The only good position for a captive like this is tied up naked with its legs spread in the air. That gives the men from Brutal Tops full access to his tight hole.

See the VIDEO at Brutal Tops

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 13: What Everyone’s Wearing on Palmerston Road

When you first get your collar, it feels so heavy, it’s almost like you’re an animal wearing one of those wooden yokes you see in pictures of, like, primitive places or whatever.  Of course you get used to it pretty fast.  But when they first put it on you, it’s a big thrill.  I mean, it’s not like, hmmm, this is a new piece of clothing, I wonder how I’m gonna like it, maybe I’ll take it off.  Your collar is fuckin ATTACHED to you!  And you’re gonna be wearin it for the rest of your life!  So like I said, big thrill!

“What’s this?” Malcolm said, looking down at my cock.  Which was sticking straight up.

“Dunno,” I said.  “Guess it likes my number.”

“He really is a smartass,” Jojo said.

“Whatever,” Malcolm said.  “Now sit on that chair.”

Too bad, I thought.  Nobody likes my dick.  Anyway, there were some old wooden chairs in the room, and I sat down on one of them.  Behind me, something switched on.  Something electric.  Something that made a loud whirring noise.  “Hold still,” Malcolm said.  “I’m gonna buzz you off.”

And that’s what he did.  He started in the middle of my forehead and buzzed a path all the way to my crown.  Then he plowed off all the rest of my hair.  I’d had a lot of it, but it wasn’t on my head anymore; it was all on my shoulders and crotch!  I ran my hand across my skull.  I was totally bald!

“Fuck!” I said.

“Aw, ver’ sorry mon.  Weren’t expectin that, eh mon?”

“I . . . no.  I wasn’t.”

“Yeh, too bad,” Jojo said.  “But maybe you get some owner, he let you grow it like us.  Or maybe not.  Anyway, you bald now.”  He ran his hands through his hair, which was thick and yellow, yellow like the pictures of Dutch boys in my third-grade geography book.  So he was, like, a total bitch–and I was bald!

Which I did NOT see coming, and it was a real big deal for me.  To me, bald guys were like . . . OK, they were the guys that weren’t goin to college.  The guys that were gonna end up working in some oil-change place.  That’s where I saw them.  Also a lot of dumb guys that went around actin tough.  I remembered one of the gay kids in high school—not that we were friends or anything, I guess I was way too “cis” for him, but I remembered him looking at some kid with a bald head and saying “cringeworthy!”  And I agreed.  And now I was cringeworthy!

But you see how stupid I was!  It took me measurable time to realize that A, I’m not goin to college, and B, I’m not gonna be workin for an oil-change place and gettin paid for it, I’m gonna be workin as a fuckin servant, dude, and C, if I have to be dumb to be tough, then I want to be dumb.  So when Jojo said “you bald now,” I missed a few beats, but I came back and said “hey, that’s great!  I’ve been meanin to do that.”

Then since I was bein a bitch he needed to be even more of a bitch and he said, “Since you likin you baldy so much, I’m bettin you want you picture taken.  Against thee wall, boy.”

Hey, now that he brought it up, I did wanta have my picture taken!  I knew it must be for some kind of records or something, but so what, fine with me!  And it was just like you see in movies, where some dude is arrested and then they’re takin his mugshots, you know, front, left side, right side, so on, but this time the DUDE was naked and lookin more than criminal if you know what I mean!  A very bad boy!  I was definitely feeling that way.  And the collar was a good accent for a bad boy attitude.  So I had a smirk on me, all the way through.

“OK,” Jojo said.  “You done.”

“I’m just gettin started,” I said.  Yeah, I knew that would bug him.  I did see him lookin down at my dick, and I wanted to be like one of those dudes in the movies, like “You want some a this? You want some a this?”, only the guys in the movies were talkin about real guns, instead of . . . you know.

“Yeh?” he said.  “Then we help you some mo’.  Time to put you in you slappie clothes.  Git in there.”  Pointing to the back room.  So yeah!  If that’s where they’re handin out the browns . . . !

So I was about to be uniformed, but I was already carryin around this HUGE sign of manhood.  I could’ve tried to cover it, but I didn’t care anymore.  Even when Jojo and Malcolm were glancing back and forth, like what the fuck!  But I did notice Malcolm scratching his shorts a lot.  And maybe Jojo, once or twice.  But anyway, there was a line of feet painted on the floor, outlines of feet, like they were goin someplace, but they weren’t.  You can’t just walk away from Slappietown!  So OK, it was just to find out what size you were—I mean, what size your feet were—when you stood on them.  So that was sort of fun, goin back and forth from one set of feet to another, like I was tryin to find my True Identity, lol!  Then Jojo said “size 12! You got big feet like a walrus, dude,” and Malcolm dropped this huge pair of boots on the table they had in there, and those were MY boots!  And right after that, another load of brown hit the table, and that was my uniform!

I guess they could tell my clothes size, sort of, just by lookin at me and knowin how big my collar was, like I told you.  But I also guess they weren’t worried too much about that.

“Doan wanta disappoint ya, dude,” Jojo said, “but these browns ain’t so good as thee ones we wearin.  Ain’t no number, ain’t no name, ain’t no nothin.  An why?  Cuz you ain’t nothin yet.  You gotta earn you number on you browns.”

I looked at the top of the pile, which was the shirt.  It was true—all it said on the chest was SLP.   But the color was right.  Definitely brown, only sorta washed out.  Like they’d been passin those things on from one slap to another.  Which was true.  Anyway, so what?

“Oh yeah,” I said.  “I’ll earn it.”  Givin him a big grin, just to show who was on top.  Sort of!  Not!  But he didn’t like it.

“Put em on,” he said.

“That’s all I wanta do!” I said.

So fuck him—I started putting on my clothes.  Of course, I’d worn Patrick’s browns before, and I pretended that was real, cuz it was real enough at the time, but nah, THIS was the real thing.  No matter what Jojo said.  And it was so easy—there’s only five parts to a slappie suit.  Which was too bad, because I was havin a fuckin party about every one of them!

Hard to tell which was the hottest.  Those little y-fronts with the  SLP stamped on them, thigh and butt—if you still need to be convinced that your balls don’t belong to you anymore, that will do it.  Your butt too!  You gotta love that heavy harsh feel around your nuts, under your nuts, in back of your nuts . . . .   I’d heard a lot about “supportive relationships,” but that was the one I liked.

The shorts couldn’t really compete after that, but you gotta remember, this is what the public sees, and there’s nothin like that big black  SLP on your butt to tell everybody that you’re owned and who owns you.  Did I want to be owned?  Sure, if I could wear those shorts!  And seriously, if you’re owned, why not advertise it?

Then the shirt, which has always gotta be my favorite, because that’s what you feel the most.  OK, you’re feelin your undies, but they’re not goin anyplace.  Your shirt is always shiftin around and doin things to your pecs and your back and your shoulders and your nips.  And also, like I said before, the shorts are what people see, but even more, they’re lookin at your shirt.  They’re seein this smokin hot tough slappie boy in his big brown slappie shirt with, can’t say it enough, a great big  SLP on his pec and another great big  SLP smack in the middle of his back, and they know, this bad dude is a servant in the State Labour Program.   I mean, FUCK!  That’s all I can say!  Except I was fuckin ready to shoot all the time I was puttin that shirt on.  In fact, while I was puttin everything on.  Even the sox, cuz they were brown like everything else, so you wouldn’t have anything on you that wasn’t completely SLP, and cuz they were fat and scratchy and would remind me all the time that things had changed; I wasn’t a college kid anymore.  Even my feet weren’t mine; they now belonged to the SLP.

Then I sat down on the floor and pulled on my boots—MY boots, dude, not just Patrick’s, like before.  And they had fuckin  SLP on the sides too.  They had it in white letters, so you couldn’t miss it, if you were interested in feet.  Pretty scuffed up, but you’d always see it if you looked.  So in case you see some boots sittin next to your bed, and you wonder whose boots those are, now you know.  They’re the property of the State Labour Program, and so are you.

I told you that I never wore boots before I met Patrick and put his boots on, so this was new and old at the same time, and I think I surprised Jojo because I didn’t spend all day gettin into em.  But it was still kind of a big event to get my feet inside and laced up and secured, because this time I HAD to do it and I couldn’t avoid it.  I wasn’t a tourist just sneakin things on anymore; I was a real slappie now.

Which leaves only one part of the uniform, which was the cap, and it was lying on the table waiting for me, with the black  SLP sorta grinning at me from the back side of it.  So great—I put it on, and now my ugly bald head was covered!

Jojo and Malcolm were off in a corner chatting about something, so I stood up straight and said, “Done!” and they had to turn around and look at me again.  “Take a look in thee mirror, slap,” Jojo said.  He was pointing at an old cracked piece of glass they had hanging in a corner of the room.  “See what you think.”

To be continued …

In this video from Brutal Tops, two bullies are getting pumped and working up a big sweat. But there’s a desperate lurker watching them. They mercilessly tease him, making him lick the stinking moisture from their hairy armpits and arse cracks. They order the horny fag to lap at their real men’s bodies like a fucking mutt!

See the VIDEO at Brutal Tops

At Brutal Tops, a bound captive is secured in place. The bullies whack his arse till his vulnerable cheeks are burning red. WHACK! The pathetic sod can’t do anything but scream. Haha! That’s nothing compared to the relentless paddling Master Derek gives! This pristine arse DESERVES to be destroyed!

Watch the VIDEO at Brutal Tops

At Brutal Tops, a prisoner is strung up with rope and treated like a punching bag by a sadistic bully. WHACK!!! Hahaha!!! The bully works up such a sweat flogging the fucker that the room is filled with his masculine stink.

See the VIDEO at Brutal Tops

At Brutal Tops, a restrained captive undergoes a mind-blowing amount of sexual pain! Haha! What a laugh these bullies have while disciplining that erection. They strap the fucker down so they can leave their mark and take full ownership of that peachy rump.

VIDEO at Brutal Tops

At Brutal Tops, a sadistic bully ties up a businessman and then fucks his brains out. The captive’s ass gets the screwing it needs. Then the captor sprays his huge load all over that sore fucking bumhole!

See the VIDEO at Brutal Tops

By cuffedstories

About an hour had passed when I heard the door open. It was unfortunately just the bailiff bringing another guy in. This guy had a smug look on his face. The bailiff put him in the cell across from me, but he didn’t take his cuffs off. This guy just had a shirt and tie on but not suit jacket. He stood at the bars started me down for a solid 30 seconds and asked, “You going upstate?”

“Uh no. County,” I answered. “How bout you?” I asked trying to be nice.

He then just laughed and said, “Life sentence in state. All cause of a pretty boy like you.” He then walked around a little then looked back at me, “Faggot just like you tried to hit on me. So I made sure he suffered till his last breath…” It was in that moment where I was beyond with my situation. Yeah 7 years in county would suck, but I was happy I wasn’t going to fear for my life because of monsters like this guy. After a few minutes two officers came in and took him out. Got him in all sorts of chains and led him out. I laid back down on the bench with a sigh of relief.

Finally, an hour later, the door opened and there they were. I was expecting Scott, but Joe was here too. Joe looked at me and said, “Wow my first day back and we get to bring you back to jail?” Scott then handed the bailiff some money and a piece of cake. “Yeah our…meeting…went longer than expected. My apologies.” Those fuckers. I had to sit here longer cause they were having a big old welcome back party for Joe. Scott had mentioned his wife had another baby. That’s jail though. You never come first. The bailiff then came and unlocked the cell. Joe then said, “Turn around. Hands behind your back, inmate.” I had just turned around when Joe yanked my hands behind my back. He held them in position while he unclipped his cuffs. He then snapped each cuff really tight around my wrists. He hadn’t done this in a while, so he was enjoying it. He then pulled me by my left arm out of the cell and let me out of the room while Scott followed.

Once we left the room Scott grabbed onto my right arm and they started walking me down the long hallway. They definitely parked the cruiser out front so they could give me perp walk. We walked super slow. Joe on my left. Scott on my right. They loved every second of this. They were putting on a show. They walked with their heads held high and menacing smiles on their face each gripping me hard.

A couple people stopped and watched. It was no secret that I was headed to jail. I was in a jail uniform, my hands cuffed behind my back, with an officer on each arm. Seven years of jail awaited me at the end of this walk. It still didn’t feel real.

We finally reached the front door, and Scott and Joe led me out to the cruiser. Scott got in the driver seat and then Joe stuffed me in the back seat and belted me in. Joe got in the passenger seat and we drove off to jail. As we were driving Scott said, “Yeah sorry boy that meeting actually was Joe’s welcome back party.”

“I figured,” I answered.

Joe then said, “Hey they didn’t even tell us how long your sentence is this time.”

I then answered, “I got 7 years this time.”

Joe then rubbed his hands together and said, “Oh boy, nice! This really is the best day.”

I felt like I could be open with these guys, so I said, “Also my arresting officer was there today. He actually testified on my behalf, so I got a charge dropped and they didn’t send me to state prison.”

Scott then looked at Joe and said, “Yeah Patrick who arrested him is my buddy.” As I sat in the back of the cruiser cuffed, I realized why my arresting officer did what he did. My arresting officer owed Scott a favor. So he did everything he could to get me sent back to county. It’s kind of a win-win situation for everyone. Patrick my arresting officer got whatever he wanted a while back. I go to jail where I’m not worried about getting killed. Joe and Scott have me at their full service.

When we got back to the jail Scott parked the car and got out. Joe then got out and got me out of the car and said, “Welcome home, boy.” They led me to the door in their usual position. This time Scott on my left. Joe on my right. They marched me down the hallways nice and slow. They stopped to chat with every CO who passed. Chatting it up about whatever they wanted. They didn’t care how long I just had to stand there quietly with my hands cuffed behind my back. It’s jail. What I want doesn’t matter. We passed the head CO and Scott was like, “Hey boss! Look who’s staying for 7 years!”

The head CO then walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Well lucky for you, son. We haven’t had anyone in your old job for a while. I’m glad you’re back.”

Scott and Joe then marched me to my cell. Once we got to my cell, Scott walked me inside and Joe left. Scott then pushed me on my knees and undid his pants. “I think you need to earn your way out of those cuffs,” he said. As I wrapped my mouth around Scott’s big daddy dick he moaned, “Oh FUCK! Thank you, Patrick.” It didn’t take long for Scott to fire four big cum shots down my throat. Once he was done he pulled me up and took off my cuffs. “God no one does that better than you.” As he was leaving my cell I sat on my cot and he stood in the doorway. “You know what’s funny, boy?” he said. “You’re getting out now in 7 years. That’s also when I can put in for early retirement.”

I then half laughed.

He looked at me and said, “These last 7 years of work are gonna be the best yet.” He then strutted away happy as a clam cause his balls were just drained. As I laid there, I could still taste his cum in my mouth. That taste was one that I was gonna feel in my mouth for the next 7 years. I guess there are worse things.

To be continued …

At Brutal Tops, a bondage captive is tied up by two bullies. His sensitive arsehole gets shocked! ZAP!!! Hahaha!!!

VIDEO at Brutal Tops

By lthr_jock

Mike almost ran down the street towards his car. He wished that he had parked closer. Every step he took, he felt the boots clump down on the pavement and the sound seemed to echo around him drawing the attention of passers-by. The bleachers clung to his legs like a second skin and he felt as though he was on display. He could feel himself flushing under the hoody but despite that he could feel his cock swelling in the studded jockstrap.

He turned into the road he had parked in and came to a halt. On the other side of the road from his car, 3 skinheads were stood talking. All of them were wearing MA1 jackets with the EES letters clearly visible across their shoulders. He put his head down and walked towards his car, hoping that they wouldn’t notice him. He kept stealing glances across towards them and he seemed to be getting away with it. As he approached his car, he took out his keys and pressed the unlock button. As the car unlocked the lights flashed and one of the skinheads looked up. Mike looked in his direction and saw the man take in Mike’s bleachers and boots. He pointed at Mike and the other 2 turned around. Mike yanked the drivers door open and drove off, leaving the three men stood in the middle of the street staring after him.

Mike barely remembered the drive home. He parked in his normal spot and then checked that none of his neighbours were in the street before getting out of his car and darting for the front door. He fumbled his key in the lock and it seemed like minutes before he could get the door open and step inside, slamming the door behind him and leaning against the wall with his heart pounding in his chest. He headed up to his bedroom and pulled off the hoody. He looked at himself in the mirror – except for his haircut he looked just like the skinheads he had seen in the street. Disgusted, he pulled the gear off and dressed himself more normally in a t-shirt and shorts. He threw the skinhead gear into a bin, intending to throw it all out.

But two days later, he hadn’t. He had found himself on the edge of it several times. Instead he had recovered it from the bin and put it in the back of his wardrobe. He hadn’t heard from Gordon at all, nor had he contacted him himself. Mike tried to put this encounter out of his mind and threw himself into his work and spent long hours at the gym to exhaust himself. But still his mind kept returning to what had happened. This was embarrassing when it happened at the gym as the resultant erection was hard to hide. The only time he stopped these thoughts was at work and even then he was distracted enough for Dave to ask him if there was a problem.

As the pair drove past The Eagle, Mike saw Gordon stood outside in the smoking area. He was wearing leathers like the ones Mike had first seen him in and puffing on a thick cigar. As Dave drove on, Mike took his phone out and texted Gordon. “Is Friday still Ok, Sir?” In the wing mirror, he could see Gordon reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. The reply came quickly “Change of plan. Be here at 10am Saturday, suited and booted.”

“Girlfriend?” Mike jerked as Dave spoke. “What?” “Is that your new girlfriend you’re texting?”

“Oh, yeah, just sorting some stuff out for the weekend.” Dave nodded and started a story about his fiancé and their plans for the rest days. Mike responded automatically, wondering what Gordon had planned for Saturday.

On Saturday morning, he pulled on the skinhead gear and again put on a hoody over the top. He had deliberately parked his car so that he could nip out his front door and straight into the driving seat. Despite that, he checked the road to ensure none of his neighbours were likely to see him. He had thought about where to park. This time, he parked closer to Gordon’s flat. Again, he walked quickly with his head down. Despite this, he still saw several people staring at his bleachers and boots. He ran up the stairs to the entrance to Gordon’s flat and pressed the button. Mike stood there, nervously moving his wait from foot to foot and hoping that Gordon would hurry up. After what seemed like minutes, he pressed the button again. He could see movement through the smoked glass of the door and it opened. The woman inside smiled nervously, then as her gaze travelled down to his bleachers and boots she quickly stepped past him and down the stairs. Mike caught the door before it closed and then headed up to Gordon’s flat.

The door was open and he stepped inside. “Gordon?” The flat remained silent. Mike cleared his throat. “Sir?” Gordon stepped out of the front room. He was dressed in a similar manner to Mike, except that he wasn’t wearing a hoody. “ About time. You should have rung the bell.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and went back into the front room. Mike followed him “I did – maybe, your bell isn’t working.” Gordon turned and Mike saw that he had picked up a length of white rope. “Take your hoody off.” Mike paused and then pulled the hoody off revealing his torso in the skintight t-shirt.

Gordon stepped forward and started to wrap Mike’s torso in a complicated harness of rope. Ropes went over his shoulder and under his arms and then down his sides. The ropes were tight and his muscles bulged around them – and Mike could feel his cock responding to the restraint. He looked down at his rope-wrapped torso. “ I don’t understand. I thought we were going to the football. Gordon grinned. “We are.” He picked up a white MA1 jacket and threw it to Mike. Put that on and zip it up. As he did, Mike could see the letters EES emblazoned across the shoulders. He zipped it fully up, covering up the rope harness. “As long as you keep it zipped up, there won’t be a problem will there?” Mike nodded, “yes, but I can’t go to a football game dressed like this. We police all the major games.”

“Not this one, you don’t.” Gordon tossed Mike a woollen watch cap. “Put that on.” Mike pulled the cap on. He looked in a mirror and realised that with it on his hair was invisible and he looked exactly like a skinhead.  He turned to Gordon “I can’t do this. What if someone from work sees me? What if someone spots the rope?”

Gordon looked at him calmly. “That’s the risk and the excitement, Mike. If you don’t want to do this, you can go home right now. I’m certainly not stopping you.” He stood there, arms folded looking at the younger man until Mike averted his gaze and nodded. “Alright.”

Gordon smiled. “Good. About bloody time. We’re going to be late.” He grabbed a black MA1 jacket and headed for the door.   He led Mike outside and down to a battered green Land Rover Defender. Mike shrank down in the seat, hoping to avoid attention but the big vehicle drew stares on the busy Saturday streets. At one point Gordon pulled up at a set of traffic lights beside a police car. Mike stared straight ahead, not daring to look down at the driver and hoping that it was no-one he knew. He hadn’t realised he was holding his breath until the lights turned green and they pulled away.

After a while he started to relax and began to note where they were going. They were heading out of the east end of London and towards the south west. As they sat in a slow queue of traffic on the South Circular, Gordon spoke for the first time. “The jacket marks you as a prospect. So if anyone asks I am your sponsor and you take your cue from me. Got it?”

Mike nodded. “I said got it?” Mike turned at the steel in Gordon’s voice and nodded “Yes, I got it.” Gordon turned from the street ahead to stare at him, a flat emotionless stare that Mike was deeply disturbed by. “Yes, Sir.” Gordon smiled and nodded. “Good. While we’re with the guys you always address me as Sir or Boss. You call them whatever comes to mind. Just don’t embarrass me.”

As Gordon spoke, he turned off the main road and down a narrow lane towards some playing fields. Through the trees surrounding the fields, Mike could see the Thames to the North. Mike ignored the parking signs and drove between two of the marked pitches to a third where a crowd of 50-60 people were gathered. Most were at one end, but Gordon drove up to the other end where a group of 10-15 people were stood. As they got closer, Mike could see that they were all wearing EES jackets. Some were wearing watch caps like himself but most were bare-headed. All were booted in cherry red or black boots. As Gordon drove up, one turned to wave. Mike didn’t recognise any of them, and hoped none of them were the ones who had seen him heading for his car.

Gordon got out of the car and went over to the group, shaking hands and slapping people on the back. Mike got out slower and stood by the land rover unsure what to do. One of the skinheads saw him and walked across. He was a good 3” taller than Mike and his MA1 hung open to reveal a well muscled torso under his EES t-shirt.

“Who the fuck is this then, Gordon?” he said in a thickly accented voice. He leant in, his face close enough that Mike could smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath. “I don’t think I like this one, Gordon. He looks like a pussy to me.”

Mike looked past Gordon for a cue as to how to act. Gordon was stood with the rest of the group with his arms folded, clearly waiting for Mike to do something. Mike thought desperately and then squared up to the man, staring him straight in his eyes. “Who the fuck do you think you are then? I’m with Gordon, so get out of my fucking way.”

The two men stared into each other’s eyes until the skinhead roared with laughter. He turned, put his arm around Mike’s shoulders and led him back to the group. “I like this one, Gordon.” He slapped Mike hard on the back and went to talk to the others. Gordon grinned. “That’s Jan – he likes to try and scare the prospects.” Gordon introduced him to everyone as Mikey and he soon found himself in the centre of the group.

Mike’s concerns about the rope harness being seen were unfounded. The wind over the playing fields was chill and all of them bar Jan kept their jackets tightly zipped up. Jen laughed at them “You have no idea! You want cold, you come to Poland and see how you feel.” The man talked and chatted to each other and a couple asked “Mikey” how he had met Gordon. When he paused in his response they nudged each other and laughed. “Down the Eagle was it?” His blush made them laugh louder.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of whistle and the football match started. The EES soon made it clear which team they were supporting and Mike found himself forgetting his situation as he started shouting and yelling for the team. By the end of the game he was yelling and chanting along with the others. As they walked back towards the land rover, he felt a familiar arm go around his shoulder and looked up to see Jan grinning at him. “Good game, yes?” Mike nodded and Jan gripped him harder. “Good and now we drink!” He raised his arms in the air and turned to face the others “To the Bull!” he yelled, a chant picked up by the other men. Jan then grabbed Mike around the shoulders again and led him past the land rover to the edge of the playing fields. Mike looked over his shoulder to see Gordon stood talking by the car, apparently unaware of what was going on.

“Wait, Jan, I need to stay with Gordon.” Suddenly serious, Jan turned Mike to face him and once again he found himself face to face with the skinhead. “Gordon proposed you but I in charge of prospects. Get it!” Mike nodded. “Good! Now come on Mikey, TO THE BULL!”

Mike thought they would be heading to a nearby pub. Instead Jan led him over to the car park and got into the driving seat of a small Vauxhall. Mike was pushed into the middle of the backseat and found himself packed in between two other bulky guys. A fifth skinhead got into the front passenger seat and they were off. They drove back towards east London. As they drove, Mike could feel the rope harness as it rubbed against his muscles. He could hardly move at all, so couldn’t adjust it to be more comfortable. Worse, Jan had put the heating in the car to full. The other guys soon shucked off their MA1s and hats, leaving Mike as the only one still fully dressed. Despite obviously sweating, he refused offers to take his gear off.

Jan passed a hipflask back which was shared around the car. Mike gulped at it, glad to have some liquid and then realised his mistake as the strong alcohol burned his throat. He coughed and choked much to the hilarity of the others in the car. He recovered, only to have the hip flask offered again. He tried to refuse, but they insisted and he had another sip. This time it burned less – and even less the next time. After it had been around several times, Mike realised the others weren’t really drinking from it – he was the only one. He assumed this was part of being a prospect, so next time the flask he came round he didn’t bother to resist.

As a result, when they arrived at their destination, Mike was already buzzing nicely from the alcohol in his system. He got out to see Jan had parked in the car park of a seedy run-down pub. As they went in, they nodded to the bartender and went upstairs to a room that was clearly some kind of function room. Jan went straight behind the bar and started pouring beers. The others sat Mike down at a table and Jan brought the drinks up. He poured a double vodka into Mikes beer and then raised his glass. “New prospect! Down in one!” The others started to chug their pints and Mike joined in, draining his glass. With a cheer, and lots of backslapping, Jan went back to the bar and poured more beer.

The second beer went down as fast as the first and then the skinheads slowed down. By the time Gordon arrived, Mike was on his fifth pint. That, and the extra shots he was being given, had made his head spin and he could barely speak. Gordon walked up to the table. “Mikey, you doing good.”

“Hey, Sir, yeah I’m..I’m fine.” Mike levered himself to his feet and had to be supported as he nearly fell over. “I juss…juss need to piss.” Gordon laughed and pointed Mike in the direction of the toilet. Mike staggered across the room, lurching into a table and sending chairs flying. The skinheads all burst out laughing and applauded as he bounced off the wall beside the toilet door and then fell through it. There was a crash after Mike disappeared and Gordon stood up “I’d better check he’s OK.”

***

Mike woke up to a pounding headache and a dry mouth. He looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling and wondered where he was. His mouth ached and as he tried to say something he realised that it was being held open by a large rubber ball. His arms were stretched up past his head and he looked up to see that each hand was covered in a gleaming black rubber ball which was padlocked to the head of the bed. He looked down to see that he was naked – except for the rope harness which had been extended down to wrap around his cock and balls – as a result his cock was stood up semi-erect. His legs were spread open and had a rubber cuff around each ankle that was secured under the bed.

Mike struggled and yelled into the gag. He had no memory after The Bull and no idea where he was or how he had got here. He looked around, but couldn’t see where his clothes were – even though the EES gear was distasteful, he would have been glad for it right now. He grunted into the gag again and Gordon opened the door and walked in. He was wearing his skinhead gear and he ignored Mike’s grunts to take out his phone and snap a few photos of Mike. He then took Mike’s phone out and snapped some pictures as well. He then showed the photos to Mike so that Mike could see that he was also wearing a thick rubber collar that had 4 D rings hanging off of it.

“So, officer, how are you feeling today?”

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Metal would like to thank the author, lthr_jock, for this story. If you enjoyed it be sure to leave a comment in the comments section!

By lthr_jock

Mike opened his eyes to blackness. He could feel the tightness of rubber over his entire body including his head. He took a deep breath and felt relief as air flooded his lungs. His nose was full of the smell of rubber and he couldn’t hear anything. His arms were down at his sides and when he tried to move them he could feel heavy rubber over his fingers preventing him moving them. He could feel sweat running all over his body and his cock stiffened as he realised that one again he was completely trapped. And once again, he had allowed Gordon to do this to him.

Mike cast his mind back to the chair. After Jan left him he raged and struggled against the restraints. He couldn’t believe what had just happened, how the Pole had shaved his head and now he was sat there like some skinhead. He panicked a little gasping for breath around the gag, causing drool to pool inside the muzzle and then run out the sides and over his thick collar and naked chest. Eventually he started to calm down. He had no choice but to wait for Gordon to return and he would finish this all then. This was a step too far. He started to breath more easily and once again became aware of the noises from outside the flat. He also became aware of his stirring cock, of the way the rubber slid and slurped with every minor movement and he realised that he was still highly aroused by his predicament.

He started to shift his hips as much as he could to get some pressure against his cock. The slick interior of the rubber resisted him, but the grommet he had pushed his cock and balls through allowed him enough tension that he was able to work his cock. With a shudder and a groan he came inside the rubber trousers. He closed his eyes in pleasure, even enjoying the feel of the cum slimed around his cock. He jerked his eyes open at the sound of Gordons chuckle – though there was no-one else in the room. Mike looked around and realised the sound was coming from the speakers by Gordons computer – and that the webcam light was on. Gordon was watching him from somewhere else. As he rolled his eyes, the screen flashed and turned on. Mike could see Gordons face and behind him a crowded bar.

“Hey, Mikey, glad to see you’re enjoying yourself. You didn’t think I’d just abandon you, did you?”

Mike grunted a response.

“Don’t even try – can’t hear you with the noise here even if you could speak. Love the new haircut, Mikey.   Glad to see you found a friend.”

Mike swore incoherently into the gag, while Gordon continued. “ Anyway, I’m going to be here for a couple of hours so just amuse yourself.” With that the screen went blank, although Mike could see the webcam was still active. He settled back to enjoy his predicament.

Mike wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard a key in the door and Gordon walked into the room. Gordon chuckled as he looked at the restrained police officer whose cock was still clearly outlined in the rubber trousers. “I do hope you enjoyed yourself, officer?” Mike grunted and nodded as much as he could. “Did you make a mess?” Mike sighed and nodded again. Gordon just grinned wider. “Wow, good to see that you can let yourself go like that.” He reached behind Mikes head and unstrapped the muzzle. He ran his gloved hand over Mikes shaven head. “Nice and smooth – just right to go with rubber. You ready for more?” As he asked the question he removed the ball gag.

Mike gulped the accumulated drool down and moved his jaw with relief. He looked up at Gordon. “Yes please Sir.” Gordon grinned at the lack of pause and undid the mitt on Mikes right hand. “Get yourself free, then go and get a drink in the kitchen. Take a piss if you need one but do NOT clean up down there. Then present yourself in my bedroom”.

Mike wriggled his fingers in his freed hand and proceeded to unstrap himself. It was more difficult than he thought it would be and it took several minutes before he could stand up and stretch his muscles that were aching from the bondage. He flexed a little and stretched to get the kinks out and then headed into the kitchen where he drank 2 pints of water. As he moved around he could feel the sweat running down his legs inside the rubber and his feet squelched slightly in the boots. The slime and sweat pooling around his cock made slurping noises as he moved. He went to relieve himself, unlacing the front of the trousers to let his cum-slimed cock out. He pissed and then tucked his cock back into his trousers, hating the way it was still slimy from his orgasm but also enjoying the way it made him feel. He laced up again and headed into the bedroom.

Gordon tossed a rubber T-shirt to him as he entered the room. He started to pull it down over his head, but as it touched his sweaty body, the rubber rolled up and he struggled to put it on. Gordon chuckled and held out a can of lube. Mike took some and started to spread it over his chest, but the shirt still rolled up around the back of his neck. “Here, let me.” Gordon grabbed the can and stood behind Mike, generously lubing his back. He then moved around to the front, his heavy hands massaging lube into Mikes pecs in a disturbingly intimate way. Mike looked away as Gordon loosened the shirt for him. “There you go.” Mike was now able to pull the shirt fully on. As with the trousers, it was skin tight. It was an armless t-shirt made of black rubber with panels over the chest that formed a union jack.  Mike tucked it under the belt and ran his hands over the chest. The panels were raised slightly giving the rubber some texture but did nothing to conceal his body underneath.

“HEY! Stop admiring yourself.” Mike looked up to see Gordon handing him a pair of thin rubber gloves which he worked onto his hands. The final item was a thick, heavy rubber jacket styled like a motorbike jacket and emblazoned with another Union Jack across the shoulders. Mike shuddered as he pulled the cold rubber on and then secured it by the belt. Gordon swung him around to look at himself in the mirror. His gleaming shaved head stood out against the shiny black of the rubber and looked almost as though it had been shined in the same way. He was unrecognisable and he could feel his cock stirring as he looked at himself.

Gordon moved to stand beside him, wearing a full leather uniform. He put on his uniform hat. “Right. Time to party.” He reached around Mike and placed a rubber collar around his neck. This one was tall – at least 4” – and Mike could feel it pressing against his collar bone and the bottom of his chin. Gordon secured it with three straps and then put heavy padlocks on each of them. In the mirror Mike could now see what looked like a thick tube of rubber, the front plain except for a single large D-ring. It made his neck look longer and restricted the way he moved his head. Gordon grinned and clipped a leash to the D-ring. Without a word he walked out the door and Mike followed.

They stepped outside the flat before Mike even considered what he was doing. By then ir was too late and he was being led down the stairs past one of Gordon’s neighbours who took a good look at the young man wearing a collar and head to toe rubber. Mike paused and Gordon yanked on the chain, forcing Mike to stumble down a couple of steps. “Wait…” Gordon stopped and turned around. “Your choice. We go on or we stop and you leave. Choose.” Mike thought about it and, the decision made by his cock rather than his brain, nodded “We go on Sir.” “Good.” Gordon gave the leash a vicious yank making Mike stumble up against the older man, who leaned in close to whisper “Don’t embarrass me and don’t make me transact business in public.” While Mike processed that, Gordon stepped away and heading down the rest of the stairs towards the garage.

In the garage, Mike was expecting to see the Landrover that Gordon had used last time. Instead a gleaming black BMW was parked up and Gordon waved him around to the passenger side. Mike got in and settled into the soft leather. Gordon sat down in the drivers seat and turned to him. “Right, Mikey, here’s the deal. We’re going to a party. You will be on display once we get there. As agreed, nothing will be done to you sexually unless you ask for it.” Gordon paused and grinned widely “..actually, unless you BEG for it. The people here aren’t part of the EES and don’t know about that. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to and treat everyone who speaks to you with respect. Got it?”

Mike nodded “But…won’t this be kind of obvious as we’re driving there?” Gordon stared at Mike without replying. “I mean, Sir, won’t people see me?” “It’s the middle of the night and the side windows are tinted. You just have to hope we don’t get stopped by your colleagues. Any other questions?” Mike shook his head, wincing as the collar restricted the movement. “Good. Time to have some fun.”

Gordon confidently drove the car through the quiet London streets until they pulled up in a small parking area by some warehouses. As they got out of the car, Mike could hear the muffled pound of music. Gordon grabbed Mike’s leash and led him through a cramped passageway to a poorly lit entranceway. A huge man in leather jeans and a white T-shirt was stood by a metal door and as Gordon walked into the light he smiled a greeting. He leant forward to open the door, and as he did so Mike could see that he had a baseball bat tucked down beside his chair in case of trouble.

As soon as the door opened, the noise of the music from inside got much louder. Gordon quickly stepped inside and Mike followed and the door was shut again, insulating the outside world from the noise. Inside, the two men were stood on a small landing overlooking a bar and dance floor. Beyond the dance floor, Mike could see several areas that were partitioned off and figures were moving in there in various stages of undress. The room was packed – full of men wearing various styles of fetish gear and in various kinds of bondage. Mike stared in amazement. Gordon leaned on the railing beside him and moved in close so he could be heard. “Welcome to Pitch. As you can see there are lots of people here who share your interest in bondage, control and – it would seem – fetish wear.” Mike stared at him and Gordon burst out laughing. “Oh, please, your cock has been rockhard ever since you put the rubber on – you’re a right little pervert.” Mike blushed but couldn’t contradict him. Gordon leant in again “Your collar marks you as a sub, which means normally some people would happily grab you without asking.” Mike flinched and Gordon raised a hand to placate him. “BUT as you’re on my leash, you will be fine. No-one will touch you without asking my permission.” He stood up, wrapped the chain leash around his hand and with a sharp jerk, led Mike down the stairs to the main floor.

Gordon was obviously well known in the club and their journey towards the bar was slow as several people stopped them to speak to him. On each occasion, Mike was ignored which gave him the opportunity to look around.   The vast array of fetish gear around him was a surprise and he tried not to stare. Even so, he soon worked out that there were 2 types of men in here – those who were looking around, making eye contact and clearly in control; and those who were either trying to attract attention or were following the other men around. Mike realised that he would be classed as one of the latter. As he wondered how these situations worked, he was disturbed by a jerk on his leash as Gordon pulled him forward. “Mikey, this is Shane. He wanted to meet you.” Mike looked up at the leather clad man in front of him and, unsure of protocol, nodded his head and said “Glad to meet you Sir.” Shane rubbed Mikes freshly shaved head with one leather covered hand. “He’s polite, Gordon. That’s good.” Gordon nodded and the two men started to talk about Mike, completely ignoring him for the rest of the conversation.

Mike was initially nervous and was worried that he was going to be groped – but he was almost completely ignored. As he relaxed he looked around more – he could now see that the majority of the submissives were smaller than him and lighter built, which made him a bit of an oddity. He saw several of the more aggressive men staring towards him and a few came over to speak to Gordon. Mike couldn’t hear what they were saying but on several occasions Gordon clearly shook his head in refusal and gave them a few words of explanation. Mike realised that Gordon was keeping his word so he relaxed even more and took a keener interest in what was going on around him. He could see various people partnering off, some indulging in what he would think of as heavy petting and some just sat talking. He couldn’t see what was in the darkened areas of the club, but something near one wall caught his eye. Suspended 6ft in the air was what looked like a large leather mail sack. Occasionally passing people would push it or slap it and Mike wondered if someone was inside it.

He waited until Gordon wasn’t speaking to anyone and leant forward. “Excuse me, Sir..” Gordon turned around, secretly pleased at the way Mike was dealing with the club. “Yes?” “What’s that over there, Sir? I mean is someone inside that?” Gordon looked in the direction Mike was pointing “You mean the mail sack? Yes, of course someone is inside. Why? You after a spin?” Mike had been wondering what it would be like but before he could reply, Gordon started making his way through the crowd pulling Mike along behind him by the leash. When they got closer to the mailsack, Mike thought he could see bulges that might be limbs inside it. He could also see it was held in place by a pulley system. Gordon went up to speak to the man by the pulley. He bent down to speak to the man who was considerably shorter than Gordon, but heavily muscled and dressed in chaps, jockstrap and a leather chest harness. As the two men spoke, they turned to look at Mike and the shorter man beckoned him over. “You want a go in the bag, boi?” Mike hesitated then replied “Yes…yes Sir.” The short man grinned “Get your jacket off then and ask Master Gordon to remove your collar.” Gordon started unlocking the collar as the man lowered the sack onto the floor. He unpadlocked the chain running through reinforced holes around the mouth of the bag and it fell open to reveal its contents.

At first Mike didn’t realise what he was looking at. The man inside the bag was clad in gleaming rubber from head to toe, topped with a perfect featureless sphere of rubber. His arms were crossed over his chest and Mike could see straps all down his back. The man moved behind him and undid a valve in the base of the hood and Mike could hear the hiss of air and saw the ball collapse. A zip at the back released the head of a young man who was red-faced and sweating. He was helped to his feet and Mike could see that the bottom of the bag was awash with sweat. He grimaced and wondered what he had volunteered for. While he was doing this, the previous occupant was being unstrapped and as his arms swung free, Mike realised he had been wearing a rubber straight jacket. As the occupant stepped out of the bag, Gordon pushed Mike forward “Hold out your arms.” Mike did so without thinking and the rubber straight jacket was pushed over his arms and onto his body. He could feel the damp sweat inside the rubber and tried to flinch away, but Gordon was ready and braced against him. With practiced technique, the two men did up the rear zip and secured the straps from collar to waist, securing Mike in the rubber. The jacket was tight around him and he could feel his cock straining against the rubber of the trousers as they wrapped his arms around him and secured them behind his back. One final strap between his legs pinned his cock in place and made the jacket escape proof. Mike looked up to see Gordon grinning. “I knew you would like this.”

Before he could reply, the two men pushed his face into the sweaty rubber of the hood. His mouth was filled with a gag similar to that of a diving mask and he was plunged into darkness. The rubber felt strange against his shaved head – strange and exciting – and as it tightened it felt even better. The zip was fully enclosed and then Mike heard the hiss as air was pumped into the hood, turning it into a rubber ball. The tightness around his head increased, the rubber pressing hard against him. As it pressed against his ears, the sounds of the club became muffled. Any grunt he made sounded strange and he wondered what he looked like.

Mike felt hands on his shoulders pushing him downwards and he knelt down. He then felt the heavy leather of the bag as it was pulled up around him and his head was pushed down further as the two men secured the bag shut. As the pulley was engaged, Mike’s weight tightened the bag around him and he realised that the suspension added an extra level of bondage to his already helpless situation. He tried to settle into some sort of comfort and as he did a slap from the outside made him flinch away from the contact – which did little except to make the bag swing to and fro.

From outside, Gordon looked on. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and thanked him for letting Mike try out the bag and in answer to a question replied simply “The rest of the night.” He gave a hefty slap to the bottom of the bag and then walked over to the bar, dialling a number on his phone as he did so. As the phone was answered he looked back with a smile as three men were stood around the bag spinning it around and slapping it as they did so. “Jan? You free? Good. I’m going to text you an address. Meet me there in an hour.” He cut the call short, sent a text and then headed out to his car.

Mike’s confinement in the sweaty, clammy rubber and leather bondage was definitely hitting the right buttons for him. The unexpected movements of the bag added to his already heightened sense of disconnection. Without the ability to see or hear and only rubber to smell and taste, he seemed to feel every contact through his rubber coated skin more sensitively than before. He couldn’t anticipate any of the movements or the slaps and so his nerves became frayed. Very quickly he was aware of only one thing – his arousal! The slimy feel of the fluids trapped inside the rubber with him got worse as he sweated inside the bondage and as he thought about how demeaning it was to be slimed with someone else’s sweat, his cock made the situation worse by spurting cum inside his rubber trousers.

He couldn’t tell how fast or how slow time was passing. All he knew was that he came several times until his still erect cock was sensitive and aching. He thought the music had stopped, but he could not be sure. The bag moved, and he expected it to hit the ground, but instead it stabilised and he felt nothing else. Tired from his long day, Mike eventually fell asleep.

Mike opened his eyes to blackness. He could feel the tightness of rubber over his entire body including his head. He took a deep breath and felt relief as air flooded his lungs. His nose was full of the smell of rubber and he couldn’t hear anything. His arms were down at his sides and when he tried to move them he could feel heavy rubber over his fingers preventing him moving them. He could feel sweat running all over his body and his cock stiffened as he realised that one again he was completely trapped. And once again, he had allowed Gordon to do this to him.

Mike lifted his arms and it occurred to him that they were not secured in front of him and he had moved them easily. He reached forward and could feel nothing else – he was clearly not in the bag any more. As he did so, he felt the jacket loosen and he realised the back was undone. Mike shook his shoulders and wriggled and he felt it loosen further. He got on all fours and felt the jacket slump down his arms and he slowly worked his hands out of the sweaty mass of rubber. He lay back, gasping into the hood. He reached up with his hands and encountered the sphere of the hood. Remembering what the man in the club had done, he reached around behind it and found the valve. After some experimentation, he triggered it and the pressure around his head lessened as air was let out of the hood. Once it was limp, he found the zip and removed it. He gasped for breath, his face sweat streaked and red, his shaven head gleaming in the light.

Mike looked around expecting to see himself in the club, but realised he was in a darkened bedroom. The curtains were closed but the light leaking around them showed him he was on the floor at the foot of a double bed and the room had wardrobe and a chest of drawers like his one did at home. He levered himself to his feet and as he did he realised that the bed was covered in black rubber sheets and had restraints attached at the corners. For a moment he thought he was at Gordons, then realised the room was larger. He stood up, his muscles aching and, with his rubber clothing squeaking as he moved, he stepped over to the curtains and pulled them to one side. Outside he saw the familiar view of his own road. He quickly stepped back, concerned that one of his neighbours would see him dressed like this. Pulling the curtain closed, he stepped across to where he knew the light switch was in his own bedroom – and found it. Turning the light on, he confirmed that the room was his – the only thing that was different was the bed. He could now see clearly that the bed was built with a heavy metal construction and the area under the bed was barred like a cage. The head and foot were made of metal and festooned with restraints. The sheets were rubber as were the pillow cases. Mike swore softly to himself.

Mike walked out into the front room where everything looked normal – except for a sheet of paper on his coffee table. He snatched it up to read “Mikey, glad you enjoyed yourself. Hope you like your new bed. Check out your clothes too. Talk soon. Gordon.”

Mike swore more loudly and walked back into the bedroom. He checked and soon realised that apart from his uniform, all his clothing was gone. In its place was a couple of sets of skinhead gear, some rubber wear, some lycra workout gear and he had gained several sets of boots. Mike swore and reached for his phone. Then, as he ran his hand over his rubbered self he realised that he had no idea where his phone was. Wondering what the hell he was going to do, he went into his bathroom and started to strip himself out of the rubber gear.

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Metal would like to thank the author, lthr_jock, for this story. If you enjoyed it be sure to leave a comment in the comments section!

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