BOOTBOI looked over the three-storey red brick duplex and wondered if HOODER was serious. This was the infamous Cellblock? It looked like a thousand other upper-middle class houses, and just like every other house on the block.
"Don't let appearances fool you," HOODER said, almost as though he was reading BOOTBOI's mind. "You can't tell anything about this place by the outside. What better way to be invisible than to hide in plain view?" He was right – if you wanted to escape detection, blend in. Don't stand out from the crowd. Just like LEATHERCOPS passed as citizens when they weren't in gear, weren't in control of a boi or sub.
BOOTBOI wondered what HOODER had in mind for him now that they were actually here, but this was not the time for sober second thoughts. He had to go on now that a LEATHER HOOD was PADLOCKED OVER HIS HEAD and he was standing NAKED IN RUBBER in an unfamiliar neighbourhood. He had to do his best to live up to HOODER's expectations, He had a strong need to impress HOODER, to please him.
"Come," HOODER commanded, tugging on the chain attached to BOOTBOI's collar and pulling him roughly up the back stairs and inside.
The Duty Officer looked up from his paperwork at the new arrivals, a beefy young bull in a short sleeved leather cop shirt with a brass name tag embossed with the name SARGE.
He wasn't surprised by the presence of HOODER and BOOTBOI at his desk: CCTV cameras in the parking lot had recorded their arrival. SARGE worked the Duty Desk most evenings, and enjoyed watching the discomfort of 'recruits' as they were admitted and processed. Sometimes he even wished he was one of them, but not tonight. The sub was hooded and in rubber – SARGE preferred to play in leather cop gear.
"Hi HOODER. Upstairs or down?" he asked, ignoring BOOTBOI as though he wasn't even there. Upstairs meant that he'd be using one of the private playrooms upstairs, downstairs that HOODER planned to take the boi to the well-equipped play space downstairs lined on one wall with cells.
"Up. Gimme 202," HOODER replied. Given what he knew about this new hooded rubber boi, he thought it would be best to break the boi in privately, start things off light, and 202, like the three other second floor 'suites', had no gear at all, just a simple bed, big leather chair and mirrored walls and a small attached private bath. Like all Cellblock rooms, however, 202 was also amply furnished with multiple discrete cameras that would record all the night's activities for later broadcast – and perhaps sale – on the 'Block's website. Other third-floor rooms had assorted bondage equipment – frames, crosses, slings – but this one required the LEATHERCOP to provide the all required stimulation.
SARGE typed the information into a terminal at the Duty Desk and told HOODER the amount due for room rental and his boi's drop in fee. A lifetime 'Block member, HOODER was never charged for his own use of the site, but somebody had to pay BOOTBOI's drop in fee and use of the upstairs private suite. HOODER fumbled inside his multi-zippered LANGLITZ COP JACKET and pulled out BOOTBOI's wallet. The boi who worked the bar's coat check window had slipped the wallet to him earlier in the evening 'for safekeeping'. He dropped a ten and a twenty on the Duty Desk for SARGE and returned the boi's billfold to his own pocket.
"What name goes on the file?" SARGE asked HOODER. "BOOTBOI," he replied. SARGE typed the name into the terminal and pressed the PRINT key. He stapled the freshly printed three-page form together and finally turned his attention to BOOTBOI. "This form outlines the house rules every cellmate must adhere to. SARGE handed over the form to BOOTBOI along with a pen. "Please review this form and initial each page after you've read it, and sign the three places marked with X's on the last page," he said.
BOOTBOI nervously read over each rule and condition, hoping that much of what he was agreeing to was mere formality. He initialed each page and 'signed on the dotted line', as the saying goes.
"By your signature you have indicated that you are of legal age, and that you are here of your own free will. You also indicated that you agree to abide by all Cellblock rules and conditions, and that you will not hold the Cellblock, its agents, officers or staff legally liable for any injury or damage caused to you or your property while you are here, and you agree not to record images of yourself, others or the Cellblock or its furnishings while you are in the Cellblock. You further agree that the Cellblock, its agents, officers and staff are authorized to record, copy and distribute images captured on the Cellblock premises with Cellblock equipment in any way they see fit. Every effort will be made to preserve your anonymity unless you waive your right to privacy. Do you agree to these conditions?" SARGE asked as he placed the signed form in an in tray.
"Yes, Sir," BOOTBOI replied respectfully. HOODER patted him on the shoulder approvingly.
"Thank you, boi. Now hold this in front of you and stand in front of that white screen," SAGE requested. He held out a black plastic bar with white plastic letters that spelt out the name 'BOOTBOI'. This mug shot wasn't going to be much use for identification purposes given that the boi was anonymous in a black rubber catsuit and leather hood, but what the hell – they'd get a laugh out of it later in the Officer's Mess.
"No smiling," he warned and snapped a full frontal shot with a digital camera. He glanced aside at HOODER to see if he thought the request was funny. Like anybody was ever going to know if the boi was smiling inside his padlocked hood. Yah, HOODER was grinning too. "We'll attach this image to your form and keep it on file for reference purposes," he said by way of explanation to the hooded boi.
"You can go upstairs now," SARGE said to HOODER and buzzed open a door to the right of the Duty Desk.
HOODER took up the rubbered boi's chain in his gloved fist and led him through the brightly lit locker room where Cellblock officers and inmates typically stored their street gear and prepared for a night on the 'Block. HOODER didn't stop to change, though, and as far as HOODER was concerned, BOOTBOI had nothing to change into (or out of, for that matter). He looked fine just the way he was. A rubber encased sub in tall black boots and padlocked hood and nothing else. He did, however, pull out a worn duffle bag from one of the lockers they passed and tossed it to BOOTBOI.
HOODER led his rubber toy through a doorway at the other end of the locker room and up a flight of stairs to red-lit hallway on the second floor and opened the door to 202. BOOTBOI followed eagerly. It was a simple room, similar to a thousand bathhouse playrooms around the world. A small bed was pressed against one wall and near it was a simple shelf with fuck towels and lube. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors on two walls and a heavy black leather chair marked it as above average for a play space, but generally speaking it was just a functional fuck room, with a doorway leading off to a small bathroom with toilet and sink. Nothing to be scared of at all, HOODER thought.
"Leave it over there," he growled, pointing to the bed, and the rubber coated sub dutifully laid the duffle bag down and stepped back. HOODER admired the SUB-HUMAN FIGURE standing anxiously before him, eager to please but not knowing what to do. Nice.
HOODER smiled to himself, but kept his face neutral. No point letting the boi know that he liked what he saw. Instead, he wrapped his arms around BOOTBOI and squeezed him hard, pressing his arms against his sides and holding him immobile for a moment, indicating in his own way that he approved of what the boi offered him. HOODER released his bear hug and stroked the crown of the boi's padlocked leather hood, feeling the individual strands of thong through the tips of his leather gloves. He breathed deeply and stepped back from the boi.
"Now GET ON YOUR KNEES!" he commanded, and pushed BOOTBOI to the ground. The boi immediately dropped to his knees and looked up expectantly into HOODER's face, which earned him a quick cuff on the side of his head.
"Not in the eyes," HOODER barked. "NEVER look me in the eyes, boi. Eye contact is for equals, and in this house you are NOT my equal. Unless I tell you otherwise, you will ONLY LOOK AT MY BOOTS, Watch these babies like you're a starving man and they're the only food for miles, boi," HOODER commanded. He grasped the boi's hood in both hands and forced his encased head within inches of the HIGHLY-POLISHED TOES of his THICH HI-SHINE CHIPPEWAS to emphasize his point.
"YOU'RE GONNA WORSHIP MY BOOTS. YOU GOT THAT, BOI?"
"YES SIR," BOOTBOI replied earnestly and respectfully touched his lips to the top of his master's CRUEL BLACK BOOTS. Looking down on the respectful sub, HOODER practically felt the TRANSFER OF POWER AND AUTHORITY from the boi's lips into his boots.
He let the boi kiss and stroke the tip of his SHINY BLACK CHIPPEWAS for another minute, heard his quivering breath, watched his wet lips and tongue slide on the SLICK LEATHER SURFACE, felt the blood pulse urgently in his loins, and savoured the slow swell of anticipation.
HOODER was pretty sure he'd established the BASIC POWER RELATIONSHIP between himself and this eager young pup at his feet, and decided it was time to take things to the next level.
"OK – let's get down to business," he said and walked to the leather chair and sat down. He stretched out his legs comfortably and crossed his boots in front of him so that the PATTERNED VIBRAM SOLES faced BOOTBOI.
He reached into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a fresh Casablanca, unwrapped it and shove it in his mouth. He found a lighter in another pocket and sucked on the fresh 'gar several times until it glowed amber in the dim room. He leisurely exhaled a cloud of blue smoke and exhaled. He learned back deep into the leather chair and admired his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. He saw a DOMINANT LEATHER MASTER seated in a leather chair looking back at him, 'gar glowing in the dark and hiding his face. DAMN, he was hot! From this angle he could only see BOOTBOI's SHINY RUBBER ASS and WESCO BOOTS in the mirror, but looking away from the mirror to the booted boi he could see his elbows on the ground and his HOODED HEAD ALMOST TOUCHING THE FLOOR. Either way, it made the tableau more exciting. Whether he looked at the reflection in the mirror of the boi's ass in the air and himself SEATED IN A POSITION OF POWER before him, or at the bowed figure at his feet, it was all good and damn exciting.
"CRAWL, BOI!" HOODER ordered, and BOOTBOI immediately SCURRIED FORWARD ON ALL FOURS until his face was pressed against the sole of his master's boot. "GIVE ME YOUR WORSHIP!" he commanded, and pressed his MASTER BOOT into BOOTBOI's face. He watched appreciatively as BOOTBOI got down to business with his tongue and lips, his pink tongue snaking out from the black hood and into the crevices of his thick Vibram soles.
"WORSHIP ME." HOODER commanded and shoved BOOTBOI's face into the SHINY BLACK TOE CAP of his right boot. From this angle, all he saw was the top of the sub's head, which moved over the surface of the tall Chippewas. HOODER couldn't feel the tongue, of course, even though he knew it was licking and stroking each boot, but he felt power course up through his loins as he watched the boi VENERATE AND HONOUR HIM.
HOODER let the scene continue for 10 minutes or so. He took a long drag on his cigar and watched the POWER EXCHANGE unfold in the mirror on the far side of the room. A seated LEATHER GOD accepting adulation from a SUBMISSIVE BOOTLOVING BOTTOM at his feet. He hoped the boi's SUBJUGATION AND HUMILIATION was being caught on tape. Cameras around the room recorded everything that happened here, and, once edited, would be posted on the Cellblock website. There was a long running competition among the Cellblock LEATHERCOPS for the most web hits, and HOODER thought this latex-suited boi might up his numbers among the rubber fetishists out there. It wasn't a market much covered by their cop-oriented web site and this had figured into his decision to take on this boi when they'd talked last week about getting together.
HOODER was a DOMINATION FREAK. He got off on TOTAL SURRENDER TO HIS LEATHER MANHOOD, TOTAL CONTROL AND SUBJUGATION of his collaborator into a creature to be used and dominated. Tonight's partner happened to be into rubber, but it could just as easily have been leather or any other form of covering – anything that made him less human and more compliant. With a hood over his head, each boi was identical to the last. Anonymous in his bondage, he was a continuation of a long series of bois made one by the sweat-soaked leather hood padlocked to his head, The same boi bound over and over again in different positions in different locations, SERVING HIS BOOTED LEATHER MASTER and EAGERLY GIVING UP AUTONOMY AND CONTROL.
He always played in gear, and insisted his partners stay in gear too. In a way it really didn't matter what happened here tonight, if he same boi came back again or not. There'd be another boi in exactly the same hood again the next time, maybe in different bindings in a different playroom, but in his mind HOODER could easily imagine that it was always the SAME HOODED CREATURE he saw BOWED AT HIS FEET, BENT BY HIS WILL AND HIS DESIRE. It was as though he DOMINATED AND CONTROLLED a single bondage bottom that was reincarnated anew each night – one spirit occupying different bodies.
HOODER laid aside his half-smoked cigar and gently nudged BOOTBOI's face away with a saliva-shiny boot. The boi knelt immobile on the floor and stared at the toe of his boot as he'd been ordered to do. HOODER took a three-inch metal eye bolt from a zippered pocket and screwed it into the wooden floor just in front of BOOTBOI's face. He then took a small padlock from another pocket and fixed BOOTBOI's metal chain to the bolt, locking him to the floor, He then got up and went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaving the boi alone in the silence to think about his situation.
He was in a strange building, he'd GIVEN OVER AUTHORITY to a man he barely knew, his head was PADLOCKED IN A FULL-FACE LEATHER HOOD, and that was PADLOCKED TO A BOLT IN THE FLOOR. And now he was left TOTALLY ALONE AND VULNERABLE to anyone who walked in the door. Was this really what he'd wanted? He was HUMILIATED. POWERLESS, and DOMINATED – and he'd accepted it all with almost no resistance at all, as though this were his NATUAL STATE, a PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF SOMETHING THAT WAS ALREADY TRUE IN HIS MIND. Now that he was living it, did he really want this strange leather cop to 'do whatever he wanted to' with him? Part of him said no, but another part of him said yes. He waited eagerly in total silence for HOODER to return.
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.