never understood it either. That’s why you had to ‘program’ me.”

As much as he could, Luke nodded his head to signal the guards, who produced a message for Matt to read, and a virtual taser that created very real pain.

“Your name is Luke. From now on, you are a man, and are permitted to freely wear clothes and have sex with anyone you wish. I am no longer your owner.”

Matt, knowing there was no dignity to be saved, read out the passage verbatim with a certain solemn inference, as though he was praying.

Or confessing his sins.

“Do…?”

“Of course. Now you can disappear from my life forever.”

***

“Visitation manually ended.”

“Exiting incarceration simulation.

“Report to a medical officer in case of any physical discomfort.”

***

After floating for a bit, Luke felt his body weigh down on some fabric.

This was real life.

Quickly, he regained control, and removed his headset by himself.

The bed he lay on in the real world was not unlike the one he bound himself to in the simulation, only it did not have the hole under the neck.

Luke took a deep breath and looked to his left: rows and rows of beds with nude prisoners on them, each with feeding and excretion tubes ready to be hooked up to them at a moment’s notice.

It was a ghastly sight – it was only hot when he was the one getting bound for fun.

Before he could contemplate too deeply too long, the two guards that entered the simulation with him approached to check on his condition.

“Pah! I tested this stuff!”

“Well, evidently you’re okay,” one of the guards chuckled, “so…medical attention will not be necessary.”

The other guard – who was in a less wisecracking mood and more a contemplative one, as he walked the naked bodybuilder to his changing space, asked what Matt’s last question was.

“Hey, don’t.”

Quite abruptly, the shits-and-giggles stopped. The awkward mood was saved only by Luke’s willingness to reveal the question.

“I was his sex slave. He asked if I wanted to cum. And of course I do – I hadn’t cum in years.”

With some finality, Luke – with his escorts bearing witness – threaded his ample limbs through a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, finally capping his outfit off with a pair of socks and running shoes.

For the first time in forever, he felt no need to tear himself from fabric.

Epilogue 3 – Important Business

Luke had no more need for Pleroma now that he could wear clothes, but Pleroma was a novelty he could never have again.

It was a crutch for his diseased mind – for this fact there was no doubt – but it was a damn fancy crutch for a very strange disease indeed.

The most memorable days were the simple ones – days where he worked out with his gym patrons, days where he went for a walk in a park while wearing nipple clamps, days where he opted to piss among nearby trees and not in the dirty public bathrooms.

As Luke sat in the toilet cubicle – with no intention to actually use the toilet, fondling himself without fear of getting punished for it, he received a call.

“Hello, Mr Dominique. I see you’re getting better now.”

“Damn! You’re so quick…” Luke exclaimed, with a touch of disappointment. “Could we work something out?”

“No,” Officer Dunn paused for a theatrical breath, “but I’m just gonna break the news to you that the fastest timeline is this:

“The Saturday tomorrow is reserved for you to prove you can wear clothes, the next Saturday is for a full check-up, then the next one after that is the official day.

“Let’s just say that we’re all busy people and that the bureaucracy has to be respected. No negotiations.”

Promptly, Luke’s supervision officer hung up.

And promptly, Luke walked out of the incarceration facility, buck naked under the veil of Pleroma, all the while texting his contacts to plan something big enough to not want to use Pleroma ever again.

***

“How’s it feel to be a dumb piece of meat?” Luke’s tormentors taunted as they flogged the bodybuilder – his back against a large tree – from all the frontal angles possible.

Luke could not respond, partly because he was getting beaten while being blindfolded, partly because he was brought where he was – a secluded campsite deep in the woods outside the city – in a sleepsack, but mostly because he was gagged.

The day went on as he had hoped it would – constantly being forced to give blowjobs and being fucked, always while he was being restrained and humiliated in some way. More often than not, he was wearing a blindfold, a gag, nipple clamps, anal plugs, or any combination of the above. His tormentors put him in arduous positions he, as a bodybuilder, would suffer great pain to hold.

At this point, if all perspectives were purely objective, then he might even prefer to be Matt’s slave. Hell, even the uncaring chastity was the same.

But this felt better. His suffering was built on trust and respect – it was first allowed and subsequently invited, not simply thrust upon him without consulting him.

***

By 2 pm, the caravan of trucks and SUVs were slowly loaded as the campsite was dismantled. Soon, the only items left to load in the vehicles was Luke’s bag and Luke himself.

He was still tied to a tree, still gagged and plugged, with his bag between his legs, unceremoniously catching his precum, sweat, and drool.

One man walked up to the bound bodybuilder and switched the rope around his wrists for a pair of handcuffs with an electronically controlled lock.

Luke prayed that what he thinks will happen will not, even though he knows full well not only that his prediction will be accurate, he will even enjoy it.

“So, let me just organise some facts for you: we’ll get in the cars, lock the doors, then set you free. After we drive off, you’ll then put on the nipple clamps in your bag, which we’ve filled with food and water.

“You can follow our tracks, and we’ve organised a car to take you home when you find tarmac. Get home, unlock yourself, make a video meeting, then cum on camera.”

***

The man who last spoke to Luke about his predicament gave him a pat on the head and fulfilled his promises exactly. Before long, Luke was completely alone as he crouched over his bag, eventually presenting himself to Mother Nature as a slave – accordingly with clamped nipples, caged dick, and plugged ass.

The trek down was physically rather easy for Luke. His days of labouring for Matt barefooted under the protection of Pleroma had calloused his soles, and so long as he stayed on the beaten dirt it did not hurt too much. Navigation was similarly easy; there was still ample daylight left, the vehicles left clear tracks to follow, and he always had a detailed map on his phone to fall back on should disaster strike – which never did.

The promised chauffeur was, again as promised, waiting for Luke, standing by the rear door in anticipation of him. As he approached the car, however, the anticipation was not to open the car door, but to tackle Luke.

“It’s Dunn, don’t panic.”

And panic Luke did not. Dutifully, he presented himself to Dunn, who confirmed that the nipple clamps were firmly on, that the plug sat deep, and that the chastity cage was frustrating – all by lightly kicking at them.

“Good, you followed the orders. Now, put on your gag, then your leg restraints, then your blindfold, then get in the car.”

“Wait, sir,” Luke looked at his supervision officer with curious eyes, “did you…”

“I knew everything you were planning. And I know what you’ve gone through – I actually suggested this.

“Don’t thank me. Just be quick and get in the car – off hours are precious.”

***

Using Pleroma, Luke was marched into his home as he rode in the car. He slowly felt his way to a chair as Dunn helped Luke set up by first securing his legs to the chair, then setting up a tripod and phone, and finally unlocking Luke’s cage.

By this point, Luke could barely think. In a way, he had been edged for upwards of a year. Everything he had done would culminate in one moment.

One glorious moment.

“Jerk off.” A voice from the phone commanded.

Luke reached slowly for his cock. This 6-inch long rod of meat that had been robbed from him had been reclaimed. He may have every sex toy imaginable fixed to him because he was told to do so, and he may have been immobilised because he was put in this position, but he allowed those people to have this power over him.

With not anger against Matt but with ecstasy in light of this power, the idea that Luke should never touch his cock again faded to nothing, and he willfully enjoyed every moment.

To the best of his ability, he announced through his gag that he was close, and signaled to Dunn by (foolishly) trying to tilt himself back to do so, which he did, revealing in one shot all of his bondage, including a glimpse of the plug in his ass.

Instinctively, Luke decided to angle his cock as far backwards as he could, spraying his load a year coming all over his abs, chest, and face, for which all his audience cheered.

The end

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Metal would like to thank Taurus for this story!

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At Brutal Tops, a bully won’t stick his big dick in that dirt box till it’s totally clean. The captive runt moans in agony as his guts get flushed out with freezing cold water. Then he gets an arse pounding!

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