The black cab pulled to a stop in front of a tall semi-detached brownstone indistinguishable from half a dozen others along the well-heeled street, lit at regular intervals by circular pools of light cast from orange-yellow lights suspended high on metal lampposts.
"Twelve pounds ten, sir," the driver said over his shoulder to the beefy blond in the back seat. BO squeezed a ham-sized hand with some difficulty into his pant's back pocket to get at his wallet, pulled out a twenty and asked the driver for a fiver change.
"Thank you sir, and have a good night," the cabbie called as he drove off, leaving the big man standing alone on the sidewalk. He shivered a little in the cool evening air. The white long-sleeved lycra t-shirt he wore stretched over his mammoth upper torso looked fantastic, but was pretty useless at keeping out the cold. Tits on a bloody nun, he thought to himself. He might as well be wearing nothing for all the insulation the shirt offered. But you don't wear lycra to be warm: you wear it to be hot. And sometimes you have to be cold to be hot, he thought, and a smile momentarily creased one corner of his generous fleshy lips.
He'd deliberately worn the stretchy white shirt because he knew how flattering it was to his 'roid enhanced chest, shoulders and arms, how it hugged and caressed every line and bulge. Before coming out tonight he must have tried on a half dozen tops before settling on this one. First a skimpy spaghetti strap thing with GOLD'S GYM emblazoned across the front. Too California-ish, and it looked wrong without a tan. He was almost white as a ghost after spending the winter here, and you can only carry off the California look with a tan – or at least a fake and bake tan, which he didn't have either. Second, a baggy well-worn hoodie, which he discarded quickly after giving himself a once-over in the full-length bedroom mirror, as it hid all the hard work he'd put into building his body and just made him look fat. No way was he going to make a good impression with that thing hanging on him. He might wear it to the gym, but not on a 'first date.' Then he'd tried a brand-new brilliant white Hanes t-shirt (XXL) right out of the package, which stretched far beyond its tolerances and didn't even cover half his barrel-like distended GH belly, hard and rippled and hairless. Hot, but too trampy looking for a first impression, he thought. He'd also tried on several other lycra tops – short sleeved and no sleeved – before settling on this white one. It was a designer shirt, cut specifically to accommodate the distorted proportions common in really big body builders – space near the neck for bull-like traps, extra material in the shoulders and arms to accommodate his football-sized deltoids and 22 inch arms, a huge chest area to encompass his bulbous, pendulous pecs and hormone-swollen mantits, and extra long length so that even his barrel sized abdomen remained encased.
He'd tucked the muscle-hugging slick white shirt into his custom-made jeans, (XXX wide thighs and XX wide calves on a 36 inch waist, 29 inch inseam) and he wore high shine Corcoran paratrooper boots with thick Vibram soles, which added an extra inch or so to his five foot nine inch frame. In spite of his massive size, he was somewhat self-conscious about his height – he wasn't nearly as tall as many of the big boys in the bodybuilding community, and in fact had started working out nine years ago in part to compensate for this … shortcoming.
So now he found himself all alone, shivering slightly on an upmarket residential street lined with multi-story semidetached brownstones. Although it wasn't particularly late, there was nobody else on the street. Lighted windows, and occasional electronic blue emanations from some, suggested domestic activities inside at least a few of the homes. A dog barked somewhere in the dark, and the hum of traffic came from a motorway several blocks over.
Identical black metal fences abutted the sidewalk all along the street, and each heavy wood doorway was fronted by a short set of stone or concrete stairs. He nervously checked the number affixed to the nearest door against the address he'd copied out on the note he'd crumpled in his big hand. This was it, he thought, and pressed the simple white intercom buzzer. Hard to believe that a major play space lay behind the door but what better place to hide one than in plain site?
Nothing suggested this address was any different from its neighbours, but BO knew differently. He'd been directed here by note someone had left in his gym bag back stage at the Mr NorthWest competition three weeks earlier. It wasn't a competition on any 'legitimate' calendar of body building events because there were no doping tests involved and no stigma attached to pharmaceutical regimes. He'd placed eighth - not bad for a first effort – and while he'd only taken home a cheque for 200, he was pleased to even place, given some of the size monsters and freakazoids he'd shared the backstage area with. He'd worked hard for his body, and really appreciated the acknowledgement his placement represented. And the prize money was already earmarked for additional pharmaceuticals through a supplier he'd met backstage – and unanticipated bonus for competing at the event. He still carried the note folded up in his wallet.
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LEATHERCOPS and CELLMATES!
The Cellblock is looking for HOT exhibitionists into leather and uniforms (law enforcement, military and paramilitary) who know how to DOMINATE, CONTROL, TRAIN and SUBJUGATE prisoners. Successful candidates will be worshipped and immortalized via Webcasts, DVDs and photosets.
We're also looking for cellmates with a desire to be DISCIPLINED, RESTRAINED, MANHANDLED and CONFINED by HOT men in uniform. Acceptable candidates will be handed over to some of the hottest LEATHERCOPS on the planet in one of the best equipped play spaces in the world.
Contact the Cellblock today! Email a recent photo, position desired and dates of availability to the.cellblock@yahoo.com or call 555.123.8388 now. We're waiting to hear from you!
Note: Practicing law enforcement officers and serving military personnel are entitled to special consideration. Professional body builders are also entitled to special consideration with proof of top 10 finishes.
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He'd found the message on top of his street clothes inside the bag, but really hadn't read it until he got back home, then wondered if somebody had twigged to his secret longing to be bound and dominated. He'd beat off for years fantasizing about bondage and domination, but had done little in the real world to make his fantasies real. Had someone identified him online in spite of his various aliases? Electronic static interrupted his reverie. "Can I help you?" a distorted voice asked through the metal cover plate.
"Bo Sinclair here," he replied. "Yes sir, Mr Sinclair we've been expecting you. Please step inside and wait in the vestibule. Someone will come and get you momentarily."
The door lock clicked open and Bo stepped into a small room that separated the outside door from another inside one. A moment later the door in front of him opened and a vision appeared that cleared up any doubt he might have had regarding the correct address. Holy crap! A young beefy cracker in a military high and tight, Muir cap, short sleeved leather cop shirt and flared breeches stood in the doorway and held out his hand to BO.
"Welcome aboard, Mr Sinclair," he said to BO as he grasped his hand in a firm handshake. "I'm SARGE, did you have any trouble getting here this evening?" he asked by way of small talk to ease some of the obvious tension he felt radiating from BO.
"No sweat. The cab dropped me off right outside the door," BO replied. "I had a printout of the directions you guys sent me, but never had to use them." "That's good. Now if you don't mind, we'll get down to business. We're a little short staffed at the moment, so I'll be signing you in and processing you this evening. Please follow me to the Duty Desk and we'll get you all set up," he said with a smile. He turned and walked back along the corridor to a lighted area at the end of the hall.
BO followed closely behind, and noted the delightful rocking motion of SARGE's ample leather covered ass and thighs in front of him. BO watched the beautiful young bull's ass all the way to the Duty Desk, only looking up again when his guide stepped behind the counter.
"Welcome to The Cellblock, Mr Sinclair. I understand that house rules were explained to you over the phone, but please review this form and initial each page after you've read it. You'll note that we've indicated here on page three that the usual membership fee and nightly cover charge have been waived because of your eighth place finish in the Mr North West competition last month." Ever since its inception the Cellblock had a standing policy that fees were waived for law enforcement officers (LEOs) both active and retired, and for competition bodybuilders and weightlifter who could prove their competitive status.
"Congratulation on your top ten placing, Mr Sinclair, you look like you worked hard for it." Bo acknowledged the compliment with a smile, but kept reading.
"I think you'll find the form pretty much says the same things you've heard already. But read it over carefully anyway. Please also sign on the three lines marked with X's on the final page here, here and here," SARGE said and pointed a beefy forefinger out the lines he meant. He gave BO a few minutes to read over the document and then handed him a pen.
"By signing this form you indicate that you are of legal age, and that you are here of your own free will. You also indicate that you agree to abide by all Cellblock rules and conditions, and that you will not hold the Cellblock, its agents, officers or staff 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 recorded 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 understand what I am asking you to sign?"
"Yes Sir," BO replied as he scribbled his signature over and over again. SARGE took back the signed form and checked over each page to make sure each was properly initialed and the last page signed in all three places. He placed the signed form in an in tray on one side of the Duty Desk, then pulled open a drawer under it.
"What name will you be using here tonight, Sir?" SARGE asked politely. "My legal name is BEAU, but everybody just calls me BO," replied the oversized bodybuilder in the shiny white lycra top.
"Yes, sir." SARGE rifled through the opened drawer until he found the white plastic letters he was looking for and snapped them onto them into the centre line on a black plastic bar. "Please stand in front of the white screen and hold this name card in front of your chest. A little higher please. No smiling please. That's it." Click, and a sudden flash of light sent blue sparkles into BO's eyes.
"Thank you, BO, SARGE said, reaching out a hand to take back the name bar."This picture will be attached to your form and kept on file for reference purposes."
"You can proceed now to the locker room. Strip down to your skivvies and footwear, and then lock your street clothes into one of the empty lockers. You should find padlocks on all available locker door. Please call out my name when you're ready to proceed. This way, BO," he said and buzzed open the door to the right of the Duty Desk. BO pushed open the unlocked door. He found himself inside a locker-lined room with a standard wooden bench along the opposite wall. There was a plain white door at the far end of the locker room, and two other doors to his left and right in the middle of the room. On the left hand door in small black letters was painted the word "Gym" and on the right hand door "Officer's Mess. No unauthorized admittance." The word "Officer's" reminded him that there really might be officers here tonight and caused a shiver of excitement to course down his spine.
Only a few of the locker doors were shut and padlocked; most stood ajar. He randomly picked on of the open lockers and threw his wallet into the upper shelf. He then used the bench to get at the laces on his boots - no easy task given the size of his thighs and the tight fit of his jeans -pulled them off, then got to work on peeling off the denim pants. Finally he was left standing in his white lycra shirt, tightie whities and a fresh pair of white socks. "Like a virgin," he thought to himself. OK, maybe not. He hung the jeans from a hook inside the locker, the put his feet back into the shiny black Corcoran paratrooper boots and laced them up. He then got to work on wriggling out of the body hugging lycra shirt, putting on quite a show in the process. Although he didn't know it, he was being recorded by several discrete cameras positioned around the locker room. And the feed was going to SARGE at the Duty Desk who was responsible for capturing and storing all Cellblock video feeds tonight – and to a screen in the small Officers Mess on the other side of the duplex where two LEATHERCOPS sat watching BO get down to basics.
"That's one hot fracker," observed one of the leather uniformed men. "No kiddin' – and that ass is as sweet as they come," his bud replied, admiring the double mounds wriggling on screen as BO tried to work the shirt up and over his immense shoulders. Only his shaved white thighs were exposed. His feet were clad in black boots topped by rolled down white socks, his ass was wrapped in white cotton briefs, and most of his upper torso and all of his head and arms were lost in wriggling white lycra that seemed to mummify him. A Kodak moment if there ever was one. You just knew this image was going to make it onto the Cellblock's website.
It being a Thursday, only two LEATHERCOPS were 'on' tonight - HOODER and Sarge WOLF Mack who sat at a little table in the Officer's Mess watching an overhead monitor showing BO erotically striptease for them. WOLF meditatively sucked on a thick glowing cigar.
"Can't wait to get my hands on those tits," HOODER observed. "You can have the tits after I finish with that white boy's ass," WOLF replied, blowing out a blue haze of cigar smoke.
The LEATHERCOPS had agreed to a coin toss for fist dibs on the beefy shaved bondage novice standing by the lockers in nothing but high shine lace up Corcorans and tightie whities.
HOODER fished out a coin first out of a zippered panel in his padded Langlitz cop breeches. "Your call," he said, tossing it into the air and then slapping it onto his arm with the other hand.
"Tails," WOLF called out. HOODER pulled back his hand, exposing the old Queen's profile.
"HOO YAH!" HOODER exclaimed and pumped a fist in the air. "Tough luck, Bro, but your loss is my gain. Expect you'll be joining us in an hour or so after I bust his bondage cherry," he said with a laugh. "Meantime, you'll just have to watch it on screen like everybody else. At least you see it live – nobody outside sees this footage until it gets edited for the web site."
HOODER stood up and unclipped one of two leather hoods from a belt loop on his breeches. "Help me get into this thing, will you?", he asked as he worked his favourite face-hugging black kid leather hood over his head and into place on his face, adjusting the eye holes, nostril grommets and mouth opening to line up properly.
WOLF adjusted the black leather thong that ran in a series of X's from the crown of the hood down to the neck. Starting at the top, he tugged each X tight, pulling the leather mask even closer to HOODER
's face. He tied the two ends of the leather thong together with a double knot when he reached the last X, and stepped back to admire his handiwork. HOODER made some final adjustments to the leather over his face and turned to face WOLF.
"Well, whaddya think?" he asked. WOLF looked his partner over carefully from head to toe and tried to see him as a stranger might for the first time. What he saw was a FACELESS LEATHERCOP.
The man before him wore a long sleeved leather uniform shirt with NY City Police patches on each shoulder and gold piping at the collar and seams. A thick Langlitz Sam Browne belt ran through the epaulette on one shoulder across his chest and attached to the waist on the opposite side of his flared Langlitz breeches with a gold stripe running down the outside of each leg and into his WESCO WOLF BOOTS. The leather hood fitted snugly into the shirt, and left almost no skin exposed at all, just his hands. And when HOODER took a pair of fine leather gloves from the other epaulette and worked his fingers into each glove and fastened the wrist snaps shut, there was no flesh exposed at all. He really was a TOTAL LEATHER COP now, from the top of his LEATHER FACED HOOD to the toe of his THICK BOSS BOOTS. AN INTIMIDATING LEATHER-ENCASED UBER LEDERCOP.
What WOLF saw was a leather covered cop, anonymous, intimidating, maybe even a little frightening if you didn't know the man wearing it. A great look
for domination. WOLF thought.
Sarge "WOLF" Mack wasn't too pissed that he'd lost the toss. Though he enjoyed breaking in a virgin as much as the next man, he knew he'd get what was coming to him shortly.
"Bud, do whatever you want with those fancy ropes of yours, but I'm not gonna give you any better ideas, fukka, as this COP's gonna try 'em first" WOLF laughed, throwing a few punches in HOODER's direction.
The masked LEATHERCOP ducked out of the way of the oncoming fist, despite the hood's limits, and landed a 1-2 on the WOLF's chest, bouncing off the impenetrable uniform hide and underlying muscle bulk.
"SARGE? I'm ready now SARGE," BO called from the locker room, his voice picked up on the overhead mikes. The Duty Officer stepped into the room and gave BO a once over. Yes, he was ready. SARGE pressed an intercom connected to the Officer's Mess and asked for tonight's LEATHERCOP to come in now. Less than a minute later, HOODER stood in the locker room doorway.
BO looked the MUSCLE HEAVY HOODED LEATHERCOP up and down and liked what he saw. A DOMINANT BOOTED FIGURE covered in HEAD TO TOE LEATHER, faceless under a tight-fitting soft leather hood with eye and mouth openings and small grommets at the nostrils.
"BO, this is HOODER. He is your control for the duration of your stay here at The Cellblock. Do what he tells you to do and everything will be fine. Fail to comply in any way, and, well, let's just say you don't want to find out what happens if you disappoint him.
SARGE turned to HOODER and said in a formal voice: "HOODER, this is BO. Please take control of your prisoner. He's been assigned room 304. Please take him there now."
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
Showing posts with label Bo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bo. Show all posts
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Bo 02
"Ok boy, let's get down to business. I don't care how big you are or how many competitions you've been in, tonight WE'RE GONNA DO THINGS MY WAY AND YOU'RE GONNA LIKE IT. YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"I understand," BO replied.
HOODER slapped him smartly across the side of the face. "I UNDERSTAND WHAT?"
"SIR, I UNDERSTAND SIR!" BO corrected himself.
"That's better. Follow me."
"Yes, SIR!"
HOODER picked up a small leather bag standing in a corner of the room and handed it to BO. He then lead BO out through the same door he'd entered a minute earlier and out onto a landing with stairs going both up and down. The down stairs led to the public cellblock/play space in the building's basement; the up stairs led to private offices and playrooms overhead. HOODER indicated to BO that he should head up and followed behind so that he could watch the beefy bubble butt at face level as it swayed up the stairs. Nice. Very nice, he thought.
At the third floor landing HOODER indicated to BO that he should turn left and proceed down the red-lit hall. Almost all the lights in the Cellblock on this side of the Duty Desk were low-wattage red so that LEATHERCOPS and CELLMATES could navigate between spaces and re-enter even dimmer rooms without much loss of vision. From long experience HOODER knew that 304 was at the far end of the hall. When they got there, he pushed open the door and roughly shoved BO inside.
Even before he switched on the dim overhead lights, HOODER knew the layout and details of the room. Like WOLF downstairs, he was one of the original members of the Cellblock and intimately knew every room, toy and resource contained within its walls.
A simple bed, a shelf stocked with fuck towels, lubricant and condoms, several floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a square black leather chair were standard in each of the third-floor rooms, and mirrors lined two walls. These rooms were sometimes rented out to visiting LEATHERCOPs, or those just too tired to go home after a long night downstairs, but usually they were used for play, just as HOODER planned to do here now. Discrete overhead lighting could be used to highlight specific areas of the room, and hidden cameras recorded every activity everywhere in the room.
In addition to this standard arrangement, however, each of the eight third-floor rooms also included at least one 'specialty' item. A metal dog cage. A St Andrews cross. A sling. A small shower/enema setup. This particular room had a sturdy wooden frame with metal eyehooks running up each side and across the top. The wooden frame faced a full length mirror so the person tied up there could see himself in the mirror, and the deep leather chair was positioned to the side so HOODER could sit comfortably for long periods of time and enjoy his handiwork writhing in its bondage.
Yes, 304 was ideal for rope bondage, and HOODER was pleased that the Duty Desk officer had selected this room to accommodated his fetish specialty. He took the bag from BO and casually tossed it on the bed.
HOODER reminded BO that the session was being recorded, in fact, the cameras were already running. Before getting into things any further, he unclipped a leather executioner's hood that covers the face down to just below the cheekbones but leaves the nostrils, mouth and chin exposed.
"Don't be afraid of this," HOODER assured the inexperienced young man standing in front of him. "You can see this will only cover the top half of your head and nothing else, see?" He rotated the hood on his gloved hands so that BO could see for himself how non-restrictive the hood was. "It doesn't cover your nose or mouth, it won't affect your breathing at all, and you can still talk if I ask you to."
HOODER carefully worked the hood over BO's head, then tightened the lacings down the back of the hood so that it sat tight against the boi's face.
"LET ME LOOK AT YOU. STAND AT MILITARY EASE," HOODER demanded. "Eyes forward, back straight, feet apart and hands behind your back," he added just in case BO didn't know what at military ease meant. Bo assumed the position at once and stared at his own reflection in the mirror.
What a piece of work, HOODER reflected admiringly. A shaved, bodacious hard body, beautiful tight skin, naïve and trusting – nice all 'round package and now anonymous and waiting for bondage in a black leather hood. He rubbed his gloved hands under BO's pendulous pecs, over his massive shoulders, down his bulging arms. They don't come much better than this, he thought.
"You've really done yourself proud, BO," he observed aloud. "You deserved to place better than you did." HOODER'ed learned long ago that it never hurts to compliment a sub at first it – makes them more malleable until you've got them under restraint – and it was easy to compliment this one. Damn, he looked good, but he'd look even better lassoed in a couple dozen meters of rope…
For a moment he considered what he should do about the shorts. He wasn't real crazy about them, and wondered how the scene would look on camera if he left them on – or something else altogether. The options were leave them on, go commando,or use the pouch he'd packed for the occasion. Knowing that it was the guy's first time, HOODER figured he'd be more comfortable covered. You don't always look your best when scared, and he didn't want to emphasize the boi's dick if there wasn't much there (and he didn't expect that there would be given the boi's size. He suspected there must have been several pretty heavy-duty 'roid cycles in this BULL CALF's past, and he knew what that tended to do to a man's equipment. No, he didn't want to draw attention to the boi's dick if there wasn't much to show, so that meant no commando. Tightie whities or pouch? The white shorts were too boring – OK that decided it. He rummaged through the bag on the bed until he found what he was looking for and tossed a shiny black lycra posing strap to the end of the bed.
"Take off those dopey shorts and put this on," HOODER commanded, pointing to the skimpy tramp wear he'd thrown there.
BO picked it up. It was sort of like a jock strap, but made of stretchy lycra instead of cotton. Somewhere between practical and trampy, but leaning towards the trampy. It consisted of a small shiny pouch up front and two side straps meant to wrap around his thighs and ass cheeks. Definitely trampy, BO thought. He had to bend over and lift a thick thigh to put his right leg through a lycra strap, then repeat the action for the left leg. He'd turned away from HOODER to do this, thus presenting a great view of his upturned butt with its light smattering of angry 'roid blotches, flawing his otherwise faultless white ass. Even though BO kept his back to HOODER, the leathercop could still see BO's image reflected in the far mirror, giving him a pretty good view of BO's stomach, cock and balls. The placement of the mirror was no accident, and it worked to HOODER's advantage.
BO sported a rounded barrel-like GH belly, easily six or eight inches bigger than his waist, and there was no treasure train at all leading to his totally shaved crotch - hairlessness totally appropriate on a bondage bottom – meaning that he was completely smooth from the neck down - hell, from the eyebrows down.
A smaller than average uncircumcised dick hung down limp between his legs, but even this inconsequential dick almost completely obscured tiny 'roid shrunk balls, the kind of balls you'd expect to find on a young boy, not a man.
But HOODER'ed seen enough juice junkies to know what too many cycles did down there to the big beef boys and wasn't at all surprised to discover this miniscule endowment. Oddly enough, most 'roid boys never acknowledged this shortcoming. They'd tell the world their bicep size or thigh circumference, or whatever, but then remain stonily silent about this size, as though they were oblivious to the importance of this one appendage that shrunk in direct proportion to the growth of everything else. It was like a bargain made with the devil, HOODER thought. You can grow to incredible size everywhere else, but here you will shrink. It was a Devil's bargain almost everybody had to make to achieve muscular monstrosity, and it was oddly erotic on a bottom, especially when combined with a totally smooth and hairless groin. HOODER liked it a lot, in a warped sort of way.
Like the shaved flesh, the baby balls said while I may look like a man on the outside, in my secret places I'm really a total bottom. A HAIRLESS NO-BALLS BONDAGE BOTTOM. It was a physical manifestation of the boi's powerlessness, HOODER thought, in spite of his otherwise well-endowed physical presence. Something not really visible to the outside world, easily seen by a top. HOODER felt his veined meat swelling and pressing against the inside of his leather breeches as he contemplated the big man with the small equipment in the mirror.
Without a word HOODER handed BO a leather cock ring to snap around his negligible package, at least giving him an illusion of size when snapped into place around his boi-balls and cock.
BO quickly pulled up the skimpy fabric to his hips, adjusted the pouch to cover his chemically-shrunk mini-manhood, and aligned the black straps so they sat just on the edge of his amazing hard butt cheeks. The positioning of the little pouch gave him the illusion of a size that really wasn't there, the suggestion of a bulge that was mostly cock and very little balls. But it was only an illusion of size, and HOODER found this dichotomy exciting. Big man. Little package. No power.
The HOODED LEATHERCOP rifled through the bag on the bed and pulled out about 12 carefully rolled lengths of white rope along the foot of the bed and then unwound one between his gloved hands.
He expertly constructed a rope harness around BO's pecs, shoulders and back, He folded a length of rope in half to find the centre point, draped the two halves behind BO's neck and over his shoulders, then crossed and knotted the two ends about half way down his pec cleavage. Several more practiced moves resulted in a series of crisscrossing patterns that wrapped round his back and under his arms and ultimately framed his pecs in such a way that his HYPER-INFLATED TATAS lifted out and up from his body. HOODER efficiently tied off the last few inches of rope out of sight behind BO's back and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Fantastic work, even if I do say so myself, he thought. That boi's got enough pecs there for two men. He cupped first one massive pec in his hands, then the other. He squeezed the two together and admired the deep cleft that formed down the centre of the boi's ches. tWonder how many pounds of muscle there are in one of these, he mused. He let the pendulous flesh fall back into place and sighed.
"POSE FOR ME, BOI. SHOW ME YOUR COMPETITION NIGHT ROUTINE," HOODER ordered. "WATCH YOURSELF IN THAT MIRROR, AND LET'S SEE WHAT YOU GOT."
Bo began somewhat hesitantly. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be seen performing - far from it. He loved being watched as he showed off his beef-fed bull-like body. And it wasn't that he'd forgotten the routine. He'd committed every flex, turn and clench by running through it a hundred times before last month's show both at home, at the gym - and even for pay at private performances in hotel rooms where he'd staged a version of it for paying clients who'd booked him at 200 an hour sometimes just for the presentation alone, no sex at all. So it wasn't like he didn't remember all the moves. No, the problem was that he was having difficulty getting the rhythm right without the right music, and the stuff playing over the room's hidden speakers didn't have the right tempo. Even at home in front of a mirror he'd always performed to the theme from 'The Gladiator' movie, and usually on an IPod everywhere else. Without 'his' music, he was having trouble getting into his groove, and he fumbled over the first few positions while he tried to get the timing right. He wanted to impress HOODER with his performance, to make HOODER like him, and he sweated a little that maybe he might be blowing it.
HOODER was oblivious to BO's opening jitters. He'd turned away to face the padded leather chair and relaxed into it to watch the show, and by the time he gave BO's performance his full attention, the muscle boi was well into his routine and hitting his poses with passion.
He looked beautiful from the back. Hooded head. Wide lats crisscrossed with white ropes, impossibly swollen triceps and forearms, an achingly luscious ass caressed by thin black bands of lycra, Hulk-like thighs and inhuman calves. And his 'crab shot' was out of this world. A grimace distorted his face, making him look like he was cumming, and his neck nearly disappeared into cartoonish traps bulging from the fleshy basketballs on his shoulders almost to his ears.
His pecs belonged on a god. A FREAKAZOID GOD, but a god nevertheless. They were PECS BUILT TO BE ABUSED. You couldn't ignore them, even if they hadn’t been thrust up and out by the position BO assumed for the crab, and by the rope encasing his MAMMOTH MANTITS. He looked like a RENTBOY FANTASY in his buttless black lycra dick sock - and who knew? Maybe that's what he would be after a few more Cellblock sessions.
Meanwhile downstairs, WOLF decided to take it to the empty Officers' Mess. He strode into the room and took up position in one of the high-backed leather director's chairs, positioned his shiny black Dehners up on the two bootstools that came with each chair, and kicked back.
Two of the wall-mounted monitors in the Mess played feeds from the cellblock/playspace set up in the basement below , where tonight's subs and guests mingled, mixed and played unless and until called upon. Looking over tonight's 'buffet', WOLF selected the most muscular specimen: a compact bubble-butted junior pro - the spitting image of Jeff Long. wearing number 27 on a tag pinned to his white jockstrap.
WOLF buzzed the intercom button on the table next to him to reach the Duty Officer at the front desk.
"Yes WOLF?"
"Send up number 27, SARGE."
"Yes, Sir," SARGE answered almost immediately. He'd been watching video output from every Cellblock camera feed on small monitors at the Duty Desk all evening whenever other duties didn't require action on his part. He was a big time voyeur, and didn't mind at all working the night shift if it meant he got a chance to satisfy his need to watch leathermen doing it. He liked to watch other men at play almost as much as he liked to be watched while he played. A significant number of online Cellblock vids testified to that particular fetish beyond a doubt.
WOLF watched the bulked-up musclepup with the farm boy face jump into action on screen and make his way out of the Cellblock playroom downstairs.
"DOUBLE JACK D," WOLF barked, as the pup entered the Officer's Mess. The boi walked quickly to the mini-bar, fixed the required drink and brought it to WOLF on a tray.
"CASABLANCA MAGNUM."
He scurried back to the bar, opened a large glass-fronted humidor, located WOLF's rack, took one out, prepared it and then brought it back to the waiting flat-topped big-veined Officer.
Boi 27 knelt to the side of the chair, and proffered the requested cigar. He then lit a match and held it out for the ARROGANT COMMANDING LEATHERMAN. WOLF leaned into the matche's flame, sucked it into his Casablanca several times until the fragrant dark tobacco started to glow, then leaned back, blew out a cloud of sweet, blue-hued smoke into the air above his head, and casually pointed at his leather-encased crotch with his free hand. He simply assumed the boi would follow his command without any additional instruction, and he wasn't disappointed.
The boi shuffled between the cop's muscle-stretched breeches and highly- polished Dehners and knelt before the protruding, shining leather snap-on pouch. The MUSCLECOP looked down on the boi from his leather throne through a blue haze, and nodded his chin in the direction of his codpiece. Immediately the sub worked opened WOLF's cod, and found himself staring at a hard-veined 8 incher. He eargerly took the HOT COP TOOL in his mouth and started polishing the pole with his lips and tongue.
WOLF totally disregarded the mouth on his tool and turned his attention back to the monitor displaying BO's on screen posing routine. He grabbed the skull in front of him and shoved it full on to his meat, feeling his COPCOCK throbbing insistently in the skull's mouth. The digital image moved on from the Crab Shot to a Most Muscular, then Side Tricep, then Double Rear Bicep, just like BO had done at the Night Show.
Dang, that was one hot BB upstairs, WOLF said to himself. No wonder PROSECUTOR slipped this puppy a Cellblock flier backstage at the MR North West competition.
He cupped the kneeling skull before him and forced it up and down on his THROBBING VEINED NIGHTSTICK. Hot as it was to watch that boi posing upstairs, he wanted some DICK ACTION NOW, and if it wasn't happening on screen it was gonna happen here. He grunted his satisfaction to the enthusiastic boi who looked up longingly at WOLF's commanding arrogant face, largely hidden in shadow by the brim of his gold rimmed Muir cap, taking pleasure in just being here, servicing a LEATHERGOD.
Onscreen and upstairs, BO bowed after his final pose and stood stock still.
"Good boi. Excellent work. Now let's try some special posing with a little custom detailing. I think you're gonna like it. Stand in the centre of the frame over there."
BO positioned himself in the exact centre between the two wooden uprights and stood at ease with his legs apart and hands behind his back and waited patiently for what would happen next. He didn't have long to wait.
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
"I understand," BO replied.
HOODER slapped him smartly across the side of the face. "I UNDERSTAND WHAT?"
"SIR, I UNDERSTAND SIR!" BO corrected himself.
"That's better. Follow me."
"Yes, SIR!"
HOODER picked up a small leather bag standing in a corner of the room and handed it to BO. He then lead BO out through the same door he'd entered a minute earlier and out onto a landing with stairs going both up and down. The down stairs led to the public cellblock/play space in the building's basement; the up stairs led to private offices and playrooms overhead. HOODER indicated to BO that he should head up and followed behind so that he could watch the beefy bubble butt at face level as it swayed up the stairs. Nice. Very nice, he thought.
At the third floor landing HOODER indicated to BO that he should turn left and proceed down the red-lit hall. Almost all the lights in the Cellblock on this side of the Duty Desk were low-wattage red so that LEATHERCOPS and CELLMATES could navigate between spaces and re-enter even dimmer rooms without much loss of vision. From long experience HOODER knew that 304 was at the far end of the hall. When they got there, he pushed open the door and roughly shoved BO inside.
Even before he switched on the dim overhead lights, HOODER knew the layout and details of the room. Like WOLF downstairs, he was one of the original members of the Cellblock and intimately knew every room, toy and resource contained within its walls.
A simple bed, a shelf stocked with fuck towels, lubricant and condoms, several floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a square black leather chair were standard in each of the third-floor rooms, and mirrors lined two walls. These rooms were sometimes rented out to visiting LEATHERCOPs, or those just too tired to go home after a long night downstairs, but usually they were used for play, just as HOODER planned to do here now. Discrete overhead lighting could be used to highlight specific areas of the room, and hidden cameras recorded every activity everywhere in the room.
In addition to this standard arrangement, however, each of the eight third-floor rooms also included at least one 'specialty' item. A metal dog cage. A St Andrews cross. A sling. A small shower/enema setup. This particular room had a sturdy wooden frame with metal eyehooks running up each side and across the top. The wooden frame faced a full length mirror so the person tied up there could see himself in the mirror, and the deep leather chair was positioned to the side so HOODER could sit comfortably for long periods of time and enjoy his handiwork writhing in its bondage.
Yes, 304 was ideal for rope bondage, and HOODER was pleased that the Duty Desk officer had selected this room to accommodated his fetish specialty. He took the bag from BO and casually tossed it on the bed.
HOODER reminded BO that the session was being recorded, in fact, the cameras were already running. Before getting into things any further, he unclipped a leather executioner's hood that covers the face down to just below the cheekbones but leaves the nostrils, mouth and chin exposed.
"Don't be afraid of this," HOODER assured the inexperienced young man standing in front of him. "You can see this will only cover the top half of your head and nothing else, see?" He rotated the hood on his gloved hands so that BO could see for himself how non-restrictive the hood was. "It doesn't cover your nose or mouth, it won't affect your breathing at all, and you can still talk if I ask you to."
HOODER carefully worked the hood over BO's head, then tightened the lacings down the back of the hood so that it sat tight against the boi's face.
"LET ME LOOK AT YOU. STAND AT MILITARY EASE," HOODER demanded. "Eyes forward, back straight, feet apart and hands behind your back," he added just in case BO didn't know what at military ease meant. Bo assumed the position at once and stared at his own reflection in the mirror.
What a piece of work, HOODER reflected admiringly. A shaved, bodacious hard body, beautiful tight skin, naïve and trusting – nice all 'round package and now anonymous and waiting for bondage in a black leather hood. He rubbed his gloved hands under BO's pendulous pecs, over his massive shoulders, down his bulging arms. They don't come much better than this, he thought.
"You've really done yourself proud, BO," he observed aloud. "You deserved to place better than you did." HOODER'ed learned long ago that it never hurts to compliment a sub at first it – makes them more malleable until you've got them under restraint – and it was easy to compliment this one. Damn, he looked good, but he'd look even better lassoed in a couple dozen meters of rope…
For a moment he considered what he should do about the shorts. He wasn't real crazy about them, and wondered how the scene would look on camera if he left them on – or something else altogether. The options were leave them on, go commando,or use the pouch he'd packed for the occasion. Knowing that it was the guy's first time, HOODER figured he'd be more comfortable covered. You don't always look your best when scared, and he didn't want to emphasize the boi's dick if there wasn't much there (and he didn't expect that there would be given the boi's size. He suspected there must have been several pretty heavy-duty 'roid cycles in this BULL CALF's past, and he knew what that tended to do to a man's equipment. No, he didn't want to draw attention to the boi's dick if there wasn't much to show, so that meant no commando. Tightie whities or pouch? The white shorts were too boring – OK that decided it. He rummaged through the bag on the bed until he found what he was looking for and tossed a shiny black lycra posing strap to the end of the bed.
"Take off those dopey shorts and put this on," HOODER commanded, pointing to the skimpy tramp wear he'd thrown there.
BO picked it up. It was sort of like a jock strap, but made of stretchy lycra instead of cotton. Somewhere between practical and trampy, but leaning towards the trampy. It consisted of a small shiny pouch up front and two side straps meant to wrap around his thighs and ass cheeks. Definitely trampy, BO thought. He had to bend over and lift a thick thigh to put his right leg through a lycra strap, then repeat the action for the left leg. He'd turned away from HOODER to do this, thus presenting a great view of his upturned butt with its light smattering of angry 'roid blotches, flawing his otherwise faultless white ass. Even though BO kept his back to HOODER, the leathercop could still see BO's image reflected in the far mirror, giving him a pretty good view of BO's stomach, cock and balls. The placement of the mirror was no accident, and it worked to HOODER's advantage.
BO sported a rounded barrel-like GH belly, easily six or eight inches bigger than his waist, and there was no treasure train at all leading to his totally shaved crotch - hairlessness totally appropriate on a bondage bottom – meaning that he was completely smooth from the neck down - hell, from the eyebrows down.
A smaller than average uncircumcised dick hung down limp between his legs, but even this inconsequential dick almost completely obscured tiny 'roid shrunk balls, the kind of balls you'd expect to find on a young boy, not a man.
But HOODER'ed seen enough juice junkies to know what too many cycles did down there to the big beef boys and wasn't at all surprised to discover this miniscule endowment. Oddly enough, most 'roid boys never acknowledged this shortcoming. They'd tell the world their bicep size or thigh circumference, or whatever, but then remain stonily silent about this size, as though they were oblivious to the importance of this one appendage that shrunk in direct proportion to the growth of everything else. It was like a bargain made with the devil, HOODER thought. You can grow to incredible size everywhere else, but here you will shrink. It was a Devil's bargain almost everybody had to make to achieve muscular monstrosity, and it was oddly erotic on a bottom, especially when combined with a totally smooth and hairless groin. HOODER liked it a lot, in a warped sort of way.
Like the shaved flesh, the baby balls said while I may look like a man on the outside, in my secret places I'm really a total bottom. A HAIRLESS NO-BALLS BONDAGE BOTTOM. It was a physical manifestation of the boi's powerlessness, HOODER thought, in spite of his otherwise well-endowed physical presence. Something not really visible to the outside world, easily seen by a top. HOODER felt his veined meat swelling and pressing against the inside of his leather breeches as he contemplated the big man with the small equipment in the mirror.
Without a word HOODER handed BO a leather cock ring to snap around his negligible package, at least giving him an illusion of size when snapped into place around his boi-balls and cock.
BO quickly pulled up the skimpy fabric to his hips, adjusted the pouch to cover his chemically-shrunk mini-manhood, and aligned the black straps so they sat just on the edge of his amazing hard butt cheeks. The positioning of the little pouch gave him the illusion of a size that really wasn't there, the suggestion of a bulge that was mostly cock and very little balls. But it was only an illusion of size, and HOODER found this dichotomy exciting. Big man. Little package. No power.
The HOODED LEATHERCOP rifled through the bag on the bed and pulled out about 12 carefully rolled lengths of white rope along the foot of the bed and then unwound one between his gloved hands.
He expertly constructed a rope harness around BO's pecs, shoulders and back, He folded a length of rope in half to find the centre point, draped the two halves behind BO's neck and over his shoulders, then crossed and knotted the two ends about half way down his pec cleavage. Several more practiced moves resulted in a series of crisscrossing patterns that wrapped round his back and under his arms and ultimately framed his pecs in such a way that his HYPER-INFLATED TATAS lifted out and up from his body. HOODER efficiently tied off the last few inches of rope out of sight behind BO's back and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Fantastic work, even if I do say so myself, he thought. That boi's got enough pecs there for two men. He cupped first one massive pec in his hands, then the other. He squeezed the two together and admired the deep cleft that formed down the centre of the boi's ches. tWonder how many pounds of muscle there are in one of these, he mused. He let the pendulous flesh fall back into place and sighed.
"POSE FOR ME, BOI. SHOW ME YOUR COMPETITION NIGHT ROUTINE," HOODER ordered. "WATCH YOURSELF IN THAT MIRROR, AND LET'S SEE WHAT YOU GOT."
Bo began somewhat hesitantly. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be seen performing - far from it. He loved being watched as he showed off his beef-fed bull-like body. And it wasn't that he'd forgotten the routine. He'd committed every flex, turn and clench by running through it a hundred times before last month's show both at home, at the gym - and even for pay at private performances in hotel rooms where he'd staged a version of it for paying clients who'd booked him at 200 an hour sometimes just for the presentation alone, no sex at all. So it wasn't like he didn't remember all the moves. No, the problem was that he was having difficulty getting the rhythm right without the right music, and the stuff playing over the room's hidden speakers didn't have the right tempo. Even at home in front of a mirror he'd always performed to the theme from 'The Gladiator' movie, and usually on an IPod everywhere else. Without 'his' music, he was having trouble getting into his groove, and he fumbled over the first few positions while he tried to get the timing right. He wanted to impress HOODER with his performance, to make HOODER like him, and he sweated a little that maybe he might be blowing it.
HOODER was oblivious to BO's opening jitters. He'd turned away to face the padded leather chair and relaxed into it to watch the show, and by the time he gave BO's performance his full attention, the muscle boi was well into his routine and hitting his poses with passion.
He looked beautiful from the back. Hooded head. Wide lats crisscrossed with white ropes, impossibly swollen triceps and forearms, an achingly luscious ass caressed by thin black bands of lycra, Hulk-like thighs and inhuman calves. And his 'crab shot' was out of this world. A grimace distorted his face, making him look like he was cumming, and his neck nearly disappeared into cartoonish traps bulging from the fleshy basketballs on his shoulders almost to his ears.
His pecs belonged on a god. A FREAKAZOID GOD, but a god nevertheless. They were PECS BUILT TO BE ABUSED. You couldn't ignore them, even if they hadn’t been thrust up and out by the position BO assumed for the crab, and by the rope encasing his MAMMOTH MANTITS. He looked like a RENTBOY FANTASY in his buttless black lycra dick sock - and who knew? Maybe that's what he would be after a few more Cellblock sessions.
Meanwhile downstairs, WOLF decided to take it to the empty Officers' Mess. He strode into the room and took up position in one of the high-backed leather director's chairs, positioned his shiny black Dehners up on the two bootstools that came with each chair, and kicked back.
Two of the wall-mounted monitors in the Mess played feeds from the cellblock/playspace set up in the basement below , where tonight's subs and guests mingled, mixed and played unless and until called upon. Looking over tonight's 'buffet', WOLF selected the most muscular specimen: a compact bubble-butted junior pro - the spitting image of Jeff Long. wearing number 27 on a tag pinned to his white jockstrap.
WOLF buzzed the intercom button on the table next to him to reach the Duty Officer at the front desk.
"Yes WOLF?"
"Send up number 27, SARGE."
"Yes, Sir," SARGE answered almost immediately. He'd been watching video output from every Cellblock camera feed on small monitors at the Duty Desk all evening whenever other duties didn't require action on his part. He was a big time voyeur, and didn't mind at all working the night shift if it meant he got a chance to satisfy his need to watch leathermen doing it. He liked to watch other men at play almost as much as he liked to be watched while he played. A significant number of online Cellblock vids testified to that particular fetish beyond a doubt.
WOLF watched the bulked-up musclepup with the farm boy face jump into action on screen and make his way out of the Cellblock playroom downstairs.
"DOUBLE JACK D," WOLF barked, as the pup entered the Officer's Mess. The boi walked quickly to the mini-bar, fixed the required drink and brought it to WOLF on a tray.
"CASABLANCA MAGNUM."
He scurried back to the bar, opened a large glass-fronted humidor, located WOLF's rack, took one out, prepared it and then brought it back to the waiting flat-topped big-veined Officer.
Boi 27 knelt to the side of the chair, and proffered the requested cigar. He then lit a match and held it out for the ARROGANT COMMANDING LEATHERMAN. WOLF leaned into the matche's flame, sucked it into his Casablanca several times until the fragrant dark tobacco started to glow, then leaned back, blew out a cloud of sweet, blue-hued smoke into the air above his head, and casually pointed at his leather-encased crotch with his free hand. He simply assumed the boi would follow his command without any additional instruction, and he wasn't disappointed.
The boi shuffled between the cop's muscle-stretched breeches and highly- polished Dehners and knelt before the protruding, shining leather snap-on pouch. The MUSCLECOP looked down on the boi from his leather throne through a blue haze, and nodded his chin in the direction of his codpiece. Immediately the sub worked opened WOLF's cod, and found himself staring at a hard-veined 8 incher. He eargerly took the HOT COP TOOL in his mouth and started polishing the pole with his lips and tongue.
WOLF totally disregarded the mouth on his tool and turned his attention back to the monitor displaying BO's on screen posing routine. He grabbed the skull in front of him and shoved it full on to his meat, feeling his COPCOCK throbbing insistently in the skull's mouth. The digital image moved on from the Crab Shot to a Most Muscular, then Side Tricep, then Double Rear Bicep, just like BO had done at the Night Show.
Dang, that was one hot BB upstairs, WOLF said to himself. No wonder PROSECUTOR slipped this puppy a Cellblock flier backstage at the MR North West competition.
He cupped the kneeling skull before him and forced it up and down on his THROBBING VEINED NIGHTSTICK. Hot as it was to watch that boi posing upstairs, he wanted some DICK ACTION NOW, and if it wasn't happening on screen it was gonna happen here. He grunted his satisfaction to the enthusiastic boi who looked up longingly at WOLF's commanding arrogant face, largely hidden in shadow by the brim of his gold rimmed Muir cap, taking pleasure in just being here, servicing a LEATHERGOD.
Onscreen and upstairs, BO bowed after his final pose and stood stock still.
"Good boi. Excellent work. Now let's try some special posing with a little custom detailing. I think you're gonna like it. Stand in the centre of the frame over there."
BO positioned himself in the exact centre between the two wooden uprights and stood at ease with his legs apart and hands behind his back and waited patiently for what would happen next. He didn't have long to wait.
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Bo 03
BO looked at his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall, recognizing his body but not his face because of the tight leather executioner's hood. A stranger looked back at him. A leather hooded stranger wearing an intricate rope harness that crisscrossed his traps, pecs and lats, a clinging black lycra thong and polished lace-up boots.
HOODER licked the inside of two thick yellow nipple cups and planted them on BO's DRUG-SWOLLEN NIPPLES. The boi squirmed a little as he felt the first kiss of suction biting on his HYERSENSITIVE MANTITS like an eager lover. A small moan of pleasure escaped his lips, letting HOODER know he was doing something right.
"YOU LIKE THAT? GET USED TO IT SUKKA. YOU'RE GONNA HAVE FREAKY HUN GYNO DUGS HANGIN' OFF YOUR GYMBOOBS TONIGHT," he exclaimed. Yah, BIG FRIGGIN COW UDDERS on your BULLPEX, boi." He squeezed one of the yellow snakebite cups so that it bit more deeply into BO's GYNO SWOLLEN NIPPLE. BO moaned louder and leaned into the increased suction.
Oh yah, this bottom was into it, HOODER thought. He squeezed both snakebite cups several times to seat them in place as solidly as possible, then took several lengths of rope from the bed and dropped all except one at the side of the wooden frame.
He unwound the rope bundle in his hand as he walked behind the booted boy and secured his two wrists together by repeatedly wrapping the rope in a figure eight pattern before knotting off the wrist binding and letting the ends trail down to the floor. HOODER noticed that BO's dick had started to swell inside the lycra pouch and he knew that things were going just fine inside BO's head.
He unbundled another length of rope and secured first one of BO's Paratrooper's Corcoran to the bottom of one of the wooden uprights, drew the rope between the boi's legs, wrapped it several times around the other Corcoran and secured that leg to the opposite frame. BO's legs were now secured almost three feet apart and he wasn't going anywhere under his own steam from this point on without outside help. His hands were knotted together behind his back and his feet were planted wide apart and tied to a wooden frame secured to the floor.
HOODER next wrapped a length of rope around BO's left knee, pulled it tightly against the wooden upright, then wrapped rope around both the knee and upright multiple times, then tied it off before crossing over to the right knee and repeating the process. Now there were ropes at both ankle and knee and two taut lines connecting the left and right side. BO writhed a little in his rising bondage, feeling the pressure of the rope through his boot leather and on the flesh of his knees, and sensing the growing restriction the rope was creating. He could almost feel the power flowing out of him and into HOODER, the surrender of his will to another man's will. If felt good. Very good, and he longed for more. He wanted HOODER to take total control, fix him completely to the wooden frame and keep him tied up like this forever. He longed for more and harder restraint. His pulse started to race, his breathing came quicker and he could feel his prick pressing against the clinging lycra fabric, cradling his cock and balls like a hand. Man, this was hot!
HOODER next wrapped BO's shaved muscle thighs to the wooden frame. This was a little harder to do and forced the novice bondage pig into a slightly awkward semi seated position. Three rounds of rope now climbed the sides of each upright, and crossed in front of BO's body. He was becoming ensnared like a fly in a spider web.
The next phase of BO's bondage was a little more challenging, both for HOODER to set up and BO to endure. HOODER wrapped lengths of rope around BO' elbows and pulled them tightly together. HOODER knew this was a difficult position to endure, but it was an important part of the look he was going for. He now took up the two trailing lengths of rope from BO's wrists and tossed the ends up and over the top of the wooden frame. He then cautiously pulled the rope down tighter and tighter, forcing BO into an extremely awkward position as his arms rose higher and higher. The knotted wrists and elbows forced BO to lower his head by an equal, so that when his arms were finally extended as high as HOODER could force them, BO's head was bent over nearly to the level of his waist. This was called strappado, and in HOODER's books it was just about the hottest bondage position in the world. Combined with the knee and thigh bondage, BO was now forced into a position that thrust out his ass like a cow in heat while at the same time pressing his head down to crotch level, almost as though someone had put hands on the back of his head and shoved him into this subservient posture. Another length of rope bound BO's neck to his knees. A few more lengths of rope under and over his shoulders forced BO into even greater immobility, preventing him from wriggling in any direction at all. HOODER stepped back to admire his handiwork. BO looked good, very good.
The bound BB reminded HOODER of the statue of Winged Victory. Pure marble-white flesh, apparently armless because both were hidden behind BO's broad back, and several lengths of rope almost shaping Victory's wings as they wound to and from his shoulders to the wooden frame. HOODER hoped this was all being recorded downstairs. He wanted to view his handiwork again and linger over it from several different angles. This tape was going to be a hot seller he was sure.
Meanwhile, BO sweated fiercely inside his leather hood. Holding this extreme posture was more difficult than he'd expected, but he wanted to take it to prove to himself – and to HOODER - that he could. A moan escaped his lips. It was both an expression of pleasure – and pain, He wasn't at all sure if he could endure this position for very long, but didn't know if he had any choice. He moaned again, longer and more pathetically.
"We'll have no more of that, he heard HOODER say, and the next thing he knew the LEATHERCOP was shoving a gag into his mouth. It was hard and tasted of leather. It tasted good. The gag forced its way deep into his mouth and pressed down his tongue. Even if he wanted to he couldn't make more than a muffled grunt any more. He could feel HOODER doing something behind his head. Fastening the buckle into place and locking the leather gag in his mouth.
HOODER put the gag on now so there'd be no complaints about what was coming next. He took off his gloves and lubed up a BULBOUS BLACK BUTT PLUG and then maneuvered behind BO's protruding naked muscle butt, a position that made it look like the beefy boi was begging for it, begging to be plugged.
So HOODER obliged and shoved the BLACK LATEX PIG into BO's unprotected butthole, slowly forcing it in until it popped into place when the narrow neck sunk home and locked the plug into the 'ROIDED ROPED BONDAGE BOTTOM who was forced to writhe and moan as he fought this oversized invasion. But the PIG HOLE MAKER was too big and the neck too narrow to be forced out no matter how much BO resisted. All he could do was take it, and struggle what little he could against the unforgiving limits of his CRUEL ROPE BONDS.
HOODER pressed his Langlitz breeches into BO's ass, rubbing against the plug's base, and leaned forward to grasp the rubber suction cups on BO's nipple. He squeezed them so they bit even more deeply into BO's tender tits, then popped the right one off, eliciting another groan from BO. He licked the inside of the little rubber tube to lubricate it some more and forced it back on to the much enlarged vacuum-swollen gyno tit. He repeated the process on the left nipple, then sat down in the leather chair and watched the HUMILIATED ROPE-BOUND BEEF writhe and moan through its leather gag and shake its leather-covered head from side to side, almost the only motion it could make.
Inside the hood, BO reveled in his captivity and humiliation, the pain in his stretched muscles, mouth, ass and tits. His sense of COMPLETE SUBJUGATION. His LOSS OF CONTROL. His TOTAL POWERLESSNESS.
Downstairs, WOLF was bored. "That's it? That's all you gonna do with that prime cut of beef? Christ on a stick, whatta wuss!" and slapped his thick leathered thigh in frustration.
As if he heard his bud's thoughts, HOODER called out to the ceiling: "You can come up now" knowing that his words were being picked up and transmitted to the LEATHERCOPS downstairs.
"Finally! He said and shoved boi 27 away with his boot. The MUSCLE-BOUND boi fell over backwards onto his broad back, landing with an 'oomph' of escaped air, but he didn't dare complain. He was honoured that WOLF paid him any attention at all, and was happy to have been chosen to serve this ARROGANT LEATHER COP. It was the highlight of his night and one he'd be beating off to home alone remembering for weeks to come.
WOLF then made him lick the bottom of his shiny black Dehner just because he could, then got up from his leather director's chair and ordered the boi back down into the cellblock with the other CELLMATES.
While WOLF worked his way up to the third floor, HOODER leaned in close to the side of BO's hood. "OK the easy part is over now, BO," he confided in a low voice which he didn't think would be picked up by the microphones. "Ever heard the saying there's no such thing as a free lunch? Well, you can take that to the bank buddy. You're gonna earn your night's stay here now."
He leaned in even closer and whispered that if things went well for the rest of the night he'd put the bound bottom in touch with Chemical Ali. (The man's real name was Ed, but everybody here called him Chemical Ali because of the vast array of pharmaceuticals and shit he could get his hands on.) This was incentive enough for BO and he resolved to do everything he could to please both HOODER and the new LEATHERCOP they were expecting momentarily. He moaned enthusiastically to indicate assent.
"You're gonna have to do more than moan now, boi. WOLF isn't as easily amused as I am. I'm happy just to watch you struggle in these bonds, but you're going to have to earn your keep for him. "
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
HOODER licked the inside of two thick yellow nipple cups and planted them on BO's DRUG-SWOLLEN NIPPLES. The boi squirmed a little as he felt the first kiss of suction biting on his HYERSENSITIVE MANTITS like an eager lover. A small moan of pleasure escaped his lips, letting HOODER know he was doing something right.
"YOU LIKE THAT? GET USED TO IT SUKKA. YOU'RE GONNA HAVE FREAKY HUN GYNO DUGS HANGIN' OFF YOUR GYMBOOBS TONIGHT," he exclaimed. Yah, BIG FRIGGIN COW UDDERS on your BULLPEX, boi." He squeezed one of the yellow snakebite cups so that it bit more deeply into BO's GYNO SWOLLEN NIPPLE. BO moaned louder and leaned into the increased suction.
Oh yah, this bottom was into it, HOODER thought. He squeezed both snakebite cups several times to seat them in place as solidly as possible, then took several lengths of rope from the bed and dropped all except one at the side of the wooden frame.
He unwound the rope bundle in his hand as he walked behind the booted boy and secured his two wrists together by repeatedly wrapping the rope in a figure eight pattern before knotting off the wrist binding and letting the ends trail down to the floor. HOODER noticed that BO's dick had started to swell inside the lycra pouch and he knew that things were going just fine inside BO's head.
He unbundled another length of rope and secured first one of BO's Paratrooper's Corcoran to the bottom of one of the wooden uprights, drew the rope between the boi's legs, wrapped it several times around the other Corcoran and secured that leg to the opposite frame. BO's legs were now secured almost three feet apart and he wasn't going anywhere under his own steam from this point on without outside help. His hands were knotted together behind his back and his feet were planted wide apart and tied to a wooden frame secured to the floor.
HOODER next wrapped a length of rope around BO's left knee, pulled it tightly against the wooden upright, then wrapped rope around both the knee and upright multiple times, then tied it off before crossing over to the right knee and repeating the process. Now there were ropes at both ankle and knee and two taut lines connecting the left and right side. BO writhed a little in his rising bondage, feeling the pressure of the rope through his boot leather and on the flesh of his knees, and sensing the growing restriction the rope was creating. He could almost feel the power flowing out of him and into HOODER, the surrender of his will to another man's will. If felt good. Very good, and he longed for more. He wanted HOODER to take total control, fix him completely to the wooden frame and keep him tied up like this forever. He longed for more and harder restraint. His pulse started to race, his breathing came quicker and he could feel his prick pressing against the clinging lycra fabric, cradling his cock and balls like a hand. Man, this was hot!
HOODER next wrapped BO's shaved muscle thighs to the wooden frame. This was a little harder to do and forced the novice bondage pig into a slightly awkward semi seated position. Three rounds of rope now climbed the sides of each upright, and crossed in front of BO's body. He was becoming ensnared like a fly in a spider web.
The next phase of BO's bondage was a little more challenging, both for HOODER to set up and BO to endure. HOODER wrapped lengths of rope around BO' elbows and pulled them tightly together. HOODER knew this was a difficult position to endure, but it was an important part of the look he was going for. He now took up the two trailing lengths of rope from BO's wrists and tossed the ends up and over the top of the wooden frame. He then cautiously pulled the rope down tighter and tighter, forcing BO into an extremely awkward position as his arms rose higher and higher. The knotted wrists and elbows forced BO to lower his head by an equal, so that when his arms were finally extended as high as HOODER could force them, BO's head was bent over nearly to the level of his waist. This was called strappado, and in HOODER's books it was just about the hottest bondage position in the world. Combined with the knee and thigh bondage, BO was now forced into a position that thrust out his ass like a cow in heat while at the same time pressing his head down to crotch level, almost as though someone had put hands on the back of his head and shoved him into this subservient posture. Another length of rope bound BO's neck to his knees. A few more lengths of rope under and over his shoulders forced BO into even greater immobility, preventing him from wriggling in any direction at all. HOODER stepped back to admire his handiwork. BO looked good, very good.
The bound BB reminded HOODER of the statue of Winged Victory. Pure marble-white flesh, apparently armless because both were hidden behind BO's broad back, and several lengths of rope almost shaping Victory's wings as they wound to and from his shoulders to the wooden frame. HOODER hoped this was all being recorded downstairs. He wanted to view his handiwork again and linger over it from several different angles. This tape was going to be a hot seller he was sure.
Meanwhile, BO sweated fiercely inside his leather hood. Holding this extreme posture was more difficult than he'd expected, but he wanted to take it to prove to himself – and to HOODER - that he could. A moan escaped his lips. It was both an expression of pleasure – and pain, He wasn't at all sure if he could endure this position for very long, but didn't know if he had any choice. He moaned again, longer and more pathetically.
"We'll have no more of that, he heard HOODER say, and the next thing he knew the LEATHERCOP was shoving a gag into his mouth. It was hard and tasted of leather. It tasted good. The gag forced its way deep into his mouth and pressed down his tongue. Even if he wanted to he couldn't make more than a muffled grunt any more. He could feel HOODER doing something behind his head. Fastening the buckle into place and locking the leather gag in his mouth.
HOODER put the gag on now so there'd be no complaints about what was coming next. He took off his gloves and lubed up a BULBOUS BLACK BUTT PLUG and then maneuvered behind BO's protruding naked muscle butt, a position that made it look like the beefy boi was begging for it, begging to be plugged.
So HOODER obliged and shoved the BLACK LATEX PIG into BO's unprotected butthole, slowly forcing it in until it popped into place when the narrow neck sunk home and locked the plug into the 'ROIDED ROPED BONDAGE BOTTOM who was forced to writhe and moan as he fought this oversized invasion. But the PIG HOLE MAKER was too big and the neck too narrow to be forced out no matter how much BO resisted. All he could do was take it, and struggle what little he could against the unforgiving limits of his CRUEL ROPE BONDS.
HOODER pressed his Langlitz breeches into BO's ass, rubbing against the plug's base, and leaned forward to grasp the rubber suction cups on BO's nipple. He squeezed them so they bit even more deeply into BO's tender tits, then popped the right one off, eliciting another groan from BO. He licked the inside of the little rubber tube to lubricate it some more and forced it back on to the much enlarged vacuum-swollen gyno tit. He repeated the process on the left nipple, then sat down in the leather chair and watched the HUMILIATED ROPE-BOUND BEEF writhe and moan through its leather gag and shake its leather-covered head from side to side, almost the only motion it could make.
Inside the hood, BO reveled in his captivity and humiliation, the pain in his stretched muscles, mouth, ass and tits. His sense of COMPLETE SUBJUGATION. His LOSS OF CONTROL. His TOTAL POWERLESSNESS.
Downstairs, WOLF was bored. "That's it? That's all you gonna do with that prime cut of beef? Christ on a stick, whatta wuss!" and slapped his thick leathered thigh in frustration.
As if he heard his bud's thoughts, HOODER called out to the ceiling: "You can come up now" knowing that his words were being picked up and transmitted to the LEATHERCOPS downstairs.
"Finally! He said and shoved boi 27 away with his boot. The MUSCLE-BOUND boi fell over backwards onto his broad back, landing with an 'oomph' of escaped air, but he didn't dare complain. He was honoured that WOLF paid him any attention at all, and was happy to have been chosen to serve this ARROGANT LEATHER COP. It was the highlight of his night and one he'd be beating off to home alone remembering for weeks to come.
WOLF then made him lick the bottom of his shiny black Dehner just because he could, then got up from his leather director's chair and ordered the boi back down into the cellblock with the other CELLMATES.
While WOLF worked his way up to the third floor, HOODER leaned in close to the side of BO's hood. "OK the easy part is over now, BO," he confided in a low voice which he didn't think would be picked up by the microphones. "Ever heard the saying there's no such thing as a free lunch? Well, you can take that to the bank buddy. You're gonna earn your night's stay here now."
He leaned in even closer and whispered that if things went well for the rest of the night he'd put the bound bottom in touch with Chemical Ali. (The man's real name was Ed, but everybody here called him Chemical Ali because of the vast array of pharmaceuticals and shit he could get his hands on.) This was incentive enough for BO and he resolved to do everything he could to please both HOODER and the new LEATHERCOP they were expecting momentarily. He moaned enthusiastically to indicate assent.
"You're gonna have to do more than moan now, boi. WOLF isn't as easily amused as I am. I'm happy just to watch you struggle in these bonds, but you're going to have to earn your keep for him. "
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Bo 04
WOLF opened the door and stood in the doorway, the amber glow of his half smoked Casablanca held between the fingers of his right glove almost the only light, a dark silhouette in a Muir cap, black leather uniform shirt and breeches, and tall Dehner Cop boots. A CIGAR-SMOKING ARROGANT LEATHER GOD.
HOODER looked up from his dominant position behind the bent over HAIRLESS ROPE-RESTRAINED LEATHER-HOODED BUTT-PLUGGED BODY BUILDER and nodded acknowledgement to his LEATHERCOP BUD in the doorway, meanwhile continuing to squeeze BO's RUBBER-SUCTIONED NIPPLES. BO tried to press his hands against HOODER's swollen leather groin, but with only limited success because of the rope bindings which confined his wrists at an unnatural angle behind his back and made almost any movement impossible.
After admiring the view for a minute, WOLF stuck the 'gar back into the corner of his mouth and sucked. "Nice setup you got here, HOODER," he said, "and a shame to waste it on pussy ass bondage." He shook his head. "Time for a little good cop-bad cop now, and guess who just walked in the door?" he said with a smirk.
BO could hear the heavy crunch of another pair of boots on the floorboards. Straining against the ropes to lift his head, he could only see as high as a pair of high-shine cop boots that slowly walked towards him. Identikit gold-striped leather cop breeches led up to an angry, veined eight-inch cock with a shining dripping helmet. Sarge WOLF had walked straight from from the Officer's mess with his weapon still cocked, fresh from his last skull-vic.m
Sexed up by HOODER'S domination and the oversize plug RAPING his prostate, BO was gagging to suck the meatpole that was slowly approaching his gagged mouth.
"THAT AIN'T NO WAY TO BREAK IN A BOI," he said to HOODER. "HE'S GOTTA FEEL THE PAIN AND KNOW HE'S NOT IN CONTROL NO MORE," and slapped BO hard across the side of the head to emphasize his point. BO grunted at the unexpected physical attack. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye BO caught a glint of metal flash past him, and then a stinging pain on his face.
"I'm gonna break your FUKKIN ASS, PIG!!!!!" barked the new leather cop into the sub's face.
BO felt the sting subside to a delicious throb that flowed like a current into his dick. He saw the handgun now hanging down in front of his face, next to the cop's meat weapon. He'd been PISTOL-WHIPPED, and the sensation was a heady mix of pleasure and pain that both confused him and excited him at the same time.
"FUKKING HELL, WOLF", laughed HOODER, "Don't kill it just yet!". Teaming up in 'GOOD COP-BAD COP' routine, HOODER joined in messing with the vic's mind.
Fuck, this cop means business, BO thought nervously. Although the muscleslave was solidly built, he was worried about what pain was coming next, given the sudden escalation of violence and his inability to resist it in any way. But the new cop WOLF's authority made his cock hard, and BO couldn't help himself.
He tired his best to get a better look at this new threat, to see what he was getting himself into.
What he saw was impressive, and scary. The new cop wore identical uniform, badge, lanyard and Sarge stripes that HOODER wore. But instead of a leather hood, this man wore a black leather officer's Muir Cap perched on a steel grey hi n' tite, eyes obscured by the visor of the Officer cap worn low on the forehead, and a cigar jutted out of a solid jaw. Twitching biceps stretched the leather of the cop shirt, as WOLF cocked the handgun. BO had struck double COP hell. He squirmed in his rope bindings, This only increased the friction of the BUTT PLUG, which by now was making the musclepup leak pre-cum in its tiny posers.
"GOTTA KNOW THIS AIN'T NO GAME. GOTTA KNOW THIS IS FOR REAL," WOLF said and punched the muscle boi hard in his unprotected 'roid gut to emphasize his point.
BO screamed into his gag and writhed more fiercely than he had any time in the last hour as he struggled to protect his vulnerable body. His eyes teared uncontrollably inside his hood and he fought to regain control his breathing through the cruel leather gag. FRACK that hurt!
WOLF stepped back for a moment to consider HOODER's setup. He cupped an elbow in the palm of the other hand and stroked his chin. "Yah. That's a good start you got goin' here, bud. Looks like you've got this boi all set up nice and tight for me, don't cha? But he's getting' off WAAAAY too easy in the tittie department."
"What's this? A twink toy?" he asked, pointing at one of the yellow suction cups biting into BO's hugely swollen nipples. He slapped at one of the offending rubber cups, which popped off under the assault and spun across the room before it disappeared somewhere under the bed. BO tried to yell at the sharp pain that coursed through his chest, but could only summon a leather-stifled grunt. WOLF chuckled and slapped off the other cylinder too. He grabbed the boi's VACUUM BLOATED MANTITS and squeezed the abused flesh as hard as he could. BO howled into his gag in protest to no affect. WOLF ignored his muffled pleas to stop and now twisted the bound boi's tits as hard as he could.
"DAMN YOU GOT LONG HARD TITTIES THERE, BOI," WOLF exclaimed as he squeezed the boi's PINK FLESHY KNOBS even harder, tugging them down and away from his round muscular pecs like they were cows' dugs.
"LET'S TRY OUT THESE LITTLE BEAUTIES, SHALL WE?" he said, reaching into a zippered pocked and pulling out a pair of nasty metal alligator clamps with vicious little teeth meant to bite into tender nipple flesh and hold fast.
BO screamed as he felt first one, then the other cruel alligator clamp chew into his abused tit flesh. The bound worm REALLY screamed as he felt the cruel tiny alligator teeth sink into his flesh, drawing little beads of blood all along his THUMB-THICK ABUSED NIPS and begged WOLF to stop as best he could through the gag.
Why didn't HOODER help him, he wondered? Wasn't HOODER on his side? He couldn't know for sure, but it seemed to him that all HOODER had done since WOLF showed up was try to hold him in place and press against his ass. BO suddenly felt faint, both from the pain and from the dawning realization that nobody in the room was on his side.
The sound of BO's MUFFLED AGONY made WOLF hard again, bloating his leather codpiece with his BLOOD ENGORGED COP CLUB. He looked at the floor to ceiling mirror on the far wall and liked what he saw – a LEATHER UNIFORMED COP stared back at him from across the room, anonymous in the shadow of his BLACK LEATHER MUIR CAP. A leather-hooded sweat-shiny muscle boi bowed severely before him, his tits dripping metal and blood, his tiny manhood cupped in a lycra pouch.
And behind the bound muscle boi, another HOODED LEATHER COP - his posse - held the bound leather boi in place.
WOLF reveled in this manifestation of his control over a giant muscle man, this bound body builder locked by his ropes into a humiliating pose of worship before him. A GAGGED AND TREMBLING ACOLYTE forced to bow before a DOMINANT LEATHER BULL GOD like some carving in an ancient pagan temple.
WOLF got right in the sub's face, spitting, and jabbed the weapon in the sub's temple: "BIG WOLF MAN gonna fukk you up, worm. Don't impress ME with ya big tits boi". WOLF flexed his own respectable, shirt bustin' 17" bi's in the musclesub's face.
"Look at that - REAL PRIME BEEF, boi. Not puffed up 'roid muscle".
"S'RIGHT, BOi!" HOODER agreed.
BO squirmed more. HOODER plugging his ass with that buttplug was as far as BO thought he could go, but his dripping cock was telling him otherwise.
WOLF positioned himself in front of BO's face, unbuckled the strap behind BO's head and pulled the gag out of his mouth and tossed it to the floor. It landed with a thud and bounced into a corner. A long string of spittle dribbled down the abused boi's chin.
"Please no more. Please. Stop," BO begged desperately now that he could speak again.
Wrong thing to say HOODER thought from his position behind BO's invaded ass, from which he had easy access to BO's alligator clamps. Whining's only gonna' make WOLF eager for more. He applied random pressure to the cruel metal torture devices, sometimes gentle, sometimes hard, so that BO never had a chance to get used to the pressure and was forced to be constantly aware that he had no control over the pain he felt in his chest.
Giving over control when you want to isn't a big deal, HOODER thought. Giving it up when you don't want to is another story entirely – and extremely erotic. Like the saying goes, it's only bondage when you want out – and it's only control when you don’t want to be controlled. You're only really in control when you know the bottom doesn't want it any more and still takes it. That's NATURAL ALPHA MALE BEHAVIOUR.
Sure enough, HOODER could see WOLF' chest puff up a little hearing the muscle bottom beg and squeal for an end to the 'Bad Cop' portion of the Good Cop-Bad Cop game. It wasn't gonna happen, he was sure.
Frack that," WOLF shouted. You're gonna take it. TAKE IT!, he shouted into BO's face, slapping him on the side of the head with his pistol once again to make his point.
"IF I HEAR ANOTHER PEEP OUTTA YOU BOI, I'M GONNA TURN YOU INTO LITTLE BO PEEP, YOU GOT THAT, WORM?" he shouted into BO's ear while he pitilessly squeezed the boi's lycra imprisoned cock and balls. He then looked up at HOODER to see if he caught the little joke. HOODER cracked the smallest possible smile to let WOLF know that he got the bad pun and resumed his play with BO's alligator clamps, pulling them down hard so that his nipples were forced out and away from his chest.
BO went silent at the threat and tried not to move an inch no easy feat given the pain he felt in his chest.
"THAT'S BETTER, WORM. THAT"S WHAT I WANNA SEE," WOLF said while he patronizingly patted the unmoving boi on the head. "Good boi."
"You got any oil in that bag?" WOLF asked his leather partner.
HOODER let go the clamps, which caused BO's abused tits to snap back up against his chest and abandoned his rear position. He rummaged through the bag he'd earlier thrown on the bed and pulled out a clear bottle of posing oil. He tossed the plastic bottle to WOLF who deftly caught it in one hand.
WOLF snapped open the cap and generously drizzled thick posing oil over the bound boi's back and legs, then used his gloves to work the oil all over the boi until it coated his white marble flesh like a second skin. Rivulets ran down the bondage worm's flesh and dribbled onto the mat beneath him, made him shiny in the overhead spots. His oiled flesh almost seemed to sparkle as he breathed in and out.
Boss admired his handiwork. Damn, he looks good enough to carve up with a steak knife and eat, he thought. A bottom pressed between two beefy tops - a LEATHERCOP SANDWHICH.
This was gonna' make some web worshippers hot and bothered, either 'cause they wanted to be the COP SANDWICH filling, or dreamed of filling a pair of the BIG LEATHER COP BOOTS that surrounded the ROPE BOUND BEEF front and back. SUCCULETN, HARD MAN-BEEF trussed up like a Sunday roast.
That's one hot frakker, WOLF said to himself , but he's never gonna hear that from me.
He punched the bound oiled boi in his 'roid bloated belly again just because he could. BO groaned, but knew better now than to beg WOLF to stop.
Good move, HOODER thought.
In a single motion, WOLF brutally thrust his VEINED ROCK HARD NIGHT STICK into BO's mouth.
"Your turn," WOLF said to HOODER, who took his cue from his partner, unzipped his breeches and freed his hungry manhood. He carefully dislodged the nasty bulbous latex butt plug that had been lodged in BO's manhole all evening and quickly filled the slippery void with his own BLOOD ENGORGED MEAT, planting his fat cop sausage deep in BO's pale ass.
WOLF continued to ride his manhood on BO's mouth and watched the action reflected in the room's mirrors. TWO ANNONYMOUS LEATHERCOPS - one TOTALLY ENCASED IN LEATHER, the other CAPPED, MASSIVELY UNIFORMED AND BOOTED, LIGHTED BY THE SOFT GLOW OF HIS 'GAR - being serviced by a SUBJUGATED MASSIVE BODY BUILDER turned VIC.
He sucked fiercely on the remnants of his stogie as he watched, and felt the warm mouth go up and down on his manhood. Two ARROGANT ROIDED LEATHERCOPS BONDING OVER A NEAR NAKED 'ROIDED BOTTOM. GLORYING IN THEIR POWER OVER HIS MOUTH AND UNRESISTING WORM HOLE.
WOLF felt the sperm rise up from his balls and begin to build to a climax. He bit down hard on the butt of the Casablanca as the pressure mounted in his balls and grunted in anticipation of the coming climax. He looked over the broad, oil glistened back of the bowed body between them into the eyes of his partner in the leather mask and saw that he too was about to shoot his wad into the boi's stretched out ass.
They'd turned this once independent body builder into a multipurpose sex partner - a third sex neither male nor female- just a tool for sex shared between two tops. WOLF grabbed a handful of BO's leather hood in both gloves and pulled the sub's leather covered skull further onto his shaft as the climax rose up in him.
A MOUND OF ROUND BOUND BEEF DRIPPING IN OIL skewered on TWO ARROGANT LANGLITZED LEATHER COPS.
With a final thrust WOLF threw back his head and roared when the powerful climax washed over him. A massive wave of sperm shot out of his RIGID BLOOD-ENGOURGED MANMEAT and into BO's mouth, overloading the boi's limit and causing the overflow to shoot out his nose and splash to the floor.
While BO coughed and sputtered trying to breath again after WOLF' testosterone tsunami, he felt HOODER shoot his load into the bois well-lubed ass, filling his butt with HOT LEATHERCOP JUICE too.
At the same time on the Duty Desk, SARGE watched the upstairs jizm fest from six different angles on six different monitors and shot his wad of jizm into a fuck towel already nasty with previous loads from tonight. He kept a towel like this under the desk for just such purposes. If you like to watch, then this was the perfect job, and SARGE LOVED to watch. He'd take Desk Duty any time, even if they didn't pay him to do it just for these fringe benefits.
"RIGHT ON, BRO!" WOLF shouted into the air as he pulled out of the sub's dripping skull, and HOODER slapped BO's ass approvingly. He grabbed a white fuck towel from the shelf beside the bed and wiped down his lube and jizm slick meat.
But WOLF wasn't finished yet. After all, HOODER'd had the boi all to himself for almost an hour already, and WOLF had just arrived.
"Take a seat and watch a REAL MAN break one in," WOLF said with a smile.
Gonna have to REALLY impress me WOLFMAN", HOODER laughed, kicking back in the leather throne as he lit a Hoyo de Monterey. Sucking on the large-gauge cigar, HOODER slowly stroked his eight-incher. "Already buttfukked the pig. Watcha got bigger than that black-cock butt-plug?"
As he said it HOODER already knew the answer, as he'd seen it all before. WOLF ripped off the lycra mini-posers, revealing BO's rigid, dripping boi-dick. He rubbed a leather gauntlet over the muscle boi's hard dick and gave the balls a tug or two, then reached for his Sam Brown belt and re-holstered his weapon. He used his thumb to flip open a clasp on the belt so that he could slide out a metre-long, black metal nightstick, custom-made from steel to look like a regulation-issue PR24 Prosecutor.
"SUCK IT UP BOI". WOLF growled, showing the freaking sub the long black metal weapon. "You want this." It was a statement, not a question. The POWERLESS BOUND MEAT PUPPET mumbled something indistinct.
"WADDYA SAY? YOU WANT THIS UP YOUR BOI HOLE?" WOLF shouted, cupping his gauntlet against his ear pretending not to understand. "HERE IT COMES, WORM..."
With one slow strong stroke WOLF forced the cop steel into the pre-lubed musclecunt, and banged the muscleboi's G-spot The helpless muscleslave. shot its first 'roid-load of jizm in a matter of seconds.
WOLF continued to stick-fuck the sub with increasingly harder and harder strokes, forcing the cruel night stick deeper in his entrails until the sub moaned again and shot a second extremely painful fuck load only minutes after the first.
"WHOA!" HOODER exclaimed, reaching forward in the chair and giving WOLF a hi-five. "NICE WORK!"
"Ain't seen nuthin' yet bro," WOLF said with a smile and reached up the side of the wall nearest him for a mean-looking crocodile clip with a lead attached to it. He expertly clipped it to the side of the metal night stick, half buried in BO's butt.
"GONNA BE FIREWORKS NOW, BOI," he laughed, and flicked a switch, sending AC current through the metal cop weapon, straight into the sub's G-spot. The helpless musclesub spasmed, flexing all its muscles at once, gurning with the shock and shooting jizm.
HOODER stroked his cock hard watching the artificial muscleflex show.
"You like that bro - wanna see it again?" boomed WOLF, flicking the switch. This time BO's jizm flew across the room and onto HOODER's boots.
"FUCKIN' A!" high-fived HOODER again.
It had been a pretty good first installment with this boi, and who knew? If things went well, maybe there'd be one or two more kicks and this can before dawn. "Wanna break for a cold one?" HOODER suggested to his bud, clapping him on the shoulder as he sealed his DRAINED COP HOSE back into his leathers and headed for the door.
He shut off the lights and closed the door behind them, leaving the bound and hooded muscle vic in total darkness, still bent over nearly double in his rope bindings, a black metal nightstick protruding from his ass, dribbling their juices from most of his holes and fearful of what else the Cellblock had in store for him.
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
HOODER looked up from his dominant position behind the bent over HAIRLESS ROPE-RESTRAINED LEATHER-HOODED BUTT-PLUGGED BODY BUILDER and nodded acknowledgement to his LEATHERCOP BUD in the doorway, meanwhile continuing to squeeze BO's RUBBER-SUCTIONED NIPPLES. BO tried to press his hands against HOODER's swollen leather groin, but with only limited success because of the rope bindings which confined his wrists at an unnatural angle behind his back and made almost any movement impossible.
After admiring the view for a minute, WOLF stuck the 'gar back into the corner of his mouth and sucked. "Nice setup you got here, HOODER," he said, "and a shame to waste it on pussy ass bondage." He shook his head. "Time for a little good cop-bad cop now, and guess who just walked in the door?" he said with a smirk.
BO could hear the heavy crunch of another pair of boots on the floorboards. Straining against the ropes to lift his head, he could only see as high as a pair of high-shine cop boots that slowly walked towards him. Identikit gold-striped leather cop breeches led up to an angry, veined eight-inch cock with a shining dripping helmet. Sarge WOLF had walked straight from from the Officer's mess with his weapon still cocked, fresh from his last skull-vic.m
Sexed up by HOODER'S domination and the oversize plug RAPING his prostate, BO was gagging to suck the meatpole that was slowly approaching his gagged mouth.
"THAT AIN'T NO WAY TO BREAK IN A BOI," he said to HOODER. "HE'S GOTTA FEEL THE PAIN AND KNOW HE'S NOT IN CONTROL NO MORE," and slapped BO hard across the side of the head to emphasize his point. BO grunted at the unexpected physical attack. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye BO caught a glint of metal flash past him, and then a stinging pain on his face.
"I'm gonna break your FUKKIN ASS, PIG!!!!!" barked the new leather cop into the sub's face.
BO felt the sting subside to a delicious throb that flowed like a current into his dick. He saw the handgun now hanging down in front of his face, next to the cop's meat weapon. He'd been PISTOL-WHIPPED, and the sensation was a heady mix of pleasure and pain that both confused him and excited him at the same time.
"FUKKING HELL, WOLF", laughed HOODER, "Don't kill it just yet!". Teaming up in 'GOOD COP-BAD COP' routine, HOODER joined in messing with the vic's mind.
Fuck, this cop means business, BO thought nervously. Although the muscleslave was solidly built, he was worried about what pain was coming next, given the sudden escalation of violence and his inability to resist it in any way. But the new cop WOLF's authority made his cock hard, and BO couldn't help himself.
He tired his best to get a better look at this new threat, to see what he was getting himself into.
What he saw was impressive, and scary. The new cop wore identical uniform, badge, lanyard and Sarge stripes that HOODER wore. But instead of a leather hood, this man wore a black leather officer's Muir Cap perched on a steel grey hi n' tite, eyes obscured by the visor of the Officer cap worn low on the forehead, and a cigar jutted out of a solid jaw. Twitching biceps stretched the leather of the cop shirt, as WOLF cocked the handgun. BO had struck double COP hell. He squirmed in his rope bindings, This only increased the friction of the BUTT PLUG, which by now was making the musclepup leak pre-cum in its tiny posers.
"GOTTA KNOW THIS AIN'T NO GAME. GOTTA KNOW THIS IS FOR REAL," WOLF said and punched the muscle boi hard in his unprotected 'roid gut to emphasize his point.
BO screamed into his gag and writhed more fiercely than he had any time in the last hour as he struggled to protect his vulnerable body. His eyes teared uncontrollably inside his hood and he fought to regain control his breathing through the cruel leather gag. FRACK that hurt!
WOLF stepped back for a moment to consider HOODER's setup. He cupped an elbow in the palm of the other hand and stroked his chin. "Yah. That's a good start you got goin' here, bud. Looks like you've got this boi all set up nice and tight for me, don't cha? But he's getting' off WAAAAY too easy in the tittie department."
"What's this? A twink toy?" he asked, pointing at one of the yellow suction cups biting into BO's hugely swollen nipples. He slapped at one of the offending rubber cups, which popped off under the assault and spun across the room before it disappeared somewhere under the bed. BO tried to yell at the sharp pain that coursed through his chest, but could only summon a leather-stifled grunt. WOLF chuckled and slapped off the other cylinder too. He grabbed the boi's VACUUM BLOATED MANTITS and squeezed the abused flesh as hard as he could. BO howled into his gag in protest to no affect. WOLF ignored his muffled pleas to stop and now twisted the bound boi's tits as hard as he could.
"DAMN YOU GOT LONG HARD TITTIES THERE, BOI," WOLF exclaimed as he squeezed the boi's PINK FLESHY KNOBS even harder, tugging them down and away from his round muscular pecs like they were cows' dugs.
"LET'S TRY OUT THESE LITTLE BEAUTIES, SHALL WE?" he said, reaching into a zippered pocked and pulling out a pair of nasty metal alligator clamps with vicious little teeth meant to bite into tender nipple flesh and hold fast.
BO screamed as he felt first one, then the other cruel alligator clamp chew into his abused tit flesh. The bound worm REALLY screamed as he felt the cruel tiny alligator teeth sink into his flesh, drawing little beads of blood all along his THUMB-THICK ABUSED NIPS and begged WOLF to stop as best he could through the gag.
Why didn't HOODER help him, he wondered? Wasn't HOODER on his side? He couldn't know for sure, but it seemed to him that all HOODER had done since WOLF showed up was try to hold him in place and press against his ass. BO suddenly felt faint, both from the pain and from the dawning realization that nobody in the room was on his side.
The sound of BO's MUFFLED AGONY made WOLF hard again, bloating his leather codpiece with his BLOOD ENGORGED COP CLUB. He looked at the floor to ceiling mirror on the far wall and liked what he saw – a LEATHER UNIFORMED COP stared back at him from across the room, anonymous in the shadow of his BLACK LEATHER MUIR CAP. A leather-hooded sweat-shiny muscle boi bowed severely before him, his tits dripping metal and blood, his tiny manhood cupped in a lycra pouch.
And behind the bound muscle boi, another HOODED LEATHER COP - his posse - held the bound leather boi in place.
WOLF reveled in this manifestation of his control over a giant muscle man, this bound body builder locked by his ropes into a humiliating pose of worship before him. A GAGGED AND TREMBLING ACOLYTE forced to bow before a DOMINANT LEATHER BULL GOD like some carving in an ancient pagan temple.
WOLF got right in the sub's face, spitting, and jabbed the weapon in the sub's temple: "BIG WOLF MAN gonna fukk you up, worm. Don't impress ME with ya big tits boi". WOLF flexed his own respectable, shirt bustin' 17" bi's in the musclesub's face.
"Look at that - REAL PRIME BEEF, boi. Not puffed up 'roid muscle".
"S'RIGHT, BOi!" HOODER agreed.
BO squirmed more. HOODER plugging his ass with that buttplug was as far as BO thought he could go, but his dripping cock was telling him otherwise.
WOLF positioned himself in front of BO's face, unbuckled the strap behind BO's head and pulled the gag out of his mouth and tossed it to the floor. It landed with a thud and bounced into a corner. A long string of spittle dribbled down the abused boi's chin.
"Please no more. Please. Stop," BO begged desperately now that he could speak again.
Wrong thing to say HOODER thought from his position behind BO's invaded ass, from which he had easy access to BO's alligator clamps. Whining's only gonna' make WOLF eager for more. He applied random pressure to the cruel metal torture devices, sometimes gentle, sometimes hard, so that BO never had a chance to get used to the pressure and was forced to be constantly aware that he had no control over the pain he felt in his chest.
Giving over control when you want to isn't a big deal, HOODER thought. Giving it up when you don't want to is another story entirely – and extremely erotic. Like the saying goes, it's only bondage when you want out – and it's only control when you don’t want to be controlled. You're only really in control when you know the bottom doesn't want it any more and still takes it. That's NATURAL ALPHA MALE BEHAVIOUR.
Sure enough, HOODER could see WOLF' chest puff up a little hearing the muscle bottom beg and squeal for an end to the 'Bad Cop' portion of the Good Cop-Bad Cop game. It wasn't gonna happen, he was sure.
Frack that," WOLF shouted. You're gonna take it. TAKE IT!, he shouted into BO's face, slapping him on the side of the head with his pistol once again to make his point.
"IF I HEAR ANOTHER PEEP OUTTA YOU BOI, I'M GONNA TURN YOU INTO LITTLE BO PEEP, YOU GOT THAT, WORM?" he shouted into BO's ear while he pitilessly squeezed the boi's lycra imprisoned cock and balls. He then looked up at HOODER to see if he caught the little joke. HOODER cracked the smallest possible smile to let WOLF know that he got the bad pun and resumed his play with BO's alligator clamps, pulling them down hard so that his nipples were forced out and away from his chest.
BO went silent at the threat and tried not to move an inch no easy feat given the pain he felt in his chest.
"THAT'S BETTER, WORM. THAT"S WHAT I WANNA SEE," WOLF said while he patronizingly patted the unmoving boi on the head. "Good boi."
"You got any oil in that bag?" WOLF asked his leather partner.
HOODER let go the clamps, which caused BO's abused tits to snap back up against his chest and abandoned his rear position. He rummaged through the bag he'd earlier thrown on the bed and pulled out a clear bottle of posing oil. He tossed the plastic bottle to WOLF who deftly caught it in one hand.
WOLF snapped open the cap and generously drizzled thick posing oil over the bound boi's back and legs, then used his gloves to work the oil all over the boi until it coated his white marble flesh like a second skin. Rivulets ran down the bondage worm's flesh and dribbled onto the mat beneath him, made him shiny in the overhead spots. His oiled flesh almost seemed to sparkle as he breathed in and out.
Boss admired his handiwork. Damn, he looks good enough to carve up with a steak knife and eat, he thought. A bottom pressed between two beefy tops - a LEATHERCOP SANDWHICH.
This was gonna' make some web worshippers hot and bothered, either 'cause they wanted to be the COP SANDWICH filling, or dreamed of filling a pair of the BIG LEATHER COP BOOTS that surrounded the ROPE BOUND BEEF front and back. SUCCULETN, HARD MAN-BEEF trussed up like a Sunday roast.
That's one hot frakker, WOLF said to himself , but he's never gonna hear that from me.
He punched the bound oiled boi in his 'roid bloated belly again just because he could. BO groaned, but knew better now than to beg WOLF to stop.
Good move, HOODER thought.
In a single motion, WOLF brutally thrust his VEINED ROCK HARD NIGHT STICK into BO's mouth.
"Your turn," WOLF said to HOODER, who took his cue from his partner, unzipped his breeches and freed his hungry manhood. He carefully dislodged the nasty bulbous latex butt plug that had been lodged in BO's manhole all evening and quickly filled the slippery void with his own BLOOD ENGORGED MEAT, planting his fat cop sausage deep in BO's pale ass.
WOLF continued to ride his manhood on BO's mouth and watched the action reflected in the room's mirrors. TWO ANNONYMOUS LEATHERCOPS - one TOTALLY ENCASED IN LEATHER, the other CAPPED, MASSIVELY UNIFORMED AND BOOTED, LIGHTED BY THE SOFT GLOW OF HIS 'GAR - being serviced by a SUBJUGATED MASSIVE BODY BUILDER turned VIC.
He sucked fiercely on the remnants of his stogie as he watched, and felt the warm mouth go up and down on his manhood. Two ARROGANT ROIDED LEATHERCOPS BONDING OVER A NEAR NAKED 'ROIDED BOTTOM. GLORYING IN THEIR POWER OVER HIS MOUTH AND UNRESISTING WORM HOLE.
WOLF felt the sperm rise up from his balls and begin to build to a climax. He bit down hard on the butt of the Casablanca as the pressure mounted in his balls and grunted in anticipation of the coming climax. He looked over the broad, oil glistened back of the bowed body between them into the eyes of his partner in the leather mask and saw that he too was about to shoot his wad into the boi's stretched out ass.
They'd turned this once independent body builder into a multipurpose sex partner - a third sex neither male nor female- just a tool for sex shared between two tops. WOLF grabbed a handful of BO's leather hood in both gloves and pulled the sub's leather covered skull further onto his shaft as the climax rose up in him.
A MOUND OF ROUND BOUND BEEF DRIPPING IN OIL skewered on TWO ARROGANT LANGLITZED LEATHER COPS.
With a final thrust WOLF threw back his head and roared when the powerful climax washed over him. A massive wave of sperm shot out of his RIGID BLOOD-ENGOURGED MANMEAT and into BO's mouth, overloading the boi's limit and causing the overflow to shoot out his nose and splash to the floor.
While BO coughed and sputtered trying to breath again after WOLF' testosterone tsunami, he felt HOODER shoot his load into the bois well-lubed ass, filling his butt with HOT LEATHERCOP JUICE too.
At the same time on the Duty Desk, SARGE watched the upstairs jizm fest from six different angles on six different monitors and shot his wad of jizm into a fuck towel already nasty with previous loads from tonight. He kept a towel like this under the desk for just such purposes. If you like to watch, then this was the perfect job, and SARGE LOVED to watch. He'd take Desk Duty any time, even if they didn't pay him to do it just for these fringe benefits.
"RIGHT ON, BRO!" WOLF shouted into the air as he pulled out of the sub's dripping skull, and HOODER slapped BO's ass approvingly. He grabbed a white fuck towel from the shelf beside the bed and wiped down his lube and jizm slick meat.
But WOLF wasn't finished yet. After all, HOODER'd had the boi all to himself for almost an hour already, and WOLF had just arrived.
"Take a seat and watch a REAL MAN break one in," WOLF said with a smile.
Gonna have to REALLY impress me WOLFMAN", HOODER laughed, kicking back in the leather throne as he lit a Hoyo de Monterey. Sucking on the large-gauge cigar, HOODER slowly stroked his eight-incher. "Already buttfukked the pig. Watcha got bigger than that black-cock butt-plug?"
As he said it HOODER already knew the answer, as he'd seen it all before. WOLF ripped off the lycra mini-posers, revealing BO's rigid, dripping boi-dick. He rubbed a leather gauntlet over the muscle boi's hard dick and gave the balls a tug or two, then reached for his Sam Brown belt and re-holstered his weapon. He used his thumb to flip open a clasp on the belt so that he could slide out a metre-long, black metal nightstick, custom-made from steel to look like a regulation-issue PR24 Prosecutor.
"SUCK IT UP BOI". WOLF growled, showing the freaking sub the long black metal weapon. "You want this." It was a statement, not a question. The POWERLESS BOUND MEAT PUPPET mumbled something indistinct.
"WADDYA SAY? YOU WANT THIS UP YOUR BOI HOLE?" WOLF shouted, cupping his gauntlet against his ear pretending not to understand. "HERE IT COMES, WORM..."
With one slow strong stroke WOLF forced the cop steel into the pre-lubed musclecunt, and banged the muscleboi's G-spot The helpless muscleslave. shot its first 'roid-load of jizm in a matter of seconds.
WOLF continued to stick-fuck the sub with increasingly harder and harder strokes, forcing the cruel night stick deeper in his entrails until the sub moaned again and shot a second extremely painful fuck load only minutes after the first.
"WHOA!" HOODER exclaimed, reaching forward in the chair and giving WOLF a hi-five. "NICE WORK!"
"Ain't seen nuthin' yet bro," WOLF said with a smile and reached up the side of the wall nearest him for a mean-looking crocodile clip with a lead attached to it. He expertly clipped it to the side of the metal night stick, half buried in BO's butt.
"GONNA BE FIREWORKS NOW, BOI," he laughed, and flicked a switch, sending AC current through the metal cop weapon, straight into the sub's G-spot. The helpless musclesub spasmed, flexing all its muscles at once, gurning with the shock and shooting jizm.
HOODER stroked his cock hard watching the artificial muscleflex show.
"You like that bro - wanna see it again?" boomed WOLF, flicking the switch. This time BO's jizm flew across the room and onto HOODER's boots.
"FUCKIN' A!" high-fived HOODER again.
It had been a pretty good first installment with this boi, and who knew? If things went well, maybe there'd be one or two more kicks and this can before dawn. "Wanna break for a cold one?" HOODER suggested to his bud, clapping him on the shoulder as he sealed his DRAINED COP HOSE back into his leathers and headed for the door.
He shut off the lights and closed the door behind them, leaving the bound and hooded muscle vic in total darkness, still bent over nearly double in his rope bindings, a black metal nightstick protruding from his ass, dribbling their juices from most of his holes and fearful of what else the Cellblock had in store for him.
CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
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