GayBondageFiction

The muscle boys’ ordeal continues with a forced run on the treadmill and a failed escape attempt.

The Ordeal of Cort and Ryder – Chapter 5: The Treadmill and Escape(?)
by Ragnar1963
Series: The Ordeal of Cort and Ryder

Hour after hour, mile after mile, Cort ran the treadmill, sweat streaming from his chiseled young body. Stride after stride, his bare feet–fresh from suffering the excruciating needle torture while bound to the tiger
bench–pounded on the spiked rubber surface, each step agony, his exhausted body forced to trudge on under threat of a most painful mishap should he falter with his cock chained to the post.

Dax, his cruel overseer, goaded him on with slashes at his legs and ass from a riding crop, taunting Cort with laughter–and even worse, with visions of his lover Ryder undergoing the same grueling punishment. Cort
tried to remain tough under his suffering, but the thought of his best stud bud forced to run for hours on the torture treadmill was as agonizing as the relentless footpain.

The dungeon was kept hot, and Cort’s ripped bod was dripping with sweat, making his muscles glisten in the torchlight–a very erotic effect not lost on Dax, who lusted after the young muscle boy and whose cock stayed
rigid throughout the ordeal.

“You think this is bad, slave?” taunted Dax as he made Cort’s handsome young face wince with a hard lash across the runner’s glutes. “Wait until you see what Hondo has planned for you next! He’s just tiring you out so you cooperate during the next session!”

“Fuck you! AAGHHH!!!!”

Dex instantly answered Cort’s insolence with three brutal slashes against the back of his thighs.

Hour after hour, mile after mile, Cort pounded forward on the torture treadmill… completely losing track of time…. it could have been hours or even days before Dez dragged his struggling muscular young bud into the
chamber.

“CORT, NO!” Ryder shouted as he saw his friend, arms yoked, running helplessly on the torture device. Dax flipped a switch and the treadmill suddenly stopped.

“AAAHHH!!!” Cort lost his balance and pitched forward, landing painfully on his knees on the hard rubber spikes.

“Time to switch ’em up!” yelled Dez cheerfully as Dax unmanacled Cort’s cock, aching from the hours of relentless tugging. Cort flopped sideways off the treadmill onto the stone floor, exhausted, watching with horror as
Ryder was locked into the same position: arms yoked, cock shackled to a post at the front end of the treadmill.

THWACK! “Get up!” Dax lashed at Cort’s body over and over until the muscle head struggled to his feet,
wincing and limping, barely able to walk after the twin tortures of the tiger bench and rubber spikes.

“No… Ryder, no!….” he muttered helplessly as Dax drove him on with more strokes of the crop, ordering him
to stagger back to his tiny cell as Dez switched the machine back on and Ryder realized he would be forced to run with bare feet on the spiked treadmill.

“FUCK YOU BASTARDS!!!! FUCK YOU!” Ryder’s shouted and the steady thwap thwap thwap of treading feet on rubber echoed in Cort’s ear as he was taken from the chamber back to his cell. Dax unlocked the yoke from the muscle slave’s aching arms and pushed him into the stone cubbyhole, clanging the iron barred door shut behind him as Cort collapsed, exhausted, his tortured soles throbbing… merciful sleep overtook him in seconds….

Ryder suffered most cruelly in his hours on the treadmill, his bare feet tortured by the hard rubber spikes just as Cort’s had been, his legs and ass also lashed by Dez’s riding crop spurring him to keep up the pace, his
chained cock also aching from being yanked with each one of the thousands of cruel steps the running boy was forced to take… Buckets of sweat wrung from Ryder’s muscled body made it gleam and glisten in the
torchlight, just as his friend Cort’s had. Hour after endless torturous hour, the young man ran, naked feet pounding mile after mile on the conveyor belt of painful spikes.

Ryder had no idea how long he had been suffering on the treadmill when Dax returned and said, “Boss says that’s enough.” The tortured lad nearly sobbed with relief as the treadmill was shut off, his cock unchained and
his arms unyoked. Collapsing into Dez’s brawny arms, Ryder was barely able to walk, much less resist as he was dragged back down the corridor from the torture chamber to his cell… each step of reddened aching sole on
stone was agony for the exhausted boy.

“Gotta get you rested up for our next game,” said Dez ominously as he bent down and unlocked the boys’ cell door…. “UUUGHHHH!!!” Dez had the wind knocked out of him as Cort suddenly sprang from the cell and head-butted
the strongarm in the gut! Thudding into the far wall of the corridor, Dez was doubled over; Ryder, mustering all his remaining strength, raised his arms and brought both his fists crashing down on the back of Dez’s neck
and head, nearly knocking him unconscious, while Cort immobilized the goon with a swift kick to his nutsac. “AAAAGHHH!!!!” Dez crumpled to the floor helpless as Curt grabbed his friend’s arm, wrapped it around his own
shoulders, and began to help the lamed Ryder stagger down the corridor.

They soon discovered the ancient castle Hondo had turned into a prison for young musclemen was a maze of stone tunnels and passages… the two naked lads, Ryder hobbled from the recent treadmill torture and Cort dragging
him on as best he could, made their way through endless passages, frantically seeking an exit and finding no way out…

…meanwhile, Dax had discovered Dez rolling on the floor moaning from his nut kick, and found to his horror that the two young captives had escaped. He reported this immediately to Hondo…

…Cort and Ryder struggled on desperately, bewildered and completely lost. They couldn’t have found their way back to the cell or the torture chamber if they had wanted to… on and on they staggered through the maze
of corridors, Cort’s bare feet still sore from the hours on the treadmill, Ryder’s freshly tortured soles even more painful…

…Furious at finding his guard overpowered by the two missing captives, Hondo screamed an order to Dax: “TAKE THIS IDIOT ANIMAL BACK TO THE CHAMBER AND STRING HIM UP! HIS PUNISHMENT WILL BE MERCILESS!!!”

“But, Boss…” Dax whispered nervously, afraid of what Hondo would do to his friend–or worse, what Hondo would force Dax to do to him. “Should we look for the boys?”

SWISH! CRACK!!! Hondo’s riding crop lashed out across Dax’s face. “DO NOT QUESTION MY ORDERS!!! You know escape is impossible! First I will punish this fool as he deserves, then I will deal with the prisoners!”

Immediately Dax dragged Dez, still unable to stand upright, back into the torture chamber… Dropping the helpless hunk of meat onto the floor, Dax quickly wrapped chains around his ankles, securing them tightly and
linking them to a pulley hanging from the ceiling… Hondo, meanwhile, in a towering rage, looked over his vast collection of whips, floggers, and other cruel devices for corporal punishment, selecting just the right one
for the torture beating of his hapless guard…

…”Where are we? We have to get the fuck out of here!” Ryder moaned as the two young men limped down one stone passage after another…

…SWISHHHHH! CRACK!!!!! “AAAAGGHHH!!!!!” SWISH! CRACK!!!! “AAAAGHHH!!!! OH, GOD, PLEASE, HONDO!!!” SWISH! CRACK!! “AAAAAIIIEEEEE!!!” Musclehead Dez was dangling from his ankles like a side of beef. Dax had torn off the
victim’s shorts, and he hung nude, screaming and writhing as Hondo attacked his thick muscles over and over with a hideous lash of braided rawhide strips with sharp stones knotted into each braid… brutally torturing every inch of Dez’s muscled body he could reach, from dangling arms to chained feet, as the strongarm shrieked piteously for mercy…

… Unable to make another step in the endless stone maze, Ryder collapsed against a wall as his friend and lover encouraged him to keep going.

“C’mon, bud, I gotcha.” Ryder looked up into his friend’s beautiful blue eyes.

“How can we escape this hellhole?” he whispered as Cort leaned in to kiss him deeply and passionately… Both studs felt a stirring in their groins, and the rush of lust and budding erections gave Ryder the strength
to keep staggering forward, though utterly lost…

…After inflicting dozens and dozens of rage-filled cruel lashes on the musclehead’s hanging body, Hondo at last realized Dez had passed out. Throwing the hideous torture device to the ground in disgust, Hondo
strode, without a word but still fuming, out of the torture chamber. Dax rushed forward to release and care for his friend…

“THERE IS NO ESCAPE!!!!” The voice boomed suddenly out of nowhere, shocking Cort and Ryder and making their blood run cold with fear. “NO MAN HAS EVER ESCAPED MY CASTLE!!!” The two young men were baffled at the voice coming from an unseen source–there must be some network of surveillance cameras and speakers! Near panic at the idea that Hondo could see where they were, Cort and Ryder rushed blindly on… “HA-HA-HAAAAAA!” Honda’s mocking laughter echoed down the stone corridors as the two lost, naked captives kept running.

“AAAHHH!” The two lads turned a corner to suddenly find Hondo standing before them! Clad only in black leather boots and pants, he threw back his head and laughed cruelly at his captured quarry. They instinctively turned to run the other direction when–BANG! an iron portcullis of thick spiked bars slammed down inches in front of them, blocking their way! Turning back to Hondo in panic and anger, meaning to rush their captor and fight him, they ran at him when–BANG! another set of spiked iron bars crashed down between them!

TRAPPED!!! The lads had never felt such fear as they did now, realizing they had been recaptured by their torture-mad abuser! Cort rushed forward to grab the iron bars and frenziedly scream “AAAGHHH! YOU SICK FUCK! LET US GO! LET US FUCKING GOOOOO! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!”

Hondo met their empty threats with more chilling mocking laughter! “Escape is IMPOSSIBLE!” he barked! “And for those who foolishly attempt it, believe me, the punishments will be more agonizing than anything you have experienced so far!!!”

“NO! NOOOOO!!!” Cort beat his fists frantically on the heavy iron barred gate.

“HA HA HAAAAA!!! Back to the torture chamber for you two! There you will suffer a torture unlike any you have ever dreamed of, much less suffered!!!”

Honda reached for a small remote-control panel on his belt… passed a button… and—“AAAAGGHHHH!!!” the stone floor opened beneath Cort and Ryder and the two lads plunged into a yawning black hole!

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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Paid in Full
by Quick Drawn

“Have you ever hurt yourself?” Gregory shook his head. The woman behind the thick glass panel sighed and rolled her eyes. “I need you to answer verbally.”

“No.”

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself now?”

Gregory swallowed. Jesus. This was just a traffic issue. Sure, he needed to take care of the damned parking tickets but why were they asking questions like this? “No.”

He watched her check a box on a triplicate form and then separate the layers. She pulled out a yellow copy and slid it through a window in the glass. “Hold onto this and go sit down in section A until someone calls your name. He took the form wordlessly and did some calculations. They’d taken his watch when he arrived at the jail but he’d been able to glance at it before he was handcuffed at the intersection. It was quarter to four then. About thirty or forty-five minutes had passed. As soon as he got a call, he’d get bailed out.

Of course, it was Friday. Hell, it was right on the edge of Friday night. It might be hard to get ahold of Andi, and that meant there might be a bit of embarrassment but even allowing for having to get ahold of someone else, he should be out by six-thirty or seven.

“Loring!” Gregory’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. A burly guard stood with a clipboard. He looked like a bodybuilder, and it seemed like his uniform could only barely contain biceps. Gregory didn’t know what to do so he raised his hand. “Are you Loring?” Gregory nodded. “Then get your ass up and over here.”

Gregory managed eleven employees. He made more than a hundred thousand dollars a year. He wasn’t a criminal. Sure, he’d neglected the parking tickets but a quick call to his lawyer would fix all that. He stared in shock and realized that nobody had talked to him like the guard talked to him since he was a kid. As he stared in shock, the guard stepped forward. Before he knew what was happening, the guard had his hand wrapped around Gregory’s upper arm. A quick yank got Gregory to his feet.

“Ow! Fuck!” Gregory yelled as he twisted his arm away from the guard.

“Are you gonna give me any shit?” The guard yelled directly into Gregory’s ear and the shock of the violence was paralyzing. He couldn’t respond, which only made the guard angrier. “You hungry, you fuck?” Again, Gregory couldn’t respond. The guard said, “I’ll give you a fucking pretzel, then.” Everything was so fucking confusing but it didn’t matter a moment later. Pain shot through his shoulder and his cheek felt scratchy. It took him a moment to realize his arm was twisted behind his back and his face was pressed against the rough, crumbling concrete wall.

Gregory didn’t know what to say but the guard, thankfully, let go. “Don’t give me any more shit. Follow the yellow line.”

The pain receded to dull discomfort but his arm felt weak. He nodded and then blurted out, “Yes, sir,” without really thinking about it.

The guard seemed to chuckle and said softly, “You’re going to fit in nicely here.” There was malice behind the words, and Gregory felt a cold shiver but he tried to ignore it and instead looked at the floor where the sickly yellow line was painted. He walked along the line next to the wall and found himself directly behind another inmate who stood in front of a beat-up counter next to a cart with a jar of that orange mechanic hand cleanser and an enormous roll of tan paper towels. Gregory understood the purpose a moment later as a guard took something that looked like an undersized paint roller and rolled ink over the other inmate’s hands. A few seconds later, he stood in front of the guard. Two or three minutes later, finished with his fingerprints, he followed the yellow line to another station while drying his hands with the paper towels.

The stations seemed to go forever, and it seemed particularly stupid. He was fingerprinted twice more, once digitally and then once with an inkpad rather than a roller. He couldn’t understand the reasoning behind the redundancy. He was interviewed again with the same questions about suicidal thoughts and then asked if he had any enemies inside. It seemed to go on forever and all he wanted was to make his damned phone call.

The yellow line appeared endless but he finally finished with the stations and was directed to an open door. He stepped through, carrying with him six or seven pieces of paper he’d been handed along the way. The moment he stepped through, the enormity of the situation hit him. The room beyond the threshold was—well, hell. It wasn’t a room at all. It was a cell. There was a stainless steel toilet in the corner right next to a tiny sink. The wall was cinder blocks, and there were cinder block benches jutting out from the wall.

And there were criminals.

Real criminals.

Fear hit him hard, and Gregory scanned the benches for an empty seat. There were two. One was next to a giant of a man wearing leather. He looked like some kind of biker, the kind of biker who got arrested for running drugs and killing dozens of people. The other space was next to a wiry looking Hispanic engaged in a lively, profanity riddled conversation about domestic violence and the bitch who sent him back to the Factory.

He chose the biker and sat down, trying hard to believe he didn’t chose based on race. He listened silently to the conversation and eventually determined that the Factory was the name for the intake center, the place processing the prisoners. He wanted to ask about phone calls but he was afraid. Fortunately, he didn’t stay long in the cell. A guard leaned over the open doorway and rattled off four names. Gregory’s was one of the names and he followed the biker and two others out of the cell. They walked two cells down and into another cell.

There were two others there, and one of them talked on a phone attached to the wall. For the first time since his arrest, Gregory felt relief. His arm still hurt like hell, and he certainly wasn’t pleased with the company but there was a phone. He waited while the man on the phone played lovey-dovey with someone he kept calling Babydoll. He wanted to hurry the guy up but didn’t have the courage to be confrontational. When the guy finally hung up, he stood and started for the phone but the biker got there first. Wordlessly, Gregory returned to his seat.

Perhaps it was the fear he felt driven by the entire situation but the events repeated, and the other prisoners got to the phone while Gregory waited, outwardly patient but internally overwhelmed with urgency. When the phone was finally clear, Gregory leapt to his feet and rushed to call his lawyer.

“Grant! Fernandez! Loring!” The shout from a guard startled him, and he almost dropped the phone as he turned to see the biker and one of the others walking toward the door. The guard rolled his eyes. “Which one of you losers is Loring?”

“Sorry,” Gregory said lamely. “I haven’t made my phone call yet. I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t expect laughter to be the result, and he certainly didn’t expect the inmates to join in on the laughter. He tried to shrug it off and walked to the phone.

“Loring, get your ass over here right now.” The guard wasn’t loud but the tone of his voice left no question at all about the expectation of obedience.

He sheepishly made his way over to the doorway, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone but the desperate need to get out of jail overcame his good judgment. “When can I make a call?”

The guard stared at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Years of privilege characterized his response. “I’m entitled to a phone call and you have to give it to me.”

The moment the words left his mouth he felt stupid for saying them. The guard didn’t yell, though. Instead, the guard simply smiled. “I guess we ought to make you comfortable, huh? I suppose that’s fair. Get back inside and make your call.” He pointed to the remaining inmates. “All of you come with me.” Gregory watched them file out and then stared as the door closed with an ominous clicking sound that reverberated throughout the cell.

Finally, he shrugged and made his way to the phone.

Naturally, he got Andi’s voicemail. He cursed himself for somehow committing to memory the number for his lawyer’s office but not her cell phone. He left a panicked message, hung up, and dialed again just in case. Voicemail again. He sat down and tried to determine if she’d be back in her office today or even back at all over the weekend.

Then the door opened again. Gregory looked at the guards who entered. There were three, the first who’d twisted his arm so terribly before; the second, who’d called him and then let him stay to make his call; and a third. The three guards were strangely similar. They weren’t like triplets if Gregory looked at their faces but from the neck down they were identical. They were all tall and muscular and—

Muscular?

Calling them muscular was like calling Orson Welles a good director. It was like calling Beethoven a good composer. It was like calling a nuclear bomb a weapon. Muscular? These men were like gods but scary gods whose pantheon primarily consisted of giants with bodies capable of lifting trees from the earth and tossing boulders over mountains. Gregory stared at them and action heroes, boxing movies, wrestling matches, and bodybuilder images filled his mind.

The new guard tossed a bundle of orange fabric in Gregory’s direction. “Loring, get undressed,” he said. Gregory sighed and picked up the bundle. It was a jumpsuit, ugly orange with block black letters that read INMATE along each leg and COUNTY JAIL across the back. There was no way to pretend all of this would blow away. He wondered if he was stuck for the entire weekend. He vaguely recalled the courts being closed on Saturdays and Sundays but that was from a civil matter a friend dealt with. Surely there was night court and weekend court for criminal stuff, right?

“Do we have to strip you ourselves, Loring?”

The idea curiously thrilled him even as it shocked him and frightened him. He instantly began undressing, kicking off his shoes first and then lifting off his shirt. He looked around for somewhere to put it and paused because he didn’t want to drop a hundred and twelve dollar piece of clothing on concrete. The matter was decided for him when the first guard grabbed the shirt out of his hand and stuffed it into a mesh bag. “Hurry it up, Loring.”

Sighing, he unbuckled his belt and then his slacks. He unzipped and let the pants fall to his ankles before stepping out of them. He reached down and picked them up. The guard snapped them away from him and stuffed them into the bag as well. Gregory reached for the ugly jumpsuit.

“What the fuck are you doing, shithead?”

The guard was loud as hell, and the sound made Gregory jump. “I’m changing like you said,” he said weakly.

“Nobody told you to change, fucker! We said to get undressed. Let me tell you something, ass wipe. Obedience is your friend here. Silence is your friend here. Now shut up and do what you’re told.”

Gregory froze then took a deep breath before putting the bundle down on the concrete bench. He realized he was afraid but more than any other emotion, what ran through him was primarily anger, or more accurately, offense. People didn’t talk to him that way. He wasn’t some piece of shit criminal. What the fuck? It was a goddamn Porsche he drove when he got the fucking tickets. Why were the assholes treating him like some kind of fucking criminal?

He lifted his eyes up and looked at the guards. Who were these testosterone-fueled assholes to treat him like this?

“You got something to say, asshole?”

“N-no.” It was amazing how all of his indignation-fueled bluster seemed to disappear almost instantly.

“Then get the rest of your goddamn clothes off!

“All of them?”

Two of the guards laughed. The other didn’t but his voice seemed filled with laughter as he said, “Are you fucking stupid? Get undressed or we’ll get you undressed.”

Gregory was pretty sure he’d never felt the particular combination of fear and humiliation that cascaded over him. The fear was stronger than his desire to avoid future humiliation, though, so he swallowed hard and put his hands on the waistband of his underwear and pushed it down to his ankles before stepping out.

“Your socks, too, dirt bag.”

Dirt bag? Jesus.

He bent over to get his socks off but stopped when a different guard said, “No. Keep the socks on. They’ll keep the shackles from causing damage.”

Shackles? What the fuck?

Before he had a chance to think about that, though, the guard who’d instructed him not to take off his socks stepped forward. Gregory noticed a patch on his shirt right above the breast pocket with Deputy Flores embroidered on it. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed nametags before. He wondered if the man was Latino. He sure as hell didn’t look like he was. He turned and looked at the other guards. One stood behind the other, so he could only see one other name. Deputy Hayfield.

“Put your hands out in front of you.” He turned back to Flores. The man didn’t have any kind of an accent. He stared and lifted his hands, utterly bewildered and afraid now. The man clicked cuffs around his wrists but Gregory kept his eyes on Flores’ embroidered name rather than looking down until he realized the cuffs felt heavier than the cuffs put on him during his arrest. He chanced a glance down. There was a chain hanging down from the chain between the cuffs. Larger cuffs hung in the air just an inch or two above his ankles.

He lifted his head to tell Flores the manacles were too short but he stopped when he realized just how stupid it would sound. He felt arms on his shoulders and he believed it was Hayfield who said, “Don’t even think of trying anything funny.” He wanted to protest, to say anything about not trying anything at all but he found himself unable to speak as Flores knelt. Crazily, with the man in front of him and his face just inches from Gregory’s exposed cock, Gregory became suddenly terrified he’d get an erection. He wasn’t aroused at all but that didn’t make the fear any less profound.

Flores pulled on one of the large cuffs and that pulled Gregory’s upper body down a little as Flores snapped it in place over his ankle. As terrible as the situation was, he found himself suddenly grateful he was allowed to keep his socks. His wrists already felt sore from the way the cuffs pulled at them. The other larger cuff clicked into place and Flores stepped back.

“Who’s gonna start?” he said.

Start what? Jesus. Why hadn’t he reached his lawyer?

“I will.” It was the guard whose name Gregory hadn’t seen, the first guard who’d twisted his arm.

A moment later, cold fear washed over Gregory as he felt something slick against his asshole. “What the—”

“Shut the fuck up!” The violence in the guard’s voice was terrifying but even more terrifying was the sudden intrusion of something into his asshole. It stretched him uncomfortably.

“Shit, he’s tight as hell.”

“And you’ve only got one finger in him.”

Fuck. A strip search? “I’m here on parking tickets,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up! What? Are you trying to hide something?”

Gregory started to straighten up and immediately hands on his shoulders pushed him forward. He ended up leaning against the wall face first. The chain from his wrists pulled at his ankles in a horribly uncomfortable way but he was right against the built-in concrete benches so the corner of the bench pressed against his shins. That essentially meant that he couldn’t adjust in any way at all to get some slack in the chain. For all intents and purposes, he was helpless.

Fuck! Helpless and in pain. The uncomfortable feeling in his ass exploded into pain. “Fuck, Fontaine. One to three right away?”

Everyone laughed. Fontaine said, “Hey, I lubed it.”

There was more laughter. Someone, and Gregory thought it was Flores, said, “That lube is for getting rings and shit off for property. There’s other lube for strip searches.”

“I gotta get my thumb in.”

Gregory tried to protest but the pain was such that he felt mute. He managed a kind of wheezing moan, and that was it.

Flores or perhaps Deputy Hayfield said, “No. Go for the pinky first. That’s the only way to get your whole hand in.”

Whole hand? Gregory immediately and involuntarily jerked upward. That made pain shoot through him not only from his ass but also from his shins and then his knees as the shackles made him lose balance so he slammed down, ending up kind of bent over the bench except his weight pushed his wrists against the corner. Everything hurt like hell, and the smack of his cheek against the bench had to bruise his damned jawbone at the least. On the bright side, Fontaine’s fingers left his ass.

For about five seconds.

Everyone laughed again as pain erupted over Greg’s body. He screamed but the scream only brought more laughter. “There you go, man,” one of the deputies said. “Now put your thumb against the palm of your hand and squeeze it in.”

“Fuck! No!”

“Shut up, asshole.”

That was it. Well, that and laughter was it.

“But I’m just here for parking TICKETS!” The last word came out as a scream because pain became impossible agony as Fontaine grunted. There was impossible pressure at his ass, impossible pressure. After the scream, he couldn’t even breathe. He managed to turn his head and if he could have managed it, tears would have flowed from his face. He saw something impossible. Fontaine’s arms were huge.

He had his shirt rolled up all the way to the middle of his bicep and the muscles there seemed far too big for the shirt, like it would tear. The arm was straight, and Gregory’s eyes traveled down to his elbow and his almost-Popeye like forearms. Then it ended. His arm disappeared. It just disappeared.

Into Gregory’s ass!

Like he floated above his body, Gregory looked at his asshole, impossibly stretched around Fontaine’s wrist. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He could only see the place where the hand disappeared. He was able to let out a pain-filled whine, and that was it. He desperately wished he could form words a moment later when Hayfield said, “You got to move your hand around if you’re going to find anything.”

Gregory could only respond by turning his head again and as the pain, heightened by movement of Fontaine’s fingers, assaulted him he stared at the concrete of the wall. He could feel tears welling up now.

“Now you’re behaving, Loring. Good boy.” There was laughter in Flores’ voice. “Unless we find something.”

“How long should I look?” Fontaine said.

“Fuck,” replied Hayfield. “He’s getting a hard on. Don’t look long or he’s gonna cum all over the fucking bench.”

Gregory realized with horror that Hayfield was right. He had a fucking erection. It made no sense. He hurt like hell. Suddenly, pain exploded over his balls as Fontaine slapped them hard with his free hand. “What are you? Some kind of pervert?”

Again, Gregory couldn’t respond. He was especially horrified because his cock remained hard. “I can’t find anything,” Fontaine said. “Guess he’s clean.”

A moment later, Gregory’s ass was empty but the speed and force of Fontaine’s withdrawal prevented him from feeling any relief for it. In fact, when Fontaine pulled his hand out, it sent jagged splinters of hurt through his body that seemed worse than what had happened before. He shook from it and managed to scream briefly before settling into a soft guttural weeping.

“Fucking wimp,” one of the guards said. Gregory couldn’t tell which one.

Suddenly his ass was full again, and he heard Flores say, “We should all check.” Gregory screamed but instantly cut himself off when Flores said, “Shut up. I can’t concentrate. Keep it up and we might have to figure out a way for all of us to search you at the same time.”

Gregory shut it. He shut up as Flores moved his fist and did it for a very long time. He shut up as Hayfield did the same thing. He shut up when Fontaine took another turn and then Flores did. Hayfield got called on his radio to handle a group of intake inmates so he didn’t take a second turn. Fontaine instead took a third. Despite the torture, Gregory managed to keep from screaming, letting out whimpers and moans of pain instead.

And he stayed hard.

His dick stayed hard for the entire time, and none of that made sense.

When Fontaine finished with him, Gregory resigned himself to Flores’ next turn. It didn’t happen, though. Instead, Flores snapped. “Get the fuck up.”

It was torment to stand but he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t. He got to his feet, and he realized his hands were almost numb. Almost. They certainly weren’t functional but he couldn’t call them numb with all the pain emanating from his wrists.

Wrists? Hell, the pain still emanating from his ass was terrible.

He heard a strange wet sound and turned around. It was the sound of a glove hitting the floor. It was strange because even though he saw the thin plastic and then watched Fontaine pull off the other one, he didn’t realize they’d worn them. Flores stepped forward and Fontaine moved behind him and grabbed his shoulders again. Gregory wondered why he wasn’t afraid and realized he was too exhausted to be.

There was no reason for it at the moment anyway. Flores reached down and uncuffed his hands. The cuffs clattered to the floor and then Flores knelt and uncuffed Gregory’s ankles. Fontaine let go of his arms when Flores stood back up. He walked to the door, opened it, and called out, “Loring coming out.”

Fontaine turned Loring around and said, “Get dressed.” Gregory reached for the orange jumpsuit and Fontaine laughed. “No. Your street clothes.”

“What?”

“You’re getting a court date and a release. That’s why you’re in this cell.”

“But—”

“Hey, at least you got to exercise your right to a phone call, though, right?”

With that, Fontaine joined Flores at the door, the two joking around with someone outside and talking about the most recent episodes of some HBO drama. Wordlessly, Gregory dressed himself, no easy task given the state of his body.

Forty minutes later, he stepped out of the jail center. Forty-eight minutes later, a taxi took him to a rental car company because he wouldn’t be able to get his car until Monday. An hour after that, he checked into a hotel room, not because he didn’t want to go home but because he wanted to reward himself or more accurately, give himself some consolation after the horrible day.

Two hours after he checked in, his hooker arrived. She was young and blonde and actually skilled but as she sucked him, he realized he wasn’t making progress. It made no sense but as her fingertips caressed his balls he suddenly wanted her to do something he’d never wanted before. “Put a finger in my ass.”

She didn’t seem to mind, and she didn’t mind when he asked her to make it two. By the time she had three in there, though, she seemed uncomfortable. She told him it would be an extra two-hundred more for her whole fist.

He paid it.

It hurt like hell.

It hurt like hell even as he came in the blonde whore’s mouth.

He gave her a substantial tip and asked her to come back the next evening. Hell, he couldn’t get his car until Monday anyway. Might as well spend the weekend at the Carlton.

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A hot new bondage and spanking art series from the very talented Franco featuring hot guys tormented by mysterious monks in a variety of ways.

Hot Guys Tormented by Mysterious Monks
by Franco

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Strong tells the true deeply personal story of his first gay bondage experience at 18 with a jock crush named Chris.

Strong’s First Bondage Experience
by Strong

The following is a true story of what my first real experience with another boy was like, and my discovery that I was into BDSM, both happened at once. We all have natural desires and behaviors in each of us. It takes the brave to discover this and act on it. I started in kink at 14 and studied and read on it for 4 years. At 18 I acted on it. This true story is my first experience in domination, prior to this I had only read about it and seen certain videos I would watch late at night online. It also was my first sexual experience with another male. I hope you enjoy this very personal story. To protect the identify of the male sub in this I will just call him Chris. This year (2015) marks my 20th year of experience with BDSM.

I came out at 18 and was one of the few out guys into guys at my high school. Even before I came out I knew I was into bondage. I was a big nerd and jock who also enjoyed performing. My step father was in the military so I moved often, for awhile I was in JROTC too. (Being tall, lean, athletic looking with blue eyes and short blond hair, uniforms naturally looked good on me 😉 ) When I was 18, I had my first experience in bondage with a guy who was also my first kiss. The guy, whom I will call Chris, was a tall, athletic jock. He was part Latin and part white (two of my favorite types of men mixed in one) who had a great smile and was quiet and observant. He too was a nerd on the inside who also worked out. Chris and I knew one another from choir and sports.

One day after a hard work out on the field after school, I was changing when Chris walked in from lacrosse practice. (Besides lacrosse Chris was a very strong water polo player and also managed to fit in football as well) I looked at him and he made eye contact with me. Now Chris and I had a bond. As a result of a dare at a party, we had shared a kiss. After that I knew that the feelings I had for men were more than an experiment. Chris who at the time had a girlfriend (I did not know this) had a hard time looking me in the eyes since. When he came into the locker room he looked at me and said nothing. He opened his locker then took off his shoes and socks. He then sat down drank some water. I watched as the bottle touched his lips as he drank and sweat trickled down his well defined arm’s. After he finished his drink, he placed the bottle down onto the bench then turned to me and said “Did you hear we broke up?” I had nothing to say so turned and started to go through my locker. Chris walked over to me with a stern look. He closed my locker with some aggression. His 18 year old face had a confused, stern look on it. I looked back with my young blue eyes and said “Sorry to hear that bro. What happened?”

Chris’ eyes teared up a bit. He had a look of confusion. I grabbed him gently by the chin and tilted his head upward. I moved slowly with caution and then used my hands to rub his chiseled abs. When I met his lacrosse pads, I slid my hands under his padding and rubbed his nipples. He moaned and looked upward, tears still running down from his eyes. I looked down and noticed his body thrusting outwards towards me. I looked over at the clock on the wall. No one should be coming in here. My heart raced as I rubbed his nipples under his padding. I started to get hard. After several minutes of this I quickly pulled my hands out from under his padding and grabbed the back of his head. His scalp was shaved and cut short. I pulled him towards my lips. His tongue and mouth met mine. My cock became very hard. I used my leg to shove his legs open as I kissed him. Then I felt Chris pull me towards him with one hand but I hit his hand away and pinned both of his hands above his head. I was surprised he let me do this for he always seemed like the one who would be in control. But this felt right and he sure as hell was not saying no so I went with it.

After this moment had passed I pulled away from him and ripped his gym shorts down to his knees while I looked at him in his eyes. I rubbed his cup then pulled it out then got down on my knees and used my mouth to pull his jockstrap down. By this time he was very sweaty so the jock peeled down his defined thighs to his ankles with no problem. He was very hard as was I. I then stood up, our faces both had nervousness with a brief moment of now what. I looked down and saw his cock was hard as hell and dripped pre-cum.

“I have never done this before man” Chris said with fear and hesitation in his eyes. I said nothing and then did what felt natural for the both of us. I un-did the straps holding Chris lacrosse padding on. It fell to the floor exposing his defined, smooth, tanned chest. I quickly reached for his nipples, pinching and twisting them firmly. Chris moaned and tried to raise his hands but before he could say anything I launched in for another kiss and twisted his nipples more. He pushed me away then looked down and saw his cock was hard. I grabbed it and pulled him forward and said into his ear “First time for everything bro”.

I pulled Chris into the showers, as he walked he stumbled a bit as his gym shorts and jock were still at his ankles. As I tugged Chris along he moaned and was going to ask a question before he could speak it I slapped him in the face. I then saw several piles of used towels and long gym socks from a earlier practice sitting in a cart. I grabbed a handful of them and pulled Chris into the showers. Chris looked around as did I. It was dark, with a few floor to ceiling faucets the water would come out of. I pulled Chris over to a shower with one hand on his cock. I went to the far bar then threw the used socks and towels down. I pushed Chris onto the bar. I barked at him to remove his pants and jock fully. He complied. Chris was now standing completely naked. I then quickly grabbed several pairs of the socks and used them to bind his hands ankles together behind the bar. I grabbed another one and slowly stretched it out and tied it around his mouth positioning it to where his teeth would bite in front of it. I looked into his brown eyes with my blue eyes then lubed up my fingers with my spit and rubbed his exposed hole with my finger. His brown eyes widened as my index and middle finger went from rubbing to fucking his tight hole. Chris moaned and begged with his eyes and mouth. Because of his sock gag his words where just garbled.

After several minutes of this I saw something odd as Chris’ body began to shake. HIs face had a look mixed with fear and ecstasy. For he lost control of holding out on his true desires and had started to cum. I was unsure what to do so I let go of his cock and kept pushing on his prostate. Chris moaned and moaned. When done I pulled my fingers out of Chris’ hole. He moaned and almost cried and fell to his knees with his head facing down. I was very hard and saw that Chris’ cum had sprayed onto my leg and shorts. I used my left hand and wiped it off my leg. (There was a lot of cum) I then stepped back and saw this very well known jock who I had come to know my junior year in high school broken.

I walked over to him and pulled his scalp upwards firmly, his large dark eyes looked up at me, red from tears and sweat. He looked simultaneously thankful and broken. I knelt down and untied the sock gag then took my left hand and placed it on his lips making him clean the fingers that I had used to fuck his hole. Chris gagged as I pushed all the way back into his throat. I stood up and pulled down my gym shorts and jock and took out my white stiff dripping cock. Chris said “Please man” but before he could say anything more I shoved my cock in and raped his throat. He gagged and coughed as I thrust inward. He tried to pull his head away but my grip was to strong. His brown eyes looked upward at me and my blue eyes and blond head looked down at him. I then felt a rush and moment of truth I had never felt before as I unleashed my cum into his mouth. He moaned and pleaded as my DNA flooded into him. He tried to violently pull away but my grip was strong and I pulled him deeper onto my cock.

When finished I pulled out and collapsed onto him. His naked body held mine up. I held him in my arms, rubbed his scalp and neck. His head laid best as possible on my chest. He then looked up and me and whispered “thank you”. My eyes then let loose tears. This was the first time I had ever felt this. I had never done something like this before. Prior to this I had only kissed one guy, and that guy who I had a crush on just helped me open my more kinkier side. After that great moment, I quickly untied Chris then helped him to his feet. I turned the shower on and we rinsed off. Both saying nothing. After we’d showered, a few late stragglers came in from training mostly to piss. Neither looked at the other as we dried off and dressed. We then both left the locker room. As we walked across the empty quad of the school, we first said nothing but then I broke the silence with “It’s our secret okay?”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder both ways then kissed me on the cheek. He smiled and winked at me and then kissed me on the cheek again slightly tearing up as did I knowing what we had could not happen in our lives. Then he ran towards the parking lot towards his car. In my mind he was the kind of man I wanted to marry; kinky, clean cut, and athletic. Yet I knew sadly that would never occur.

After high school Chris and I moved on and lost touch. I heard he had joined the Marines. Life through rough circumstances forced me to leave San Diego and move up to Los Angeles.

Years later, I returned to San Diego for a friend’s wedding. This friend was a fellow kinkster who was marrying her husband. Before the wedding, I drove to a cafe in Carmel Mountain. In the cafe I randomly happen to see Chris’ ex-girlfriend. I awkwardly said “hello”. She said “hi” back then walked up to me to catch up. I am not sure if she had ever known what had occurred between us. But she talked about many things; her family, friends, her kids etc. But not Chris which I found odd. So I asked how he was doing or had she heard anything about him. She looked at me confused and in uncertain sadness and said to me, “You do not know?”

I shook my head no.

“Chris was killed in combat a few years ago”.

At that moment, I broke down on the inside.

What occurred between us was special and for that I would never forget it. When you have an experience in the scene, think of it as special for the bond we each have in this scene is something stronger than any normal friendship or relationship. No not all kinky friends are going to get married but the memory’s we can create for one another can be just as strong.

Strong

PS Apologizes for the bad grammar, I write these sort of late some times.

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