Montana Blue

By James West

 

 

 

I was driving along Highway 200 in the middle Montana when I saw the red lights in my rear view mirror. My heart skipped a beat. I pulled to the side of the road and waited.

Through the mirror, I watched as he stepped out of his black and white cruiser and sauntered toward my car. He was tall and rugged in his blue uniform. He looked like he was about six feet, four inches tall and weighed about two-twenty. I couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his trousers. Wearing his state trooper hat and sunglasses, he looked like the stereotypical handsome man-in-uniform. While I knew this could cost me money, I couldn’t help feeling somehow lucky that I was being pulled over by such a hot-looking guy.

I rolled down the window and nervously said, “Afternoon Officer.”

“Good afternoon,” he said as he pulled off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of piercing blue eyes. He was handsome, alright!

“You aware that you were driving fifty-three in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone?”

“No, that can’t be. I know I couldn’t have been going over thirty!”

“Boy, I clocked you at over fifty! Whattaya mean you couldn’t have been going over thirty?” he growled.

I knew there was no way he could have “clocked” me over fifty. “Uh, well, I couldn’t have been doing fifty-three. I noticed the thirty-mile-an-hour sign as soon as I got into town and remember checking my speedometer. I know I wasn’t doing any more than thirty.”

He glared at me and paused before he spoke. “You California tree-huggers may get away with that kinda shit in Pansy Francisco, but we don’t talk back to the law here in Montana!” he barked. He paused again. I could see his veins beginning to bulge.

“Get outta that car, motherfucker!” he screamed in my face. I just sat there, dumbfounded. He leaned into the car, his face, turning redder and redder, within an inch of mine. “I said, GET OUTTA THAT CAR, MOTH-ER, FUCK-ER!!” he blared in a slow, methodical, acid sing-song.

I slowly opened the door. My heart was beating louder in my ears. He stepped away from the door as I got out. He took off his hat and threw it on the ground. He had beautiful coal-black hair, still neatly combed despite the fact that he had been wearing the hat. He was strikingly handsome. Especially in the uniform.

“You knocked off my hat, fucker! Pick it up!!” he bellowed.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. This whole thing was starting to turn weird.

“Pick up my hat, you smelly little queer!” he shouted as he kicked my ass and pushed me to the ground. I was really getting scared.

My head hit the dirt in a cloud of dust. Before I knew what was happening, his boot was in my back and his handcuffs were on my wrists. I got the impression he had done this a few times before. He reached under my armpits and lifted me to my feet with ease. He pulled me over to his car, opened the door and threw me onto the back seat, face down. He slammed the door, got back into the front, slammed his door, started the engine, threw it into gear, and we were on our way. To who knew where. Or what.

I tried to sit up, but it was too difficult. So I just lay there, seeing (and smelling) nothing but the leather seat.

After a few minutes, the car came to sudden stop. He got out, opened the back door and pulled me out. He led me into an old single-story, stone-block building that looked like it was about 100 years old. The bars on the windows clued me in; he had taken me to jail.

Inside, there was one giant room, but I didn’t see a jail cell. There was a desk and a few chairs. He sat me down in one of the chairs, and took a seat behind the desk. He opened a book and started asking me questions.

“Name!” he shouted.

“I want to see a lawyer. Right now!” I shouted back.

“Don’t give me none of your shit, boy! What’s your fuckin’ name!”

“I want to see a…”

Before I had the chance to finish the sentence he climbed over the desk, grabbed me by the shirt and ordered me to “shut the fuck up!” Then he pushed down on my neck, bent me over so that my chin touched my knees and straddled me so that I could feel his balls through his uniform against the back of my neck. That position hurt like hell. He proceeded to reach into my back pocket and take out my wallet.

“Guess if you’re gonna be uncooperative, I can just get what I want another way.” I didn’t like the way he said that.

After he wrote down everything he could from the book, he informed me that I was being charged with a moving violation – driving fifty-three in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone – and resisting arrest. I was entitled to one call. After he took off the cuffs, I called my wife.

“Please pick up!” I repeated over and over as the phone rang once, twice, three times, and on the fourth ring, to my dismay, the answering machine clicked on. “Honey, are you there?” I asked repeatedly to the dead silence, hoping that she was there and that she would hear me and pick up the phone. “Please pick up. It’s important. I’m in the middle of Montana and I’m in trouble. Are you there. I’m being arrested and held against my will we’re going to need a law…” I felt the phone pulled from hands. “Times up!” he said as he slammed down the receiver. “That was your one and only call.”

“No!” I shouted back. “You can’t do this. You have to let me call an attorney. You can’t do this!”

“I can do anything I want to, boy! This ain’t California!”

With that he cuffed my hands again and led me to a doorway on the far wall. He opened the door and led me down two flights of steps into a basement. Into a basement with two jail cells. He opened the door of one of the cells and pushed me in. I fell to the dirt floor. He closed the door behind me, locked it and walked away. I turned around and sat up. He looked at me through the bars with an evil grin.

“I’ll be back,” he said as he climbed the stairs. He turned out the light and I sat there handcuffed in the darkness. Wandering.

I woke up to the sound of banging metal. It took me a few minutes to realize where I was. My aching shoulders and the cuffs around my wrists reminded me of what had happened.

“It’s morning! Breakfast time, boy!” he yelled as he banged the metal tray against the bars. He opened the door put the tray on the floor and removed the cuffs. “Better eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

“I don’t want anything to eat.” I said. “I want to talk to an attorney!”

“That’s not possible. No attorney around here for about 75 miles.”

“You can’t do this. Please. Let me pay the fine and leave.”

“Oh, you’ll pay the fine alright. But you’re gonna stay here to do it.”

“My wife knows where I am. When she gets that message, she’s going to be coming for me. If you let me go now, I’ll pay the fine and we’ll forget all about this.”

“Does your wife also know that you read those magazines with naked guys in ’em?”

“What are you talkin’ about? Look, man, you better let me outta here right now!”

“Or what? You’re in no position to threaten anybody. You know, I found a whole bunch of queer magazines in the trunk of your car. Your wife know about them?”

“You had no right to search my car.”

“I thought so. You’re wife don’t know you’re queer does she?”

I sat there silently.

“Now if you don’t want your wife to know anything about them magazines, I suggest you be a good little boy and do as I say. Now eat your breakfast. You got fifteen minutes. If you don’t eat it by the time I come back down, I’m takin’ it away.”

I figured I better save up my strength, so I ate every bite. He came back down in fifteen minutes just like he said. He came in, picked up the tray and ordered me to stand up. He seemed even taller to me then. I stand five-foot eleven, and it looked to me like he was easily six-six. “Time for your sentencing!” he announced.

He led me back up the stairs and into the big room, sat me down in one of the chairs, went behind the desk, and opened a book.

“Where’s the judge?” I asked.

“You’re lookin’ at him, boy!”

Why was I not surprised?

For speeding in excess of twenty-three miles per hour, a two hundred, thirty-dollar fine or twenty-three hours of community service. For resisting arrest, a five-hundred-dollar fine, or fifty hours of community service. You can pay the bailiff and you’re free to go.” I didn’t see a bailiff, and I didn’t even ask.

“I don’t have that kinda money on me. Let me call my wife again, and I’ll get her to send it.”

“You already used you’re phone call. Now either pay up, or you’ll have to do the community service. Do you have the money or not?”

“I just told you I didn’t have it.”

“Then I guess it’s gonna be community service. And since there’s really not much of a community around here, I guess it’s gonna have to be something else! Court’s adjourned!”

He hit his gavel on the table, came around, pulled me to my feet and slapped the cuffs back on my wrists. Then he led me back down to the basement.

This time when we got down there, instead of leading me back into the cell, he pushed me to the right and through a doorway I hadn’t seen earlier. He switched on a light and I was shocked at what I saw inside the tiny room he had just pushed me into.

All along the walls there were hooks with chains hanging from them. Standing next to one wall was a cross with hooks to tie hands and feet. A wooden “X” in the corner with hooks for hands and feet. A set of old-fashioned sit-down wooden stocks along one wall, with a stand-up pillory right next to it. In the center of the room there was a wooden table, with hooks all around its perimeter. Above the table, there were two leather wrist cuffs hanging from chains which were attached to two pulleys secured to the ceiling beam.

On a chair next to the table lay the magazines he had lifted from the trunk of my car.

“Time for a little justice. Montana style!”

He came around in front of me, grabbed the neck of my t-shirt with both hands, and with one motion, pulled it apart. He grinned and admired his handiwork as he inspected my sweat-soaked, heaving, muscular hairy chest. He pulled what was left around my back and off. Still cuffed, I was stripped to the waist.

“What are you doing?” I moaned.

“Shut up!” he ordered as he started to started to unlace my sneaker. He pulled off first my left shoe, then my right. “No money for the fine, no community service, you gotta pay up another way, he said as he undid my belt. He loosened the snap, pulled down the zipper and shoved my jeans down around my ankles.

“Step outta those pants!” he ordered. I did as I was told.

I knew that things were getting scary, but I knew they were going to get worse when he noticed the bulge in my briefs. “Thought you might enjoy this, you pansy!” he snarled as he pinched my left nipple. I groaned as the pain shot through my chest. And down to the bulge in my briefs.

“Get up on this table!” he barked as he pulled a chair over for me to step onto. I stepped into the chair and then onto the table. I had to duck to keep from hitting my head on the ceiling beam.

“Kneel down!” he snapped again. I did as I was told and knelt down on the hard wood of the table.

He swatted the front of my thighs and ordered me to move back so that my socked feet hung, toes down, over the edge of the table. Again I did as I was told.

He stepped up onto the table in front of me and with his crotch pushed into my face, he leaned over behind me and unlocked the cuffs. With ease, he pulled up my right arm and wrapped the leather cuff around my wrist. Then he did the same with my left wrist. I was kneeling on the table, practically naked in just my white socks and white briefs, arms stretched out and above me, wrists restrained. He jumped off the table, went over to the wall and hit a switch. I heard the whirring sound of electric motors, and in an instant, my arms began to slowly stretch outward and upward, exposing my hairy armpits. I groaned from the pain in my shoulders. He stopped it just as my knees began to leave the table.

“This gettin’ you a little excited there boy?” he asked as he rubbed the palm of his hand up and down, over the bulge in my underwear. “Got a little bit o’ moisture there too! Yeah, this is gonna be fun for both of us, I see.”

He pulled out a bag from under the table and laid it on top of the table in front of me. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a few strands of rope. He came around to my right side, tied one end of the rope to my bent knee, pulled my knee outward toward the edge of the table, and then secured the other end of the rope to a hook there. Came around to my left side and did the same thing there. Stretched out like that, my cock and balls felt extremely vulnerable. But the bulge got bigger and bigger. And the wet spot got bigger and bigger.

He got up on the table, sat down in behind me, and with one fell swoop he tore off my briefs just as he had done with my t-shirt. Now, I was naked except for my white socks. I trembled and let out a gasp as his hands made their way down over my chest, fingers teasing my nipples to complete hard, pointy erection, fingers lightly walking down to my belly, then back up my sides into my sweaty armpits. I was scared, but excited at the same time. I had a full-on hardon by now.

“You like that don’t you? I thought so.”

He jumped off the table and grabbed a couple more strands of rope. He pulled my left sock just down to my heel exposing my ankles. Then, he tied the rope around my ankle, pulled it over to the corner of the table, and secured the other end of the rope to a hook there. He pulled down my right sock, exposed that ankle, wrapped another piece of rope around my ankle and tied it off the same way. Just as he had done with my knees.

He came around in front of me, sat down in the chair and admired his handiwork. “You look pretty good all strung up like that! You like being stripped down and strung up like that boy, don’t you?”

“Yes sir, I do!” I found myself whispering without even thinking.

“I thought so.” he said as he picked up one of the magazines he had gotten from my trunk. “These magazines all have stories and pictures of guys naked and all tied up. You like lookin’ at those pictures, don’t ya boy?”

“Yes sir, I do!”

“You want to be naked and tied up like them, don’t you boy?”

“Yes sir, I do!”

“I noticed something peculiar about these magazines, boy. Every single one of them has a story about some guy gettin’ stripped down, tied up and tickle-tortured! You like that, boy?”

“Yes sir, I do!”

“You want me to tickle and torture you boy?”

“Yes sir, I do!”

“Well, I’m gonna make you sweat and squirm for a long time, boy. You ever been tied up and tickled for real, boy?”

“No sir!”

“I don’t think you know just how intense that can be. You don’t have a clue as to what you’re in for, do ya boy?”

“No sir!”

“Well, you’re about to find out! Here’s how it’s gonna work. For every dollar of that fine, you gotta endure one minute of intense tickling! That means, right now you gotta stand seven hundred, thirty minutes of torture! You think you can take over 12 hours of tickling, boy?”

“I guess I’m gonna have to if I wanna pay that fine, sir!”

“That’s the right attitude, boy. Now get ready to suffer!”

He picked up a chair and set it on top of the table directly in front of me. Then he climbed up onto the table, sat in the chair, licked his thumb and forefinger and started lightly stroking/pinching/teasing my nipples. The sensation sent electricity through my body, down to my cock, which got harder the minute his fingers grazed my areola. I squirmed and tugged at the ropes; partly to test them, and partly because his tickling fingers on my sensitive nips were starting to drive me crazy.

“You like that don’t ya, boy?” he whispered.

“Yes, sir. I like it a lot!”

“I thought you might. I’m gonna see just how much you like it, boy. I’m gonna put you to the test!”

“Yes, sir.” I sighed through the laughter that was starting to make its way from my quivering lips.

“Let’s see how ticklish those ribs of yours are, boy!”

“No….”

Before I could get out a plea, he started lightly running his fingers up and down, over my bare ribs, from hips to pits. I squirmed and tugged at the tight ropes and let out loud groans of laughter.

“Yeah, that’s right, boy. Let’s hear some laughter. Like to watch you squirm as I torture you!”

“No. Stop! I can’t take it! No….”

“Yeah, that’s it. Beg for me, boy!”

My begging only seemed to make it worse. He continued his assault on my ticklish sides, moving faster and more furious with each stroke. When he started into my exposed, helpless armpits, I thought I was gonna lose it right there. It wasn’t until he could see I couldn’t catch my breath that he finally let up.

“Please untie me and stop tickling me. I’ll do anything you say. Please.”

“Why? Looks like you’re enjoying this, boy. And I know you want more.”

My hard, throbbing, dripping cock gave away the fact that I was, in fact, enjoying the feeling of helplessness and the intense tickling I was getting. It was unbearable and yet, I did want more. Little did I know that I was about to get far more than I ever wanted.

He jumped off the table, took the chair down, reached under the table and pulled out a black leather bag. He put the bag on the table in front of me. I looked down as he unzipped the bag and pulled out a number of things. First a hairbrush, then a paint brush, a feather duster, a toothbrush, ball point pens, a back scratcher, and a few pieces of sand paper. He laid them on the table in front of me.

“I’m gonna use every single one of these on you and drive you absolutely crazy!” he said with a grin. “And the ones that work the best, I’m gonna use those the longest.”

I tugged at the ropes again. This time to see if I could get loose. I’d always fantasized about being stripped down, strung up and mercilessly tickled, but I wasn’t really sure how much I could take. I wanted out. But it was out of my control.

He picked up the chair and the feather duster, and a few of the brushes, and moved behind me. I looked over my shoulder and watched as he put the chair down at the end of the table between my bound bare feet.

“These feet ticklish, boy?”

“Oh, no. Please…”

“Oh yeah, I bet they are. Nice, long soles. What are they about a size twelve?”

“No, please… ahhhh!” I felt his fingers quickly trace a path up the length of my naked soles.

“I asked you what size feet you have, boy!”

“Twelve-and-a-half, sir. Sometimes wear a thirteen!”

“That’s better. You’ll learn to answer when I ask you something! Ummm. Mighty sexy feet you got here boy. Glad they’re ticklish. That’s gonna make ’em even more sexy! Watching those soles wrinkle and those long sexy toes wiggle as I tickle ’em! Let’s get started!”

“No, please don’t…. ahhhhh.”

I felt his fingers lightly grazing my bare soles, slowly, torturously tracing a path from heel to toe. Then he slowly circled my toes from top to bottom. I tugged at the ropes around my ankles to try to escape his tormenting fingers, but he had me tied down tight. My soles did wrinkle; my toes did wiggle as he continued to torture my hypersensitive bare feet.

After about five minutes of unrelenting torment, he finally stopped. But just long enough to grab a tooth brush and start working in between my toes. I thought I was gonna go through the roof! Then, he grabbed the hairbrush and while still working the toothbrush between my toes, he started slowly brushing my bare soles. I squirmed, screamed, laughed, begged and pleaded. But that only made it worse. He started going faster the more I begged him to stop.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stopped. I was gasping for breath as he came around to face me.

“Not bad, not bad at all. And hey, you’ve already used up fifteen minutes of your sentence! You’re doing better than I thought you would. Guess I’m gonna have to take things a little further here!”

“What could be worse?” I mumbled.

“Speak up boy!” he yelled as he slapped my hard cock.

“Ahhh! I said what could be worse, sir!”

“Well, I’m glad you asked!”

With that, he jumped back up on the table and started brushing my chest hair – just around the nipples – with the hairbrush, as he ran his fingers up and down my sides. I let out a yell, and started laughing and squirming as he tortured me even more furiously this time.

“Stick out your chest and take it like a man!” he yelled as I endured the most intense tickling I could ever imagine. Feverishly, he ran his fingers all over my ribs, pits, belly, and up and down, and all around my bare back as he continued to tease my nips with the hairbrush. I stuck out my chest as I was told. He dropped the brush, and, without missing a beat, started to lick my pointed nips while he continued to tickle my back. I could feel his tongue dancing over my nipple and his fingers glided up and down my spine, and over my ass. I let out a loud moan, and gave up all resistance as I hung helplessly from the ropes.

He continued torturing my torso and my feet for what I thought was at least eight hours. But when he finally untied me, he told me that I had only earned another four! He took me back to the cell and threw me on the floor.

I awoke naked on the floor of the cell the next morning bright and early to the sound of his banging on the cell bars. He had breakfast for me.

“Here, eat this boy! You’re gonna need your strength again today!”

He opened the door, put the tray into the cell and left. I took the tray and gobbled down the food in a matter of minutes. I was so hungry, I can’t even tell you what I ate. He came back for the tray. And for me.

He put handcuffs on me and led me down the hallway, and back into the dungeon. When I entered the room, I was shocked to see a young, tanned, blond boy, naked, gagged (with my torn underwear!) and bound in the stocks. His arms were stretched out tightly above his head, his wrists were tied with rope to a hook in the post behind him, and his ankles were locked into the stocks, his bare feet sticking out about a foot or so. He looked incredibly sexy. He moaned when he saw me as if he were crying out for my help. I was in no position to help him as I was naked and cuffed myself.

“I brought a friend for you, boy! You get to help me work off his fine!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“He can’t pay his fine either so you’re gonna help me work it off! You’re gonna help me dish out the punishment!”

“No, I’m not gonna do it!”

“You don’t understand boy. I’m makin’ you a deal here. For every minute of punishment you help me dish out to this boy, I take off 10 minutes of yours!”

I had to admit that saving my own ass did sound pretty inviting. And the thought of joining in on this tied-up naked young stud sure helped me make up my mind. I agreed.

He took off my cuffs and sat me down in front of the stocks, so that the boy’s bare feet were shoulder level and arm’s length away from me. He grabbed his chair, went around behind the post, and sat down behind the boy. He reached around the post and grabbed the boy’s nipples. The boy’s head went back, he moaned through the gag, and his eyes half-closed as his nipples were twisted, pinched and pulled.

“OK, boy, when I tell you to, you start tickling his feet!”

“Yes sir!” I answered obligingly.

He dropped his hands from the boy’s nips, pulled his fingers to just above the boy’s sides – the boy had a look of terror in his eyes, knowing what was about to happen as he followed this movement – and then, with a ready-set-go, he yelled, “NOW!”

I started lightly fingering the boy’s bare soles, lightly from heel to toe, as he worked the boy’s ribs, up and down from hip to pit. Instant screams through the gag and the stocks were bouncing all over the place as our tormentive fingers put the boy though an unkind torture, the likes of which I have never seen, let alone been a party to. I could hear him laughing, screaming and begging, “NO!” through the gag as we continued to make him squirm. His toes wiggled and his soles wrinkled from the very instant my fingertips made contact with his naked feet. Ashamedly, I was extremely turned on, watching this boy squirm at my hands. Having remembered the previous day, and knowing what I was putting the boy through, made my dick get harder and harder with each stroke of his helpless bare feet!

We tortured him for about thirty or forty minutes, nonstop. The dirty underwear gag was removed about ten minutes into the session as the boy’s breathing was getting more and more labored with each torturous second. He was sweating and gasping for breath by the time we were through. But it was only the beginning for him.

The cop then forced me to kneel in front of the boy’s stocks. Another set of stocks was wheeled over to just a few yards in front of the boy’s feet, and my head and wrists were put into them. He spread my legs, tied each ankle and ran separate ropes to hooks in the bottom of the stocks which held me captive. I heard his belt buckle jingle. The next thing I know, I felt a sharp pain on my bare ass cheeks as his belt came whistling down on them!

“Work your way to his left foot!” he ordered as he brought the leather belt down, once again, on my bare ass. It took all the energy I could muster in this precarious position, but I managed to use my knees to “walk” and get the wheels of my stocks moving toward the boy’s left foot. With every “step” I took, my ass was whipped with the belt to give me encouragement. By the time I made it to his foot, my ass was red and burning hot!

The mansweat from the boy’s bare foot was beginning to penetrate my nostrils. The smell was absolutely intoxicating! The cop straddled my head and pushed my stocks back slightly, bringing my nose just millimeters away from the bare sole. He proceeded to whip my as he yelled “Get your nose on his foot boy!” I tried with all my might, but his legs were strong and he held me back. I could still smell the moist sweat of the boy’s foot, but I wanted to get closer.

I took the whipping for so long that I eventually went a bit crazy and pushed with all my might. I was finally able to break the cop’s hold as I wheeled forward and my nose was up against the boy’s foot. Once again, just at the base of the toes. He wiggled his foot as I touched it with my nose and released more of that wonderful moist sweaty footsmell. I inhaled deeply.

“Lick his sole!” he ordered as he brought the belt down over my bare back. I winced from the pain, but did as I was instructed, tonguing that boy’s bare sole wildly. I heard the boy giggle and his toes wiggled faster and faster from the tongue-tickling, as that smell continued to waft from his foot to my wanting nostrils.

I continued to lick as I got whipped. It was intense. He stopped the belt-lashing and pulled his chair around to sit in front of the bound boy. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I’m sure that he was torturing the boy’s torso. Once again, the stocks started bouncing all over the place. I moistened the boy’s sole, licking every square inch from heel to toe, lightly tickling his foot as I went along.

After another fifteen minutes or so of this, the cop left the room. I was left with my nose still buried in the boy’s foot. “Please don’t tickle me anymore!” he begged.

“I have to,” I replied. “It’s the only way either of are gonna get out of here!”

“Shut up you two lovebirds!” Just then the cop reentered the room. He had a cup of ice water for each of us. He wheeled me back and put the cup to my lips. I quaffed the water like a dog. I was parched from all the saliva I used on the boy’s foot.

“Hold this in your mouth!” he said as he stuffed an ice cube through my lips. He wheeled me back so that my mouth was once again pressed against the boy’s bare sole. He obviously intended to surprise the boy when he ordered, “Rub what’s in your mouth on this boy’s bare soles and toes!”

I did as I was told. The boy bucked and tried to pull his foot away as the ice-cold cube from my mouth grazed against his bare sole. I frantically shook my head up and down, rubbing the ice all over his foot, from heel to toe.

Then the cop got some ice out of his cup and got behind me to rub some on my bound bare soles. I jumped and jerked to move away from the intense sensation on my hypersensitive feet, but I was tied too tightly and could barely move. He slowly grazed each foot with that icy-cool tool of torment as I moaned through the cube in my mouth. While I continued to ice-torture the boy, I was receiving the exact same treatment from the cop. Then he moved from my feet, sat back down in the chair in front of the boy, and proceeded to torture the boys nipples, pits, ribs, belly and finally cock and balls with the ice that he had left. The screaming and pleading were deafening.

By the time all of the ice was melted, both of us were totally exhausted. He untied me first and brought me back to my cell. Then he brought the boy back to the cell next to mine and left us there. He turned off the light, and closed the door at the top of the stairs, leaving us alone and naked, in total darkness.

The boy was shaken. He asked me not to torture him anymore. I assured him I wouldn’t, even though I selfishly knew that I would because I hoped it could possibly buy my freedom. Not to mention the fact that I was completely turned on by it!

And I did torture him more over the next few days. And he and I were both tied naked in a variety of positions. Kneeling on the table as I was before. In the stocks again, but with elbows up, hands tied behind our necks. On the table, spread eagle on our backs. Standing tied to the wooden “X” and to the cross. On our bellies, hog-tied on the floor with the cop sitting in a chair above us, just tickling our bare feet. Tied to the pillory for some intense tickling from behind. And tied facing each other, kneeling on the table, with our wrists tied together above our heads while he tortured us both at the same time to see who would break first.

After a few more days of this, the cop told us that our sentences had been completed. We were given our clothes (or what was left of them) and told that we were free to go.

I got in my car a sped away. And I didn’t look back.

A few miles outside of town, I spotted a coffee shop and decided to stop for some lunch. As the waiter came by to offer me some coffee, I was surprised to see the my young blond cellmate come walking through the door. He spotted me too and came over to say hello.

“Have a seat.” I offered. “Wanna join me for lunch?”

“Sure. Thanks. I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

“Really? Why?”

“I wanna get that cop back, and I figured you could help me!”

“No, I just want to get the hell out of here! He’s got some things on me and I’d just rather let it go.”

“He told me about the bondage magazines in your trunk. But he doesn’t have anything on me!”

“So that means…”

He interrupted. “It means that if I tell enough people about what he did to us, he can get in a lotta deep shit! That dungeon alone could get him put away for twenty years!”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“So you’ll go back there with me, and help me get him into that dungeon so we can give him a taste of what he gave us?”

“Oh yeah!” I answered. Just the thought of forcing that cop to strip naked, getting him all tied up in that dungeon and making him sweat and squirm was putting quite a bulge in my jeans!

We shook hands just outside the coffee shop. On our way to enact a little justice. Montana style!