By ChastitySub

Part I

The Cop and the Dominator had met at the gym. They started working out together: the Cop liked the Dominator for pushing him harder in his lifting workouts. Sure, maybe he was a little attracted to the Dominator on some man-to-man level … but the Cop was a straight, tough cop, and didn’t go that way sexually. The Cop would show up at the gym in his motorcycle uniform with his big, black, shiny boots creaking on the wooden floor as he walked through the gym as if he owned it — along with all those sweating under unforgiving machines. From time to time, he’d stop to flirt with a slender woman at the front desk, or look insistently in the direction of a girl working out.

The Cop clearly liked standing around the gym in his uniform before heading to the locker room, where he’d change into tight military-issue green shorts and a jockstrap. Sometimes he would wear a regular jockstrap, but other times a jock and cup. The cup would cause a huge bulge in his little green shorts, and the top of his jockstrap often poked teasingly over the shorts’ waistband. But clearly he could care less if the gays and drooling women kept looking at the suggesting bulge. The Cop had big strong legs, and a muscular butt round enough to stretch the fabric of his shorts into two perfect spheres. He exhibited smooth pecs that Dominator was convinced were shaved, although he never teased the Cop about it. The Cop’s pecs and nipples stood out in his tight white under armor shirt.

The Cop knew that the Dominator was gay, and that was fine by him. Sometimes, after working out they would get a drink or two; the Cop usually stayed in his motorbike uniform, even off work — he knew what this stood for in so may eyes. The Cop would tell the Dominator about fucking young women he picked up at the gym; fucking them slow, long and hard, making sure to work one or two fingers up their assholes. The Cop asked the Dominator if he was dating. “Off and on,” he said, in addition to the two boys he used as dog slaves when he was in the right mood. He kept them under strict control in locked chastity devices and butt plugs they had no control over, and trained them over the weekend through tough punishment, and occasional pleasure for reward. The Cop got curious, but didn’t ask for more details. But at the Dominator’s suggestion, he did buy a couple of butt plugs and started making his female dates wear them while they fucked.

***

Once a year, the gym held a charity wrestling match: gym members could challenge each other to wrestling matches, proceeds went to charity, and it was all in good fun. At their next workout, the Dominator asked the Cop if he wanted to take part in a match. “Well, I’m not sure … It sounds very challenging, but I reckon I’d beat you pretty easily,” the Cop said with a good-natured smile. “Well we can certainly raise the stakes if you want. How about drinks and dinner on the loser?”

“Maybe,” the Cop said. “But I’m sure we could find something better to motivate us. How about you wash my car in your little Speedos outside my house if you lose?”

The Dominator saw an opening, and started smiling. “Okay. Heck, I’ll even kiss your boots if I lose. But if I win, I get to shave all the hair from your body. Everything, below your neck.”

That made the Cop pause. He didn’t respond right away as he weighed his chances of losing. He had been pushed right into a corner he found both potentially humiliating, but which gave rise to a faint sense of excitement he couldn’t quite grasp.

“What’s up copper? Are you scared you might lose and end up with shaved legs,” the Dominator taunted gently. The Cop sniggered: “Fuck no! I know I’ll win. But if my body hair’s at stake, we need to raise them a little for you too. If I win, you’ll have to shine my boots with your tongue, and lick my jock cup clean while I watch.”

“Done,” said the Dominator.

On the day of the match, the two men suited up into jockstraps and singlets in the gym locker room. “It’s not too late to back out of the bet,” offered the Cop. “If you’re getting scared, that is.”

“I’m ready,” replied the Dominator with a strong gaze.

“Good, I need to get these boots cleaned. They’ll look good with a nice tongue polish. I used to have cadets at the police academy lick boots as part of their hazing. Tongues give the boots a very special shine.”

The Dominator simply smiled as he adjusted his own jockstrap, cup and singlet. What the Cop did not know was that the Dominator had been a college wrestler, and still wrestled occasionally with friends — or with ‘friends with benefits.’ He was much quicker than the Cop, even if smaller and lighter.

When the match started, the Dominator played possum a bit with the Cop, encouraging him to believe a bigger size would allow him to win the match hands down. But every time the Cop thought he was close to pinning down his opponent, the Dominator would spin out from under the Cop. They both got sweaty from the heat and excitement. Finally, the Dominator started pressing his advantage. He caught the Cop off guard, and rolled him under his lighter but stronger body. The referee’s unforgiving whistle blow told the Cop that the match was over, with his back flat on the mat, unable to get up because of the muscular man strongly pinning him.

It had happened so fast! He lay there stunned, on the mat, as the Dominator loosened his grip, got up and raised his clenched fist to the applause of other customers. Little did they realize the impact this game would have on the Cop. He stayed silent as they walked back to the locker room. Finally, sitting on the bench, he said to the Dominator he didn’t believe he’d lost.

“I had you almost pinned at least three times!”

“Well, it’s the last pin that counts,” the Dominator replied. “Don’t worry copper, you’ll like the smooth shave I’ll give you tomorrow, it will highlight your muscles nicely. Look on the positive side of things. Heck, you might like it so much, you’ll beg me to give you a good shave every week.”

“I doubt that,” the Cop replied.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll see you at noon at my house. Make sure you block off a few hours, it’s gonna be a very slow shaving. I want to make sure I get all the hair,” the Dominator said.

Part 2

The next day, the Cop showed up at the Dominator’s house right on time. He was wearing his usual cop uniform with tall black motorcycle boots and all. Underneath his motorcycle breaches, his cock was safe and secure in its jockstrap and cup. He was very clearly unhappy about losing the bet. But knowing he had little choice but to forward and pay it off — it was a matter of honor — he did show up.

He might even have been a little intrigued about getting the smooth–shaved look. He trusted the Dominator knew what he was doing when it came to shaving: at the gym sauna and shower, he’d noticed that the Dominator was mostly shaved down himself. That muscular shaved body looked good on the Dominator. Of course, the Cop never wanted to look too closely at the Dominator’s shaved ball sack, never mind his sizeable cock, in the steamy proximity of the gym shower and steam room.

The Dominator greeted him at the door and led him inside. He could tell from the greeting that the Cop was nervous. The Dominator tried to calm him. “Hey relax buddy,” the Dominator said, “Trust me. You’ll enjoy the shaving. And what happens here is just between us. Man to man.” The Dominator led him to an upstairs room, and instructed the Cop to strip down to his jockstrap and lay down on the towels he’d prepared on the floor. The Cop complied slowly. He had stripped many times with the Dominator in the gym. But it was different this time … he felt somehow more naked undressing, while the Dominator remained clothed in jeans, construction boots and a black t-shirt that fitted him nicely.

The Cop lay on the towels, on his back, and looked up at the Dominator. The Dominator walked over and laid his booted foot on the Cop’s chest, pressing slightly. “Ready for your shaving? I’m going to start with the electric clippers and then finish with a razor and shaving cream for a nice finished look.”

The Cop just nodded in agreement. He was incapable of forming words there, in this submissive and somehow surreal scene, at the thought of a full body shaving.

The Dominator knelt down and went to work with the clippers. He had much experience shaving and clipping men from the domination of his two dog slaves. The Cop grunted a bit, but was otherwise silent, observing. The Cop responded well to the Dominator’s instructions to lift his arms and legs as needed, so the Dominator could shave the hair in more intimate parts. He worked the clippers over the Cop’s underarms and across his chest. The Dominator didn’t shy away from the Cop’s cock. Lifting the waistband of his black jockstrap, he pulled out the cup and yanked down the last piece of clothing, held the Cop’s cock to the side and started shaving all his pubic hair. The Cop’s cock was already mostly hard when it was pulled free of the sweaty cup’s confines. The feel of the Dominator’s hand on the cock, and the slight purposeful pulsing of the Dominator’s hand, brought the Cop’s cock to a full-on erection.

“Don’t try to pretend you’re not enjoying this!” the Dominator exclaimed. “Your cock tells me you’re getting off on this … Maybe we should keep going after the shave is done? I should strap you down and milk your cock dry.”

The Cop’s cock twitched even harder at the Dominator’s voice describing the bondage milking. He was really horned up, and getting off on the possibility of domination. “Say it.” the Dominator ordered in a low voice. “Just say you want it, and I will train you like a dog and milk your cock.”

The Cop kept his eyes closed. His head rolled back. He enjoyed the strong grip of another man on his cock. He didn’t want it to stop.

“Yes. I want you to train me,” he said in a quiet, low voice.

“Good boy. I will train you and milk you hard today,” the Dominator promised.

Part 3

The Dominator finished shaving the Cop’s cock and balls, and rolled him over to shave his ass crack. The Dominator worked the shaving cream down the Cop’s crack, pausing to gently finger his hole. A few minutes later, the crack was smooth and clean of hair. The Dominator rinsed off the shaving cream with a wet towel, and pulled the ass cheeks apart to expose the Cop’s hole. He started to massage the outside of the hole. For the Cop this was a whole new experience, both humiliating and erotic at the same time. The Dominator added some lube to his finger and continued the massage, finally working the finger up the hole a little bit, pausing to add more lube. He kept working more and more lube into the Cop’s tight hole until his finger could slide in and out easily.

Once his finger was all the way in, he reached around under the Cop with his other hand, and got hold of the Cop’s erect cock.

“I thought so! You get off on having me work your butt hole. You’ll make a good little slave dog,” the Dominator said. “You like my finger up your ass so much that I’m going to put a little vibrator butt plug up there. When you’ve been a good boy, I’ll buzz your hole and prostate as a reward. Soon you’ll beg me to switch on that vibrator,” the Dominator whispered into the Cop’s ear. The Dominator grabbed the butt plug, lubing it up. The plug was like a normal butt plug, except it had an egg-shaped vibrator at the tip that rested against the slave’s prostate. The vibrator could be triggered with a small remote control.

Even with all the lube up the Cop’s ass, it took a little bit of pressure from the Dominator to work the plug into the Cop’s asshole. At one point the Cop started complaining; the Dominator paused to spank the Cop’s ass cheeks nice and red, before working the plug further into his hole. Finally the vibrator was in place, and the Cop’s butt hole clamped down on the narrow part of the butt plug, locking it in place against his prostate.

“Excellent. Nice and plugged. That’s how I like my slaves to be kept,” the Dominator said. He triggered the vibrator, and a deep buzz came to life inside the Cop’s virgin anus.

Surprised, the Cop immediately moaned in pleasure, his cock hardening.

The Dominator pushed him onto all fours, like a dog, and reached under him to pull the stiff cock down and away. Grasping his cock, the Dominator started to slowly milk it. He used slow strokes, all the time pointing the hard cock down toward the ground.

The Cop started humping his hips to get that extra pleasurable push on his cock.

In response, the Dominator slapped the Cop’s ass immobile: “Stop moving your hips, slave. You’re not allowed to fuck my hand. I control your cock, milking it, and pleasure or pain it gets. You need to learn your place.”

The Dominator turned off the vibrating plug, and picked up the black wood humbler. It was shaped like a slightly curved bar, wider than the Cop’s width, with a hole formed in the middle by the two hollowed-out sides of the bar screwed together. It was a wooden stocks of sorts for the slave’s ball sack. The Dominator opened the hinged humbler, and maneuvered it behind the Cop’s exposed ass. Grasping his balls, the Dominator pulled them through the hole and closed the sides of the humbler. The Cop’s big hairless balls were squeezed through the hole, exposed and vulnerable like a head locked in a wooden pillory. The Dominator screwed the locking mechanism closed, and positioned the sides of the humbler against the Cop’s lower ass cheeks.

“You really are a slave now,” the Dominator said. “Your balls are trapped, and any pressure on your legs will pull hard against them. You’ll just have to stay on all fours until I let you go.”

The Cop tried to move his legs a little and quickly found that any sudden movement with his legs pulled down his ball sack painfully. The best he could do was crawl slowly on his knees and hands.

The Dominator smiled at the Cop’s obvious discomfort. He hadn’t yet told him about that humbler’s best feature: it had small electrodes lining up the central hole. An excellent training motivator.

The Dominator decided to wait until the Cop was more safely restrained to show him that particular feature. The Dominator walked across the room, and turned to the Cop: “I want you to crawl over here, up to me.”

The Cop stayed still. It was too humiliating for him, a big cop, to take orders from another man … let alone crawl on the floor. He felt like this had gone too far.

The Dominator picked up a riding crop and walked over to the Cop. With it, he started to slowly spank the Cop’s fragile ass cheeks, increasing the intensity with each stroke.

“I’m going to keep beating your ass until you crawl across the room,” the Dominator said.

The Cop’s ass was glowing a nice pink when he finally gave in and started crossing the room slowly, on all fours. He was careful not to make any sudden movements with his legs that would pull even more on his now sore balls.

It was strange and humiliating to be here, naked, on all fours, with the Dominator watching. The Dominator kept the encouraging the Cop by spanking him with the riding crop, not letting the Cop slow down or take a break. Sometimes the Dominator would use his crop to smack the base of the Cop’s plug, sending pulsating pressure into the Cop’s hole all the way down to his prostrate. The Dominator alternated between spanking the Cop’s ass cheeks and tapping the butt plug. The Cop was humiliated at crawling, but couldn’t stop his cock from getting hard from the tapping on the plug. When the Cop reached the other side of the room, the Dominator stopped beating on his red ass, rubbed his head and said “Good boy. Now let’s get some puppy gear on.”

The Dominator strapped a thick leather collar on to the Cop, buckling it in the back. The Cop’s hands were inserted into leather-padded mitt gloves. Once the mitts were strapped on his hands, the Dominator clipped the Cop’s wrists to the collar. With his wrists mitted and strapped to his collar, the Cop nearly lost his balance as he tried to get stable on his knees and elbows. Moving behind the Cop, the Dominator put leather cuffs on the Cop’s ankles, and a steel spreader bar attached to the ankle cuffs, forcing the Cop’s legs apart. Finally, the Dominator put a thick leather bondage belt around the Cop’s waist. The belt was over six inches thick, with multiple buckles and steel rings. The Dominator attached the battery packs for the vibrating plug and the humbler’s electric connections. “Just for good measure,” he thought, the Dominator finished by attaching a bungee cord from the leg separator to the bondage belt, forcing the Cop’s legs to bed up towards his now sore ass. The cord allowed him to move his legs a few inches either way, but he could definitely not get out of his crawling position.

With his hands strapped to his collar and his legs forcibly spread, the Cop was now forced to stay on all fours. He couldn’t stand, or lay flat. He could struggle a little, but this caused the humbler to pull on his ball sack. The Dominator stood back and admired the now restrained Cop. “You look really hot all trussed up,” the Dominator said. “You should stay under control like this more often.”

The Cop looked up at him, not saying a thing.

The Dominator switched on the butt vibrator, and began to edge the Cop’s cock, rewarding him for staying calm and not fighting him while the restraints were put on. He milked the Cop’s cock long, slowly and purposefully by pulling it away from the Cop’s body, and stroking, and stroking, and strroooo… kinnng… Not strong enough, not nearly often enough to make him cum. But the Cop’s cock stayed rock hard, and started leeking pre-cum.

“Good boy. See how you get rewarded for being good? Buzzing your butt hole and milking you,” the Dominator said. “All you have to do is what I say. I think you like being in these restraints.

The Cop moaned, hating how his cock responded to the buzzing in his asshole and the feel of a strong man’s hands on his cock.

Part 4

The Dominator let go of the Cop’s cock and clicked off the vibrator. It was time to show the Cop the other side of the training. Not reward. But pain. The Dominator attached the electro stimulator to the electrodes on the humbler and attached the battery and remote receiver to the back of the bondage belt. Right on the slave dog, yet out of reach of his mitted hands. The Dominator grasped the remote control and turned the electro humbler onto its lowest setting. At this setting, it felt like a low buzz on the Cop’s balls. Not painful, just a light irritation. The Dominator heard the Cop grunt as the humbler warmed the Cop’s balls. “You like that, huh?” the Dominator asked. “A little surprise for you. The humbler has electrodes on it. If you do not do what I say, I will warm your balls as a warning. And then, I will inflict pain on you.”

With that, the Dominator buzzed the Cop’s balls up to the third setting. The Cop screamed in pain. It felt like his balls were burning and shocked at the same time. The jolt of the pain caused the Cop to involuntarily pull on his legs jerking the humbler and pulling his balls. Causing even more pain. The jolt of electricity was short, but left the Cop stunned and panting. Just a short burst to show you what the device does.

“Do what I say, and you won’t feel it again,” the Dominator said.

“Take that thing off me,” the Cop said, summoning up all the authority in his voice that he could given his restrained position.

“It is a little too late for you to be giving orders,” the Dominator said, and shocked the Cop’s balls again, holding the shock twice as long this time.

The Cop screamed in pain again. But this time did not say anything afterwards.

Lesson learned, the Dominator thought. The Dominator picked up a large size dildo from the side table. It was a realistic cock, with a thick fat head. He stuck the dildo on the floor so the cock stuck straight up in the air.

“Now crawl over here and suck on this dildo,” the Dominator said.

The Cop did not move. He had never sucked real or fake cock, and he was not starting now. The Dominator had expected resistance from the Cop and turned the humbler onto its lowest settling. Sending a light electro vibration on the Cop’s balls.

“Do you want to feel the fourth setting on this device?” The Dominator asked the Cop. He walked behind the Cop and started beating his ass with the riding crop. “Come on Boy. I don’t want to have to fry your balls again. But I will do it.”

The Cop held his ground as his ass got redder and redder from the beating.

The Dominator buzzed the humbler on the third setting again and watched the Cop yelp in pain. “I am a very patient man. I will just keep inflicting pain until you get your mouth on that cock,” the Dominator said.

It took two more shocking of his balls before the Cop could not take it again. He slowly crawled the few feet to the upright dildo and put his mouth slowly over the head of the cock.

The Dominator loved the sight of the straight cop, finally submitting to a plastic dildo in his mouth. How great it would be if the guys at the gym could see the tough Cop now, restrained and forced to suck on a dildo. The Dominator could have physically forced the cock into the Cop’s mouth, but he preferred the slow application of pain and pleasure to get the Cop to place his mouth on the dildo by his own volition. One more step down the road to a slave dog.

The Cop almost gagged at the feel of the head of the plastic cock in his mouth.

The Dominator came behind him and slowly pushed his head down on dildo. “If I do not see you actively sucking this cock, I am going to burn your balls again, boy,” the Dominator said.

The Cop started slow rocking motion with his head; sucking the dildo up and down. Slight pressure from the Dominator’s hand encouraged him to take more and more of the cock in his mouth.

As promised, the Dominator rewarded the Cop for his good behavior. As soon as his mouth wrapped around the dildo, the Dominator turned the butt plug vibrator back on, sending pulses down his prostate and asshole. The Dominator would keep the vibrator on the entire time that the Cop sucked the dildo. The Dominator also started to milk the Cop’s cock, keeping the milking strokes in rhythm the downward and upward motion of the Cop’s head on the dildo.

It was sensory overload for the Cop. He was humiliated at being restrained and forced to suck a dildo, but was overwhelmed by the feelings from the plug and the milking. He wanted to shoot his load, but the Dominator was careful to keep the milking slow and light. Not enough to get him off.

“Good boy. Now you keep working that dildo in your mouth while I go out of the room and change. If your mouth is not on that cock when I come back you will be punished,” the Dominator said.

The Cop kept the dildo in his mouth, even as he heard the Dominator walk away. He could not take another ass beating and shock from the humbler. Soon he heard the booted feet of the Dominator walking down the hall and back into the training room. He did not look up from the dildo, but kept on sucking it. He could tell something was different in the way that the Dominator walked from the sound of the boots. But could not figure out what the difference was.

The Dominator attached a leash to the Cop’s collar and pulled his head off the dildo. The Cop turned to look at the Dominator. All he could do was stare at the black motorcycle boots. The Dominator had put on the Cop’s uniform and boots, and stood before the restrained Cop. The Dominator pulled the leash towards him.

“I want you to lick these boots nice and clean,” the Dominator said. “Just like you had those cadets in police officer training school lick them for you.”

The humbler started to buzz at a low level of electricity on his balls, telling the Cop that he did not have much of a choice.

The Dominator stuck one booted foot out in front of the Cop, and pushed the Cop’s head down towards the toe of the boot. “Lick it,” he said.

The Cop started to lick the boots. As soon as his tongue touched the boots the humbler stopped buzzing his balls and the vibrator in his ass clicked on, sending pleasure up his cock. More reward for humiliation. The Cop’s mind was confused with the domination of pleasure and humiliation. The more the Cop licked the boots, the more the Dominator buzzed the Cop’s asshole with the vibrator.

“Good boy. Yeah, lick the boots clean.”

The Dominator was pleased with the progress of the Cop.

Part 5

When the boots were clean, the Dominator removed the leather collar from the Cop, and began to strap on a head harness. The head harness encased the Cop’s head in a leather web of straps.

The Cop had never felt such encasement. His jaw was cupped into a leather pad that had a quarter size hole in it for breathing. Other straps worked around his head holding the jaw nearly closed. The muzzle included a thick leather collar that locked around the back.

The Dominator was obviously familiar with the muzzle, as he calmly and quickly adjusted the leather straps snugly around the Cop’s head. Once the muzzle was locked on, the Dominator held the Cop’s muzzled head in his hands and looked into the Cop’s eyes and said, “I know this is new for you. Just enjoy and take it in. Training can be good for a man.”

The Cop grunted in response through the hole in the muzzle face plate.

“Yeah, that’s right,” the Dominator said, “grunt like a little dog puppy. Dogs are not allowed to talk.”

With the head harness in place, the Dominator was ready to begin some force feeding. Nothing really erotic about it, just another way to show that the slave was not in control. With his slave dogs, they were totally dependent on the Dominator for feeding during their weekend stays in the cage, but the Cop was not ready for that level of control — yet.

The Dominator tool a clear plastic tube and fed it into the Cop’s mouth through the hole in the faceplate of the head harness. He put it about an inch or so into the Cop’s mouth. The Cop did not know what to expect, and the Dominator could see the confusion in his eyes.

“I am going to feed you some liquids through the tube. If any drip out of your mouth before you swallow them, I will shock your balls in the humbler. Understand?” the Dominator said. The Dominator started to pour water into the funnel attached to the other end of the tube. Very slowly the water trickled down the tube and into the Cop’s mouth. The Dominator watched and gave the Cop time to swallow and catch up with the water. He fed him 12 ounces of water before stopping. He went behind the Cop. And started to milk him. Rewarding him for his good behaviors, but not letting him shoot his load.

The Cop groaned from the pleasure on his cock and his need to get release.

But the Dominator was not ready for that. The Dominator started the feeding again, but this time using a heavily caffeinated Red Bull drink.

Sweet and caffeinated, the Cop sucked it all in with no drips. By now the Cop could feel pressure on his bladder from the liquids and the long time since he had last pissed. The caffeinated drink made it quickly worse.

But the Dominator did not say anything to the Cop about pissing. Instead, the Dominator started more milking and edging of the Cop’s cock, using the plug to vibrate his ass at the same time.

The Cop found the Dominator’s voice almost hypnotic as it told the Cop what a good slave he was. The milking continued to keep the Cop’s cock hard, but unable to release. Now the pressure on his bladder was overwhelming, and the Dominator started the final feeding of another bottle of water. Slowly, drip by drip, he fed the Cop through the tube. The Dominator was in no rush.

“I will let you piss when you finish this bottle with no drips,” The Dominator said. “If you piss before then, we will start all over again.”

The pressure on the Cop’s bladder was painful, but the Dominator fed him the last bottle of water slowly.

The Cop sucked on the tube, trying to signal that he wanted more water faster, so he could finish it and piss. But the Dominator only fed him a few tablespoons at time. The Dominator liked how the Cop was in the position of begging to be fed the water now; desperate to finish the feeding so he could piss.

Finally, the Cop finished the last of the water through the tube and the Dominator removed the tube and even the head harness. The Dominator positioned a plastic milk jug under the Cop’s dick and pushed the semi-erect head into the top of the milk jar.

“OK, Dog, you can piss now.”

It took the Cop some time to relax, but finally he pissed hard, filling most of the quart jug.

“Good boy. I am going to feed some of your piss to my dog slave tonight. Get him used to the taste of your piss.”

Part 6

It was time for the Cop’s reward for his training.

The Dominator strapped a cock gag on the Cop’s mouth. It had a realistic cock head that was locked in place in the Cop’s mouth. The Dominator wanted the Cop to associate the feeling of penetration of his mouth and ass with cumming. All of his dog slaves only came when they were dually penetrated. The Dominator also put on thick black rubber gloves to give a different feeling to the milking of the slave’s cock. With the Cop on all fours, the Dominator put the butt vibrator on high and began to work the Cop’s cock. Again, pulling the cock strait down and back, away from the body. Milking it. He started slowly with the milking, but quickly picked up speed and pressure.

He talked to the Cop, telling him what a good slave he was for his first visit, and how he wanted him to cum hard for him. Within a few minutes he could feel tension in the muscles of the Cop building, and the Cop shot a huge load from his cock, grunting in pleasure and release.

The Dominator let go of the Cop’s cock, and undid most of the restraints, except the humbler.

The Cop lay naked on the floor. With the humbler finally removed from his ball sack, he could lay flat on the floor. He was exhausted from the combination of the metal and physical domination. He could not look at the Dominator. He just lay there. Not sure what to do.

Finally, the Dominator removed the humbler, the main instrument of training. “Come on. Get up,” the Dominator said. Time for you to go.”

The Cop slowly stood up, naked in front of the Dominator. “Put your hands behind your head,” the Dominator ordered.

Even with the humbler removed, the Cop found himself responding quickly to the Dominator’s instructions. The Dominator bent down and started manipulating the Cop’s cock and balls through a plastic cock ring. After making a few adjustments, the Dominator greased the Cop’s still soft cock and slipped a clear plastic tube over the Cop’s cock and locked it into place. It was a plastic chastity device that locked the Cop’s cock up. The Dominator put a small lock through the tube and ring and clicked it closed.

“There you go. Your cock is nice and safe until your next visit. Don’t worry. I will take it off for our workouts at the gym where I can monitor you. But I will put it on after the workouts. If you are a good boy and come back next week for another training session, I will take it off and milk you again,” the Dominator said.

The Cop looked down at his cock. The plastic ring was secure around his ball sack, and he could see his cock through the clear plastic tube. His cock could get semi hard in the device, but it forced the cock down in to the tube. A full erection was impossible.

“It takes a little getting used to the device,” the Dominator said. “But I find my slave boys come to enjoy the secure feeling it gives them. My control continues on all week in between training sessions, and the milking reward that comes along with the forced chastity. Now get up on this scale, boy,” the Dominator said, pointing to a digital scale in the corner of the room.

The Cop stood on the scale, and it read out at 195 pounds.

“Good Boy. Here is what I want you to do,” the Dominator said. “You have to lose at least two pounds this week. Cut back on your food intake or ramp up your workouts. I don’t care how you do it. But if you are not under 193 pounds next week, you will spend a long time in the humbler and will not be milked. Do you understand, Jonathan?” The Dominator looked into the Cop’s eyes. “That means two weeks without cumming unless you lose two pounds this week.”

“I understand,” the Cop replied, “I will try.”

The Dominator did not tell the Cop; but he liked the psychological control he could exert at a distance over the Cop by forcing the Cop to think about what he was eating and focus on his weight all week. Control over the Cop’s cock and his food intake. The Dominator would keep the Cop on a diet for a number of weeks, and then force him to maintain his trimmed down target weight.

The Dominator kept all of his slave boys trim and under weight. It showed them he controlled them at all times. The hungry feeling would not go away.

The Dominator said, “Good. I will see you tomorrow at the gym for our regular work. Now get dressed and get out of here.”

 

THE END

 

Metal would like to thank ChastitySub for this awesome story!  And thanks also to Bruno for his assistance in preparing this story for posting.

 

 

By MarkNorth

He is locked in the cage his eyes pleading with me over the top of the gag.  His wrists and ankles weighed down by the heaviest shackles that I have; with short, heavy chains limiting his every movement. He is not happy – but I could care less.

It is obvious that he finally regrets his decision to become my prisoner.  They never believe that it is for “real” until it is too late.  They love the idea of being a prisoner or a slave or losing control – the excitement of the fantasy.  So they blissfully agree to sign the contract or lock the collars on.  Only in time do they realize that it isn’t a game.  “Be careful what you wish for” are words to live by when trying to make your fantasies a reality.

I always warn them, give them multiple chances to back out or add conditions and limits to their captivity; but they think it is just part of the role playing.  I don’t role play.  The will soon learn that – and it is usually the hard way.

This one is a prime example.  He had a personal up looking for a dominant to make him his prisoner.  “Want and need 24/7 lock-up.  Blah, blah, blah.  Email me at….”

I look for these ads and reply to many of them; I let the guy with the ad run his fantasy a little and then usually scare him off (on purpose).  This guy, though, followed through all the way.  Surprised me a little, but I could tell he was seriously interested in the real thing.  I also knew that he had no clue what the “real” thing would really be like.  Pictures were emailed; he was a good looking jock-type.  I didn’t care if gay or straight – they all served the same in the end.  24 years old, single, a little adrift – just my type.

After I was sure he had the bondage experience (he did in spades), and could handle some true incarceration (he could), I showed him the contract.  He thought it was great, considered it for a few days, asked quite a few questions, asked for some (petty) changes to the terms and then we set an official date for the signing and incarceration.

He was renting a house with 5 other guys – all fresh out of college, so nobody really cared that he was going to be away for “awhile.”  “It’s all good,” was probably said a dozen times as he told them that he was just heading out on an adventure.  He was instructed to never mention what “adventure” he was truly embarking on.

I sent him a package with the only items he needed to bring with him on the big day.  I think simple is best – so a pair of well worn, ass hugging jeans with a plain white jock strap, black t-shirt and some old Adidas basketball shoes (no socks).  It was pretty much his daily uniform, anyway, but he looked hot as hell in them.  The last thing in the package was a heavy chain collar and a large, heavy lock.  Together they probably weighed close to two pounds.  This was his last chance to back out.  Once he locked that chain around his neck the only way to get it off, short of a blow-torch, was by coming to me.  It was also too large to hide, so it was in plain sight the entire walk across town to my house.

He arrived on time.  Stripped to the jock strap and collar in the foyer and came downstairs to the playroom as ordered.  He was nervous, excited, and a little jumpy.  His dick was hard and pretty much bursting the seams of the jock.  All good signs.  I sat him down at a little table and let him read through the entire contract again.  Then made him read it once more.  I had several friends over as witnesses, but waited to bring them down until we were ready.  After reading it a second time I could see the smirk grow on his face.  Ah yes, he was loving the idea of the “game” – which, of course, it wasn’t.  I gave him another opportunity to reconsider and he said we should go ahead now – he was ready willing, and able to hand himself over to me for his incarceration.

He was a little surprised when I called my friends in to witness our signatures, but he signed all the copies and the smirk never faded.  I thanked my friends, gave them each a copy of the contract for safe-keeping and sent them on their way.  The rest of the day was solely for him.  Although he didn’t need it, I ordered him to shower – telling him to take advantage of it because you never know when you’ll be able to again.  He protested but eventually followed his instructions.  When he was done he came and knelt before me, naked as instructed.  I told him that he is no longer a free man.  He will only do what I tell him to do and never question my orders.  He agreed.  Of course, the smirk persisted.

I told him to stand and follow me over to a workbench on the side of the playroom.  Sitting there for him to see was the best part of the contract for me – one of the most severe chastity devices that I have ever been able to find.  It was easy to adjust to make it seem like it was custom made.  The look on his face told me everything I needed to know.  Serious chastity was a great fantasy for him – not so much when faced with the reality of it.

He tried to back away but I grabbed him and firmly ordered him to stand still.  He reacted quickly to my commands – I could tell he was taken aback by the tone and forcefulness.  It took me quite a while to get the device in place.  It was a jock-style metal unit – kept the ass fully exposed and the dick pushed down into a small inner tube.  The lining in the tube was rubber – something that I found to be very effective.  The friction caused by the rubber when his dick tried to enlarge was painful; less so than spikes would be, but enough to ensure his discomfort.  The locking mechanism is recessed into the front of the device – which was a work of art in itself.  Once engaged it would be next to impossible to open without the proper key (or, again, a blow torch!)

Once it was locked in place I let him get used to it for a while.  Then I started to play with his tits and stroke his smooth body.  I caressed him carefully and was rewarded rather quickly by his painful reaction to his attempted erection.  Get used to it I told him.  You will not get off again until you earn it from me.  Your enjoyment is of no concern to me – you live to serve me now.

The smirk faded for a moment, but returned.  “Oh yes, this guy was good at this game!” Is probably what he was thinking.  I ordered him to his knees and had him crawl to the cage – the one thing that he said always got him hard as hell and his favorite place to be locked-up.  I locked on the heaviest wrist and ankle manacles and then locked them together with a short chain that I extended to the chain already locked around his neck.  He would be able to stand in a stoop and shuffle around a bit (when not caged, that is), but that would be about it.  I locked him in the cage, locked his neck collar to the cage and wished him good night.  I left him in the dark until the next morning.

The basement was pretty much soundproof, so his screams were pretty muted.  No one outside would ever hear them.  His cries were such a turn on for me – it was one of the reasons that I loved locking guys like him up.  The louder he yelled, the harder I got.  I fell asleep after jacking off to the distant sound of his pleas to be released.

When I eventually went down to the playroom to check on him he was livid.  He swore at me and called me every name he could think of.  I let him burn himself out for a while before asking him if he was hungry or thirsty.  Of course he was.  If he begged, I told him, I would give him some water.  He swore at me.  I left him in the dark for another 6 hours.

This time he was quiet when I came into the room.  He begged for some water and I rewarded him with some.  I noticed that he had pissed himself – it had dribbled out the drain in the device and pooled between his legs.  He saw me looking at it and was about to swear at me again, but caught himself.  Good, he was already learning!

I brought him some food and fed it to him through the bars of the cage.  He had been locked up in there for about 36 hours, but I wasn’t going to free him.  He felt better after eating and I left a bottle of water with him.  As long as he behaved he would have these little niceties, but they can be taken away just as quickly.

I noticed that, although he was uncomfortable and sore, a little smirk had returned to his face.  Now he was probably thinking, “Mr. hard-ass has proved his point.  I’ll play along and behave until be releases me, then the game is over.”

When I reminded him that this wasn’t a game but, rather, his new reality he must have thought that I was reading is mind.  I had done this dozens of time – I knew the stages and could read these guy’s faces like a book.  His smirk dimmed, but didn’t fade away completely.

I left him in the dark for another 6 hours.  Fed him and gave him some more water.  He was sitting in more of his own piss.  But I didn’t release him from the cage.  Instead I played with him again until his dick tried to get hard and he winced in pain.  This time, however, I didn’t stop.  He needed to experience the device to its fullest so that he knew that he couldn’t get off at all.  I reminded him that his body and, especially his cock, were mine.  Still he was thinking that, although a bit harsher than imagined, the game would end soon.  His smirk returned as I finished with him, but there was now some fear in his eyes – good!

The next day I allowed him out of the cage to get cleaned up and relax his muscles.  I anticipated that he would struggle, but chained as he was he had no chance.  I let him shower and made him clean-up the floor of the cage.  Then I forced him back inside locking the collar to a ring on the cage, so that his movements were severely restricted.  I reminded him that this was punishment for struggling against me.  He would learn to obey.

Weeks passed.  I keep him in the same exact routine.  Hours in the dark, shackled and locked in the cage.  A few hours outside of the cage every two days or so – hard exercise for him then a shower.  The chastity device has remained in place – I enjoy teasing him with caresses and seeing his pain as his dick tries to get hard.  It is easy to clean while locked on, so it can remain in place for quite some time.  I continue to feed him by hand – never allowing him to feed himself.  It is humiliating for him, but he must learn that he now depends on me for everything.

Last night he exploded at me when I went to feed him.  He screamed every obscenity in the book and said that he had had enough of this game.  I had proved my point, it wasn’t what he had been expecting, and it wasn’t any fun for him at all.  He started to beg and plead for release – especially after he saw the look on my face.

I tossed the meal in the garbage and reminded him that this should have been exactly what to expect.  After all, he had read, reread, and signed the contract.  As he shook his head I told him that this was his reality.  The contract was real.  The manacles are real.  The cage is real.  The chastity device is real.  The fact that I owned his ass was real.  This was his life from now on.  The fact that it didn’t fit into his fantasy was irrelevant, as were any of his thoughts, wishes, or desires.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that eventually he might earn his release.  I’m sure that he didn’t remember that clause in the contract, anyway.  He was one of the cockier ones that I have dealt with, so it will most likely be a long time before he gets to that point, anyway.

He unleashed another tirade of obscenities and screams.  I let him yell until he wore himself out.  I then went over to my gear cabinet and pulled out one of my favorite pieces.  Oh, he struggled mightily as I inserted the mouth-filling gag and securely strapped it on and locked it in place.  It was padded leather so that it was relatively comfortable around his head, but the gag piece would begin to make his jaw sore in a few hours.  It is the most effective gag that I have – it’s hard for its wearer to make even quiet sounds, let alone scream or yell.  I watched him for a while then left him alone in the dark.

I went down this morning to check on him and remove the gag – he needs water, food and the pain in his jaw must be excruciating by now.  Although I don’t think this latest punishment will have pushed him much further towards complete submission, it is another step in that direction.  I look forward to breaking him over the coming weeks, or months, if that is what it takes.  These past few weeks have been great for me – the turn on of seeing this guy locked-up has been fantastic.

It may not take as long as I suspect, though, I can already tell that the smirk has been permanently removed from his face.

I can’t help but smile as I look into his pleading blue eyes.  He is so damn cute with that leather gag covering his face, those manacles and chains restricting his every move, and his bare-ass all locked-up in that cage.  Good thing I’m not wearing that chastity device or I would be the one grimacing in pain right now!

Yes, reality trumps fantasy every time!

 

THE END

 

By Nick Ensign

I should have recognized him for what he was the moment I laid eyes on him. But you know how it is when a man — any man who fits your ‘type’ perfectly – can knock the sense right out of you. I was at Starbucks, catching up on some emails and Facebook messages, when he walked in with a few of his friends. His hair was cut back into a short flattop, maybe the sexiest haircut a man can wear, and his moustache was thick, dark, but not overgrown. His companions sported short haircuts as well but didn’t catch my eye in the same way. One had upper arms so thick they stretched the hems of his sleeves, but the man I was eying had only a normal physique — that is, strong and hard but not over- or under-sized anywhere.

I should have folded my laptop at that point because I could no longer concentrate on my writing. I tried, but every few seconds my eyes darted furtively back to the flattop-ped man. I could see him generally eying the other patrons as well, and once or twice we locked eyes briefly with me flicking past as soon as I could as if I were only looking casually about the room.

Half an hour later and hard as a rock, I gave up. I couldn’t think of anyone or anything but him. So, I re-stowed my laptop, threw my books in my backpack, and headed back out to my car. Deep in thought, I didn’t hear the crunch of boots on pavement behind me until I began fumbling with my keys at the car door.

“Don’t run off,” I heard a deep and smooth voice say behind me, near my ear. Then, before I could turn around his arm appeared to the left of me and his palm slapped against the glass, holding the door shut. I was startled and excited. My heart leaped into my throat in a mixture of stimulation and sudden fear. My eye recognized the color of his sleeve, however, and in the glass of my car door window, I could see the ghostly reflection of his face and haircut. Taking a moment for a deep breath first, I forced myself to relax and then I leaned backwards ever so slightly.

“I– I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s great,” he said with a low rumble in his throat. His right arm snaked around my right side, then, and his right palm was also flat against the glass. This maneuver brought him in close behind me. In my memory I can smell him, but I don’t know if that memory is true. My head was pounding with excitement. I barely heard him at first as he whispered into my right ear. “You were pretty obvious back there. Did you see something you liked?”

His breath in my ear was too much for me. I wanted to arc my back, but he was too close, pressed up against me. So, I nodded, once, twice, maybe a third time, before I could stutter a whispered “Yes.”

“Me too,” he whispered again, and I could feel his crotch shift forward, pressing harder against my ass. We stood there a moment before his right arm disappeared. Several seconds later it reappeared and I saw a white square for a moment. Whatever it was, he stuffed it into my front pocket, his fingers so tantalizingly near my cock. His hand pulled out again swiftly, and I heard him whisper one last thing to me. “You make sure to use that. And use it quickly.” Then, before I could react, he added, “Wait until you get home.” With that, I felt the soft moist pressure on the back of my neck from his lips. Then, playfully, his teeth softly grazed my skin. Frozen in the moment, I couldn’t react when his left arm withdrew. I heard his boots crunching across the pavement again and saw his reflection walk back towards the cafe. Tingling, shaking even, from head to foot, I got in my car and drove the few miles back home.

Once at home I grabbed the souvenir from my pocket and discovered it to be his business card. Even more than the promise of his body, I was excited to see the imprint of a San Bernardino County Deputy Sheriff’s badge. I could not believe my luck– I had not only been given the number of one of the hottest men I’d ever seen, but he was a deputy to boot. On the back, written in a hurried fashion, was a 10-digit number.

A million thoughts ran through my head at this point. I wanted to call immediately, but then I pictured him still sitting there, drinking a coffee with his friends. Finally, I remembered his words to act quickly and grabbed my phone. I watched, as if from a mile up as my finger slowly pushed the numbers. It was shaking so, and I feared it would mis-dial. But, after the last number was pushed, there was a series of tones, and then I heard his voice say quickly, “Leave a message.”

I told him my name then left my phone number. Then I repeated my name again, afraid I hadn’t said it right the first time. I even repeated my phone number again, slowing down to sound out each digit. I was a mess, and when I hung up, I felt a colossal fool for all the repetition. For a second time, I forced myself to take a deep breath. I set the phone down to one side, within easy reach, and pretended to read for a while. However, after re-reading the same sentences and paragraphs a few times, I gave up on the book and thumbed the remote for my TV.

I sat there in the latening night, program after program beginning and ending. I wasn’t aware of time passing, and every so often I checked my phone to see if I had somehow missed a call. There was no voicemail icon, no missed call icon. Eventually, my senses slowed down to match real time. I saw one of the very late-night hosts on my television and knew the evening had passed. My body was stiff from having sat in one place on the couch for so long. It occurred to me then to be disappointed, but I told myself that he hadn’t meant for me to call immediately and that I shouldn’t expect a call back from him for at least a day or two. Shrugging off the excitement of the evening then, I started making myself ready for bed.

That was when I heard the loud rapping at my door. It was so loud and so sudden that I nearly jumped out of my skin. A moment later I heard a loud voice say “Sheriff’s department! Open up!” It took no time at all from me to recognize the voice, though, and I ran to the door, forgetting that I was dressed only in a pair of boxers. I nearly yanked the door off its hinges as the loud rapping started a second time.

“Stand aside!” he said from the porch. I had forgotten to flip the porch light on, but he was illuminated by the lights in my living room. My head was instantly pounding again to see him in full uniform.

In my book, there are fewer uniforms better looking than those worn by the SBSD. Silver tan shirt over forest green trousers. A big gold star on the chest. I would get a headache if my head continued to pound longer or harder.

He strode past me, socketing his baton in a side holster. Unlike the casual shirt I had seen him in earlier, this shirt, his uniform shirt, fit him like skin paint. I could see the outlines of his body armor. Inside now, a step past me, he heeled around, and one arm reached out and shut the door behind me. I was apparently too numb to think of these things. Then, allowing the first smile I had seen to reach his lips, he said, “I hope your neighbors are sound sleepers.”

I mumbled something and before I could finish, he stepped forward, pushing me back up against my front door. “I don’t have a lot of time. I’m glad you live close by,” he said as he placed both hands against the door, on either side of my head. That’s when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. I gave in totally, all rational thought leaving me. When his tongue starting pushing its way through my lips, I resisted, then let him fully in. It surged into my mouth and forcefully engaged my own tongue. How long we stood there like that, I don’t know. I was completely lost until I felt one hand dropped from the side of my head and later reappeared as a hot probing sensation in my boxers. I felt his rough fingers cup my sack then rub along my stiffened cock.  He pulled back then and completely detached himself. “I’m glad to see you’re paying attention,” he said, never wavering his look from my eyes.

I took that moment to scan him from top to bottom, and there was no doubt that his own cock was hard as well. So, I grabbed one of his hands and led him back into my darkened bedroom. There, I sat him down on the corner of my bed, making sure his legs had plenty of room to spread wide. I knelt there in front of him and saw a gaping smile dawn across his face as I looked upward. With one hand I then began to message his cock inside his uniform trousers. I reached back, shoving one finger forward, under his crack, and then drew it forward. Then I leaned forward and began to lick his trousered cock. In a few minutes I could sense the dampness coming from within. At this time, he grabbed my head with both hands and held me back. Then he released me and reached for the buckle of his duty belt. Behind the duty belt was a trouser belt, and following that he zipped downwards. His cock sprang out then, magnificent.  I was high on the smell of leather and the slight tang of his pre-cum at this time. I dived forward with my mouth, wrapping it around the head of his cock. I massaged the head alone for a few seconds and then began working my way down the shaft. After a few minutes, I started to work up and down the shaft, from the head of his cock to the base, in a slow rhythm. It didn’t take him long to join in the rhythm, and his cock began to plunge back and forth. Finally, his hands re-gripped the sides of my head, and our rhythm accelerated to a near violent level. I knew he had lost sight of me as a person, and I was just a moist useful sex toy to him from that point forward. A few minutes later, it was over as he exploded hot salty cum in my mouth and down my throat. I was unable to protest as his hands held my head tight. I acquiesced then and swallowed his whole load, nearly gagging at times on the tang of the hot goo.

Finally, his cock already withdrawing, he released my head. I withdrew my mouth and leaned my head to one side of his crotch, watching the now drooping cock. As it dripped a few times, I snaked my tongue out and caught the drips. In short time, all liquids having dried up, I looked upwards at him. He was looking down at me, not smiling but grinning, if you take my meaning.

Without thinking about what I was saying, I said the first thing that came to mind:

 

“I would gladly be your prisoner anywhere, anytime.”  

 

It seemed like such an innocuous and necessary thing to say there, him in full uniform, my head relaxed in his crotch. But, I could see a look dart across his eyes, a look I didn’t understand, before a leering smile replaced it.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked. “Don’t lie to me.”

More than anything it was what I wanted! My heart doubled its pace instantly at his response.

“Of course it is,” I panted. “Make me your prisoner.”

He stood up then, tilting me backwards on my knees. Towering over me, he re-zipped his uniform trousers and re-buckled his belts. Then he said to me sternly, without a smile, “Stand up.” We switched places as he walked behind me. I wanted to turn to face him, but he pushed me down face first onto my bed. Roughly, he grabbed my left arm, and I felt the sting of a handcuff slap itself around the wrist and lock into place. He repeated this procedure with my right wrist and I could feel my wrists locked together! I next felt his hands at my waist as he picked me up a few inches and shoved me completely forward onto the bed. I was lying half face down and half curled to one side.

“Don’t go anywhere until I get back,” he said gruffly. Then I heard him leave by the front door.

We had played for thirty or forty minutes only so it was still the middle of the night. I lay there in the dark the rest of the night, occasionally turning one way or another to remain comfortable. The pressure of the handcuffs was steady. At first it was comfortable, reminding me what I had gotten myself into, but it grew uncomfortable after awhile, and I had to move my hands to keep the blood flowing. I must have gone to sleep at some point, despite my excitement and fear, but I doubt I slept long. The night passed like a fever dream with me unable to focus on anything other than my handcuffs and the recent events.

Some time later, I came into fuzzy focus again and could see the purple of dawn through my window shades. I also heard the front door opening and soft footfalls coming towards the bedroom. They stopped in the doorway and all was quiet. Finally, unable to take the anxiety, I twisted so I could view the doorway. He stood there, watching me, dressed again in casual clothes. When my eyes met his he said, “How did you sleep, prisoner?” There was a seriousness to his voice that overlaid a taunt. I knew he was enjoying himself but didn’t want to show it.

“I slept… fitfully… Sir.”

My cock was hardening again, for what seemed like the 100th time that night.

“Good. Prisoners get no comforts from me,” he said. He then stepped forward and one hand reached for his now casual belt buckle. His pants seemed to drop instantly as I watched him step forward. My view of him was distorted, looking sideways as I was, but I couldn’t mistake the hardening of his own cock. He reached out and grabbed me with both hands, pulling me backwards until my legs draped over the side of the bed. I was on my chest again, face into the bedspread. I felt his bared legs straddle my own, and moments later a hard pressure began to probe my ass.

I breathed hard as the bulk of his weight settled atop me. His left hand came up front and clasped itself across my mouth. I could smell his fingers and I moaned into his hand as he used his right hand to guide his cock into my ass. There was a sharp pain and I wanted to cry out, but he stopped there, clamping my mouth shut with his hand, his cock head inserted into me. After a moment, the pain having passed, he pushed himself forward, sliding deeper into my ass.

His rhythm began slowly as before, and what had been pain on my part a moment before turned into ecstasy. I was hard as a rock myself, feeling his cock slide in and out of me. He continued his pace, not as frenetic as earlier, and I knew he meant to fuck me for a while. Gradually, he thrust deeper and deeper, finally finding the right spot deep inside me. Pinioned by his weight, unable to do more than moan, and with my cock flattened underneath me against my belly, I burst in unbearable delight, shooting a load there into the bedspread. He sensed the change in me and whispered ”Good little prisoner” in one ear before changing the momentum of his thrusts. I immediately felt the difference as he slowly brought himself to his second load of the night. In a matter of moments I felt his hot cum surge inside me. His rhythm fell off then. I heard and felt his sticky cock slide out of me. He lay it across one of my ass cheeks as it shrank and dried.

We lay there like that for a few minutes, neither of us speaking. His hand had relaxed from the clamp across my mouth. After a few moments in this paradise, he pulled himself off me and stood up.

I heard him say, “Do you still want to be my prisoner?”

I rolled over and pushed myself back up onto my bed fully. Looking up, all I could say was “Yes, Sir! Very much, Sir!”

“It’s your lucky day then,” he said. “I used to be a patrol deputy, but I gave that up to go back and work full time in the county jail. You know Glen Helen, right?”

I knew it well, of course. It was one of the jails run by the county and only a few miles from where I lived.

“That’s where I’m stationed,” he added after I nodded. He was picking up his trousers and refastening them around his waist at this time. “I think we’ll both have fun with you as my prisoner. But, remember this, you volunteered. Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to continue thinking of you as a prisoner. If you ever want to change your mind, you have to tell me.”

That seemed needlessly mysterious to me, but I was caught up in the moment. “Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir,” I said.

Then he walked back to where I lay on the bed, unlocked my wrists, leaned over and kissed me full on the lips. I closed my eyes, but he withdrew quickly and left the room. A moment later, I heard the front door open and close again.

We met like this a few nights a week over the next couple months. Most nights he let me know when he was planning to come over, but some nights were a complete surprise. I would be awakened by the loud rapping of his baton on my door. Several times he visited me again in the early morning, but many nights I only saw him the one time. Regardless, though, he always addressed me as “Prisoner” even though I figured out that he knew my full name. In fact, given his resources, I guessed he knew a lot about me. I was eventually allowed, in return, to address him as “Deputy” and use his last name.

The handcuffs came into play more and more often and one time he whipped out a pair of shackles for my feet as well. I lay there in bed most of the night, completely locked up, in dreamy lust for him. When he returned that morning, he was particularly rough with me, barking orders at me before he fucked me hard.

Then, one night after I satisfied him orally, he got up without saying a word. I heard him go to his cruiser before returning to me. He threw a plastic sack at me, and barked, “Change into this, prisoner!”

Nervous, my heart beating, I opened the sack and found a set of orange jail gear, top and bottom. The back of the shirt was marked SBSD CORRECTIONS and one front leg was abbreviated SBSD CORR. There were boxers and a tee shirt, marked as well. I put on the undergear, and then nervously slipped into the orange inmate clothing.

“How do you feel now, prisoner?” he asked, nearly emotionless.

I didn’t know how to feel. I was excited and scared at the same time.

He didn’t wait for me and stepped forward, shoving me against the wall. “I said, how do you feel now!”

One of his arms was pinned against my back, holding me there. I could smell his hot breath. I turned my head and stuttered, “I feel like a prisoner, Sir.”

That was his cue to begin frisking me. Without another word, he placed one of my hands high on the wall over my head and then placed the other up there as well. He frisked me indelicately from top to bottom. Then, grabbing my left arm, pulling it down, and folding it behind me, he began reciting my rights to me. When he was finished, he ‘arrested’ me by cuffing the left wrist and then pulling my right arm down and cuffing that as well, much as he had done on the first night. I was stunned, not knowing what to do or say. He sensed I was excited and reached one arm under my crotch and grabbed my stiffening cock from behind. He held it there for a moment before releasing me.

“You know the drill,” he said then. “Get into that bed and wait for my return.” As he left I sat on the side of the bed, my hands locked firmly behind me. Then I swiveled to the side, finally laying myself flat. As he ordered, I lay there the remainder of the night, waiting for him. When he returned in the morning, he found me fully alert.

It only took me few seconds to see that something dangled from one hand, and as my eyes went down to it, he said “I’ll be taking some photos of my prisoner. Do not disappoint me.” He helped me up from the bed and positioned me against the wall. Then he flipped on the lights. “Don’t smile,” he said, taking a few pictures. Then he turned me to the right for a profile shot and took a few more.

I was, of course, ecstatic. The more and more he treated me like a real prisoner, the more and more I got into our ‘scenes.’ He seemed to enjoy them as well, but at times it seemed like he was growing more and more remote. I let the situation slide, however, doing what I could to please him. That morning, after taking my pictures, he jerked the pants down around my ankles and fucked me without taking the cuffs off. Before he left he told me “I expect to see you wearing that from now on.”

He visited me a few more times and I dutifully wore my inmate uniform each time. Because I didn’t know what nights he was going to barge in, I got in the habit of sleeping in that uniform. On the nights when he didn’t appear, I would look at myself long and hard in the mirror, evaluating myself as a prisoner.

Shortly after this, however, he surprised me in a way that made me question where we were going. He appeared at my door, unannounced, late one night, and when we got back to my bedroom, he tossed a dark brown file folder at me. There were several papers fastened inside. Without waiting for me to give him the customary oral satisfaction, he told me to read the file. I flipped it over and folded the cover back gingerly. I was suddenly nervous, picking up on a cue of hardness in his voice. The first thing I saw were the pictures of me, one facing forwards and one in profile, at the top of a form. Reading, I found my name, address, and a lot of other info about me typed in the form. Another page down I saw empty squares for my fingerprints. I flipped past a blank Evaluation page and came to another form in the file.

At this point he bent over me and pulled the file from my hands. With a ripping motion, he pulled that last form out of the folder. “These are your commitment papers,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I have ‘arranged’ for you to spend one weekend working with the other inmates out at Glen Helen.” He was positively leering at this point. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to spend any time locked up. You get to spend your sentence working two days, that’s all.”

He cupped my chin with one hand then and tilted my head up to meet me eye to eye. “You can handle that, right? You’ll be working with other weekend inmates, not the real scum. I know how much you’ll enjoy this if you relax and go with the flow.”  I don’t know how I reacted to his words as I could barely hear my own thoughts over my pulsing heartbeat.

“Good prisoner,” he continued. Then, unexpectedly, he began to leave. We hadn’t enjoyed each other at all. He stopped at the door before leaving though. “Here’s the thing. Your commitment is in the system so you don’t really have a choice at this point. You have one month to complete your sentence. Before doing that, you’re going to have to report to the jail and complete this record.” He waved the file a bit. “If you don’t the system will automatically spit out a warrant for you, and it will be much worse.” He had his hand on the doorknob at that time, about to leave, when he added, “Oh, and I’m cutting you off until you show me how good a prisoner you are.”

That was it. He left then.

I stood in the doorway to my bedroom, looking at the closed door. The commitment form lay on my bed, tugging at me like a fishhook at the mouth of a fish. I had so many questions, and my body, expecting a different time, was confused and filled with unused sexual energy. Unable to resist, I turned and strode back to my bed. I picked up the form and scanned over it quickly, but it made no sense to my current state of mind. I threw it aside and lay back on my bed, not bothering to crawl under the sheets.  In the morning, the world made enough sense for me to figure things out. The commitment form had a date on which I was to report to the jail. A date a few weeks after that was listed as the date by which I was to have finished serving my sentence. I read it top to bottom several times and left it on the table.  The next several nights went by without me hearing from my deputy. It seemed he meant what he said. I tried to go about my normal days, but the commitment and its harsh words were always in my mind. I debated ignoring the commitment and the report date, but his caution about a warrant wouldn’t leave my head. At some point I decided he wasn’t joking, and I knew I’d have to report on the day in question.

However, when the actual day rolled around, the debate arose sharply again. I was nauseous at the thought of even going near the jail. I sat at my morning table, a cup of coffee growing cold for one hour, then two hours. In the early afternoon I realized that I couldn’t put it off any longer. The thought that made me stand up and leave the house was the idea that, whether or not he was lying about a warrant, I might never see him again.

So I drove to the jail, which, as I said, was only a few miles away. I’d never been there before so I slowed down when approaching the front. The jail at Glen Helen is really an entire complex of buildings, encompassing the county sheriff’s training facilities as well. Eventually, amidst confusion on my part, I spotted a sign which pointed Weekend Inmates to drive around the back. Assuming that meant me, I circled around the back and parked. I could see a few other people lined up near a window on one side of a secure building. Others were walking to and from that window so I figured it was the place to go. I grabbed my commitment form and marched up, my stomach turning around and around with nausea.

I handed the paper and my ID over to an inmate who was working the window. She had me then fill out some more paperwork, which was nothing more than basic identity and address stuff. She grabbed it from me, however, before I was finished. “We already got a file on you. Just wait over there,” she said, nodding at some tables set in cement. I saw several others waiting there.  The window and this waiting area were both behind a 15′-high chainlink fence topped with razor wire. I had walked through a gate to get inside, a gate which could be hastily locked if necessary. As I sat and waited, the precariousness of my situation began to sink in. I was inside the gates of an actual jail, filling out paperwork to serve an actual, though short, sentence. These thoughts rolled endlessly through my head, and I was simultaneously aroused and disgusted.

Every few minutes a deputy would open a thick door from the inside, lean out, and call the last name of someone at the table. They all returned a few minutes later, usually marching straight off to their cars afterwards. Eventually my name was called and my feet responded. My head seemed to be a thousand miles away, and I almost imagined myself observing the scene from afar. I walked steadily up to and through the door that was held open for me. A few seconds later it closed solidly shut and I knew I was locked inside a jail, even if it wasn’t an actual cell.

The room I was in was entirely clerical. There were computers and filing cabinets everywhere. I stood in one corner as a uniformed deputy pushed a rolling table up to me from a few feet away. On top there was already a fingerprint card positioned, and he quickly inked me and then rolled my fingers across the card. Then he handed me a cloth to wipe my fingers with and bade me look up, towards a camera mounted a few feet away. He snapped my picture once, and then took my profile shot. I waited there only a moment before he reached down and grabbed something shiny from under another machine. He handed it to me, and opened the door for me to leave. “6:30 AM Saturday. Don’t be late.”  I looked down into my hands as I walked off. I was holding an inmate ID with my name and picture on it. It also had an inmate number on it. Just like that, I was an inmate in the San Bernardino County system. I don’t know how I got home because the trip back I was in a complete state of shock.  I won’t bore anyone with the details of my two days spent at the county jail hauling rocks. Behind the jail it is fairly wild country, a rocky plain. I and nearly four hundred other weekenders spent two days hauling rocks- some the size of your fist, some the size of your head- from one pile to the next, further down the road. Part of the day I was manning a wheelbarrow piled full of rocks, part of the day I joined a long line of men, swinging the rocks along like a giant bucket brigade. Both days I returned home filthy, sore and tired.

At the end of the second day, those who had finished their sentences, including myself, joined a small line back at the rear window, wherein we returned our inmate IDs. As quickly as it had come upon me, I was once again free. I drove home, kicked off my boots, stripped out of my dusty, grime-encrusted clothes, and plopped down on the couch in my boxers. I promptly fell asleep there.

I was awakened that night by the baton-on-door rap which I was so accustomed to. I stood up, groaned with soreness, and opened the door slowly. My deputy was there, beaming with delight. He kicked the door close and immediately bear-hugged me.

“I’m so proud of you, prisoner,” he said. Then, for the first time, he spent his middle of the night lunch break tending me. He drew me a hot bath and lowered me into the tub. Stripping off his uniform shirt and body armor, he then grabbed a wash cloth and began washing me while standing outside the tub. In a few minutes I was again peaceful and drowsy. When I was thoroughly clean, he grabbed a towel and dried me off. Then he led me to my bed, pulled back the blanket, and bade me lie down. That was the last thing I remember, as I passed quickly into sleep. When I awoke late in the morning, the sun already quite high, I found him naked and asleep next to me. My stirring brought him around, and he reached an arm out around me. “Shhhh,” he said, without raising his head. “Let’s enjoy this.” So we lay there together a few more hours, each of us dozing on and off.

That was the one and only tender moment we enjoyed. A few nights later he resumed his regular visits, but his sex was rougher than ever. He barked orders at me night after night, and I followed them, holding on to the memory of our one tender day together. Make no mistake, now that I had served a brief sentence, I also got rock hard in an instant every time I saw him in uniform or every time he addressed me as ‘Prisoner.’ I fairly begged to be cuffed and shackled while in my uniform.

This all came to a head about a month later when he tossed the file folder to me again. I figured he might do this again so I was ready for it. But, I was shocked, when I read the commitment this time. Apparently I had turned felon and was about to serve a sentence of three to five years. I gasped, and he grinned at me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “That record will be cleaned out of the system after a few nights. We’ll have you home safe before you know it. A couple nights behind bars will do you good. I’ll even make sure you have your own cell.”

He could barely contain his excitement, but I was terrified. I sat there dumbfounded until he added, “You’ll be a good prisoner, right?” Him calling me ‘prisoner’ melted me right away. I made myself relax. That was when I noticed that my report date had already passed. When I mentioned this, he simply said, “Yes. Be ready in two nights. I’m going to come by with the transport van. As far as anyone else is concerned, I’ll be transferring you from West Valley Detention to Glen Helen.” He further explained that by ‘be ready’ he meant for me to be dressed in my inmate gear.

True enough to his word, I heard the chortle of the van as it pulled up two nights later. I was thankful for maybe the 50th time that my driveway was secluded from easy view by tall shrubs. I met him at the door. I was nervous, but I could see that his excitement was barely containable. He kissed me once, then turned me around and locked my wrists together behind me. Then he led me out the door, turned out the light behind me, and shut my front door.

I could see the van door was already open. He led me to it under the light of the moon. My steps were nervous, almost faltering, but he whispered support behind me and kept me going. He unlocked my wrists at the door to the van and had me step inside. There were six seats evenly spaced in the rear of the van, and each looked to be a bondage device. I sat in the first one, and he locked each of my wrists to a cuff bolted to the side of the seat. Then he pulled the seatbelt strap across me and buckled it. Finally, he slid the door shut. A moment later he got into the driver’s seat and we were off.

There was no doubt I was excited, but I was scared as well. I kept catching his glance. He was watching me in the rear view mirror. There was little time for talk as we arrived at the jail just a few minutes after leaving my house. He only told me that if I woke up in the morning and found a piece of paper on my cell floor, I should read it quickly then shred it and flush it.  Unlike the previous time, this time I got to go in through the front. After unlocking the van door and releasing me from the seat, he re-cuffed my wrists together. Then he grabbed some ankle shackles and bound me below as well. It seemed that I was to learn how to shuffle like a prisoner already. He placed his hand lightly on my back and propelled me forward. We headed straight for a manned gate and booth. He stopped me directly in front of the gate while he talked to the uniformed deputy in the booth. Solid glass separated them. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my deputy slip my file folder through a slot in the glass and then say loudly, “Prisoner transport.”

A few seconds later, I heard a loud buzzing and then the gate in front of me drew to the side. I heard a voice say “Step inside!” I did so and a moment later I could hear the gate sliding shut again. A different deputy stepped forward from the side and, as my deputy had done, he propelled me forward down one hallway and then another with a hand on my back.

When we reached the end, he ushered me into a small room. There he unlocked my cuffs and shackles. I wanted so badly to massage my wrists, but before I could start he ordered me to strip. While I did so, I could hear him snap on a pair of rubber gloves. He turned me to face the wall and placed my left hand high on the wall above. “I want you to grab your penis and testicles,” he then said from behind, “and lift them upwards. Hold them up until I tell you to drop them.” I did as he ordered and immediately felt a lubed finger slide up my ass. It probed around for a few seconds before withdrawing. “Fine,” he said. “You may let go.”

I did so, relieved, but again, before I could fully relax, he ordered me to turn around and face him. “There is a new uniform and a mattress for you on that table. Get dressed.” I followed his finger and got myself dressed in seconds flat. I picked up the mattress and waited for him to tell me what to do. He re-cuffed and shackled me and we walked to the far end of the room, where he rapped on the thick glass. When the door opened, he propelled me through as before.

This time we began walking past cells and through other locking doors. I knew I was deep inside the jail at this point. After what seemed like forever he led me up to a cell and stationed me against the opposite wall. He pulled the radio speaker off his shoulder and simply said ”Five-twelve” into it. In no time, the door slid open. He unlocked my wrists and ankles and then ordered me into the cell. By the time I could turn around, he had already spoken into his radio again, and the door was closing. When it shut, I heard an audible click, and that’s when I nearly shit myself.

I was in a cell, deep inside a real jail. Somehow a few weeks of sex with a deputy sheriff had gotten me here. I spread my mattress out on the hard, lower bunk and sat there. After a few minutes the full lighting snapped off.

There was still dim lighting, enough to see by, coming in through a small pane of glass in the door. I continued to sit there on my bunk in the dim light, going over events in my head from beginning to end.

Sometime during the night I lay down and slipped under the thin blanket that had been rolled with my mattress. I thought I heard a sliding metal sound at one point, but it was finished before I could react. Morning eventually rolled around, marked by all the lights flickering on again. I knew I should get up. I knew that someone would soon be looking in on me and would expect me to present myself as being awake, but I lay there. Eventually, the light was too much for me, and that was when I saw the piece of paper lying on the floor near my cell door.

I snatched it up, hardly having to move far from my bunk, the cell was that small. It merely said “Good prisoner” on it. I wanted to smile, but I wasn’t yet able to make myself enjoy this trip.

I’d no sooner had the note ripped up and flushed when I hear that metal sliding sound again. A tray of food was being pushed through a slot in the door. It came to a stop, resting on a shelf mounted on my side of the door. The food was thin and evil looking, but I nibbled at it and eventually ate it all. I’d always heard that anyone eating prison food for the first time can expect a good case of diarrhea shortly afterwards. As I finished the last bite of the foul food, I wondered when it would hit me.  The rest of the day proceeded with little change. I occasionally saw a face in the window. The breakfast tray was collected and later a lunch tray was inserted. This procedure was repeated at dinner as well. Sometime during the day, I discovered that I could turn on the small TV mounted into the wall by thumbing the big soft buttons in front of it. Most of the channels were static, but I watched a little day time television. When the lights went out, I lay there in the dark again but eventually fell asleep.

There was another “Good prisoner” note waiting for me in the morning. I disposed of it right away. This second day was remarkably like the first except that I began pacing to release some energy. I walked back and forth most of the afternoon. At one point, early in the afternoon, the lights suddenly went out. All the power was dead. I remained in near-total blackness for what seemed like hours. A few emergency lights were on in the hallway, but they did not cast enough light in my cell for me to do anything with. The air quickly heated up, and I found that I had to pace calmly again to keep myself from panicking. At the point where I nearly lost it, however, the lights came back on and I could hear the hum of the AC again. Dinner arrived slightly late, again with no fanfare.

I began to think that my deputy was surely going to have me released soon. In fact, I counted on it. As I lay there that night after lights-out, I repeated that thought to myself like a mantra. He couldn’t leave me there much longer.

The next morning there was a longer note. “Computer rebooted after power outage. All active records being reviewed and matched against inmates. Individual access passcodes have to be re-issued, beginning in 48 hours. If anything happens, just go with it. Be a good prisoner.” I re-read this note several times trying to understand everything he was telling me. Eventually satisfied that I had gotten it all, I destroyed it as normal.

The third day passed with no changes. I spent part of the day dozing and dreamed of running. That dream was easy to interpret! That night, however, sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned and happened to be awake to hear the gentle metal sliding noise. I could just make out my deputy’s face before he walked off again. Not waiting until morning, I grabbed for the note and held it close to the door window so I could capture the faint light. Dimly I read “No access to system yet. Expect delay of 24 hours yet. Be patient.”

This angered and frustrated me. I balled my fists and punched my mattress, then I stared to cry. Before falling asleep like this, I destroyed the note as I had done the others.

I was awakened in the morning not by the lights but by my cell door suddenly sliding open. A silhouetted figure said my name, and that prompted me to jump out of bed. I barely saw the cuffs and shackles before they were locked on me.  As this new deputy led me back largely over the same route I’d been through before, he said, “Lucky you. It’s moving day.”

I could tell he was teasing me, but I bit and mumbled “Moving day?” back at him.

“Certainly,” he said. “We can’t keep an important man like you here. You’re serving three to five, which means you’re moving up to the State’s care. A record review caught the mistake. If we hadn’t had that power outage, God knows how long you would have wasted County money.” He then fairly pushed me into a final room where several other inmates were already lined up. I could see a man dressed in a California state uniform standing near the far door with a stack of files in one hand.

There isn’t much else to say. This new van trip was much like the first except that I shared the van this time. There wasn’t much talking. We drove for about three hours, far out into the desert. Eventually the driver / C.O. welcomed us to Chuckawalla, our new home. The intake process was similar to what I’d already been through. We were stripped and searched again. This time we were given new uniforms to reflect our status as prisoners under the CDCR. As a new inmate, I was placed in a cell by myself for three days for observation. Technically, it’s called a `suicide watch.’ Tomorrow I am scheduled to be let out into the general population. I don’t know what will happen after that. Yesterday I discovered this paper and an ink pen with which to write. I hope that my deputy will figure out how to fix this all soon.

I’m ready for my prisoner fantasy to end…

 

THE END

 

copyright 2009 by Nick Ensign, posted with permission