This story is a work of fiction. It is a gay authoritarian fantasy, no part of which is based on real life. Any resemblance therefore to anyone living or dead is purely accidental. This story depicts male on male sexual practices, if you are offended by this then stop reading now.
All characters depicted in this story are willing participants in all the scenes they appear in. No one was coerced or paid to appear in this story.
The practices and themes depicted in this story, in no way reflect the author's beliefs or sexual practices. If you chose to act out scenes from this story, please do it responsibly. Always practice safe sex; you owe it not only to yourself but to your sexual partners. If you think you have injured yourself or think you have contracted a sexual disease, or have any other health concerns. Please consult with a health professional.
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SOUTHERN CROSS STATION
He strode through Southern Cross Station like he owned it. He's 210cm tall, clad only in a t-shirt and a pair of skimpy running shorts; that did almost nothing to cover the meaty globes of his enormous bubble butt. The straps of his jock were plainly visible to anyone who cared to look. Fuck, let's face it. They were just as clearly visible to those who didn't want to look, as well. The pouch of his jock could be clearly seen hanging bellow the bottom of his shorts, as the material tried valiantly to stretch over and cover his pendulous cock and balls. It was quite plain to everyone that he wasn't circumcised.
Each of his thighs was the size of a small person. His calves are the size of an enormous leg of ham that has comfortably fed a gathering of 30-40 people and still had some meat left on the bone. Apparently, the man spent a lot of time running up and down ladders and stairs. His boots had all but given up hope of trying to encase his enormous feet. It even looked as though his toes were pulling his steel caps out of shape.
The band of his shorts, and jock, which was clearly visible over the band of his shorts, had given up any hope of ever coming in contact with the base of his washboard stomach. So much so that anyone who cared to look saw nothing but his incredibly thick bush of jet black pubic hair. Nestled nicely over the lily-white root of his pendulous cock. The overworked band of his shorts came barely to the tops of his hips. His t-shirt didn't have a hope in hell of ever meeting the overworked band of his shorts and jock. So, his treasure trail, leading from his very thick pubic bush up to his navel, was permanently on show. His navel looked so deep that the end of it seemed to be lost in permanent shadow.
The bottom row of his eight pack was also permanently on show, as it just met the hem of his hopelessly overstretched t-shirt. The rest of his eight pack was clearly on show, as his t-shirt was stretched so tightly over his taught washboard stomach that it was almost like a second layer of skin. As he moved the muscles in his back could clearly be seen flowing under their covering of skin and t-shirt material. While the two dimples at the base of his spine were permanently on display, as his shorts and t-shirt didn't even try to cover them.
His treasure trail and eight pack, only served to draw your eyes even further up his body, as his torso opened up into the perfect `V' formation; that guys spend years in the gym trying to perfect and maintain. His chest was topped off by two perfectly formed sets of pectoral muscles. With his pecs, the size of fifty cent pieces could be seen as depressions in his pectoral muscles under the strained t-shirt material. His shoulders are almost impossibly broad; they have to be at least twice the width of his hips. With his enormous arms hanging from them. The sleeves of his t-shirt were barely covering the tops of his shoulders. His arms with his enormous biceps hang loosely by his side and gently swing in time with his footsteps.
The hair on top of his head is just as jet black as his pubes, and almost as tightly curled. He keeps it cropped close to his skull, for many and varied reasons. He has a dusting of jet black stubble on his cheeks and chin, with a rugged square jawline and deep cleft in his chin, just to finish the picture. He takes in the world through a pair of piercing blue eyes.
Because of his size and strength, he is in great demand on any building site he works on. Being a labourer, he is a `Jack-of-all-Trades'; he can run up ten flights of stairs just as easily with a bag of cement under each arm, as he can with a steel girder or a lump of wood over his shoulder.
Both men and women lust after him equally. Guys wanting to go where the centre seam of his shorts disappear to. Which just happens to make him look like he has a permanent wedgy, although, there's not a person alive who would ever try to give him one. While women fantasize about the pain, he'd cause them trying to stuff his mammoth cock up their wet swollen pussies. Guys worry about ever being able to accommodate his cock in either end.
His bosses love him on the building sites, apart from his strength, for such a mountain of a man, he is surprisingly quick on his feet. Consequently, he spends his days running around the site from the minute he signs on, to the minute he finishes his shift. Stopping only for his breaks, or toilet stops. When he enters a Port-a-Pot, his co-workers always have bets to see if it can contain all of him or not. But, because he never closes the door, no one ever gets to collect on the bets.
No one knows of his life outside of work. He doesn't go to the pub after work with his co-workers. Nor does he go to their places for meals or anything, and he doesn't extend invites for them to visit him. Their knowledge of him starts and finishes at the worksite.
All of his co-workers would be surprised to know that he frequents the Laird in Collingwood a couple of nights a week if he is feeling sufficiently submissive to be a bottom boy for some top who doesn't realise that he is in way over his head.
The rest of the time he can be found at Porter St in Prahran where they hold wrestling matches most night, but because no one wants to get in the ring with him on their own. He lets them tag team, I mean what does he care if he forces his mammoth cock up one arse or two. At the end of the match, he'd just lines the mushroom head of his cock with their arsehole and listen to the pussies' whimper as he forces the head of his cock into their waiting arses, as his prize for winning the fights, along with any money he has made from the bets.
He had a flat installed under the house and had it soundproofed, and it is here that he's set up his fully equipped dungeon. He doesn't bother with any of the tops at the Laird who, as far as he's concerned, only play at bondage. No, he trolls the dating sites' on the dark web. He'd find a top who caters for his particular tastes. He'd invite them over on a Friday night, and, generally, they didn't leave until Sunday, and he would be kept in bondage the whole time. He stayed faithful' to his current top until they stopped meeting his needs. Then he'd move onto the next one.
That was how he liked his life. It met most of his needs, that he knew about, anyway. Until the night he met `Sir'!
There was nothing on Sir's advert but a challenge not to email unless you were man enough, and a contract that had to be signed before Sir would even look at you. Never before had he come across anyone's add with a contract attached to it in the first place. He thought about it for all of 60 seconds; it did help him to decide when he felt his cock twitch when he saw there was a contract attached. He downloaded all ten pages of the contract, and he read over it carefully. The upshot was that he would be signing away his rights as a person, and he would become Sir's property for a long as he amused Sir. He had to sign everything over to Sir. He would no longer own anything, not even the clothes on his back. Until such time as Sir grew tired of him and gave him back what was left of his life, his possessions, and more importantly anything that was left of his money. There was space provided in the contract for the totals of all his accounts, as well as a form making Sir a co-signatory on all of his financial accounts. As well as another form giving Sir Enduring Power of Attorney over him and all of his assets. Failure to comply with any of the demands in the contract would simply mean they'd never meet.
He was so turned on by the idea of the contract and what it represented to him, that he met all the demands and sent his reply with all the required paperwork back to Sir. He received an email back asking for pictures of his house and yards, as well as photos of himself both naked and dressed. With a full erection and a picture of how much cum he could produce.
It was two weeks before he noticed any changes. The first was the text message he received to `meet' Sir at the Peel Hotel in Collingwood. It wasn't a pub he'd ever been to before, and for the first time in his life, he felt a little self-conscious. When Sir had texted him about the meeting, he was told to wear only his work gear, which gave him an interesting problem in that he had no pockets. So, he wore a bum bag to keep his wallet, keys, and new phone in. As he knew Sir required absolute obedience, he did, in fact, wear his work gear to the pub. He sat at the bar. Then he waited.
He'd been there for about an hour, drinking nothing but water or juice, as per Sir's instructions, when his phone buzzed to let him know he had a message. He knew it could only be from Sir because he'd had to buy a new phone with a number only Sir or his bosses knew. It read, stand up with your back to the bar.' He complied instantly, standing with his back to the bar. He received his next message, Don't slouch! Stand up straight with your feet shoulder-width apart.' He stood up straight with his feet shoulder width apart and smirked to himself thinking that this way he would be able to find out who `Sir' was. His next message told him to stop smirking, or this could all finish now if that was what he wanted.
He didn't, so he wiped the smirk off his face and stared straight ahead while surreptitiously scanning the crowd trying to discover who Sir was. His next message told him to place his left hip against the bar, and to stop his cock from leaking precum. Didn't he realise that his body now belonged to Sir? Surprised, he turned, placing his left hip against the bar and tried to think of a way to stop his cock from leaking.
The next message told him to turn and put his right hip against the bar, and he complied instantly. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't work out who was sending him the messages. Everyone in the fuckin' bar had a mobile phone, and they were all doing stuff on them. His next message identified a man who was sitting at one of the tables in the back corner of the pub. He was told to empty out the contents of his bum bag and leave it all on the bar. He was then told to crawl through the pub and under the man's table. He had to get the mans' cock out and suck him dry, and he had 6 minutes in which to complete his tasks. So, dumping everything out of his bum bag, he got on all fours and crawled through the pub, much to the delight of patrons and Staff alike, to the designated table and disappeared underneath it. Then, to the surprise of the old man sitting alone at the table, who could feel someone fumbling with the zip of his pants. He looked down to see that the young stud who'd just crawled across the pub was trying to undo his zip.
He tried valiantly to get him to stop, much to the anguished protestations of the younger man. With a lot of please Sir I don't have a lot of time....' and just hold still, Sir. Please, Sir...', until, in the end, the young man caught both of the older mans' hands in one of his. While with the other hand he finally got the old man's' pants undone enough to fish his cock out. He swallowed it right down to the root and started to suck it for all he was worth. Meanwhile, the old man gave up. I mean, who was he to argue if some young stud of a man wanted to suck his cock in public, and if truth be told, it had been a very long time since anyone had wanted to suck his cock that much that he fought him for it. So, he made himself comfortable and did his best to ignore the gathering crowd, and left the young man to it.
Just as he felt the old guy shoot his load down his throat, he heard something hit the floor just near his left hand, and he then heard his phone chime to let him know he had another message. `Very good. You have passed so far. Now your last test is that you have to be home in an hour and I will meet you there. If you are not there in an hour, I will walk away.'
He looked up at the old man, "so you're not Sir?" he asked. "Um, well I am a sir..."
He extradited himself from out of the mans' crotch and out from under the table. He went back to the bar thinking he would have another drink or two before he drove home, only to discover all of his things were gone. He questioned the bar staff to see if anyone had seen who had taken his things, but unfortunately, like everyone else in the bar, they were too interested in the floor show to notice anything else.
His phone chimed again. He looked at it, `Tick Tock' was all it said. With no other option, he ran out of the pub and ran all the way home. Like most people, he didn't wear a watch as he relied on his phone to tell him the time. But because he was running, literally for his life, as he really wanted to meet his new Master.
He got to his front gate and whipped his phone out of his bum bag, only to discover it had automatically set its' timer going and it looked as though he had 2 minutes left. So, he stood panting at his front gate, until he noticed there were some things left on his doorstep, and his outside light was on which he hadn't turned on when he left for the pub. He was sure of it.
He walked up the front steps and crossed his front porch and found some handcuffs, leg irons and a spreader bar on his front stoop, along with a note. The note told him to strip and fold all of Sirs' clothing very carefully and leave them on the stoop. He then had to manacle his ankles together, put the spreader bar between his knees, and then to handcuff himself. He then had to kneel up on his knees with his hands on his head facing the street.
He had to stop and think about this last instruction because the front door was only a little over 2 metres from his front gate. Which meant that he would be in full view of anyone who happened to walk past on either side of the street. He would also be clearly visible to his neighbours from across the street and found himself asking the question, again, if this is really what he wanted. But without realising it, he had started to strip and to fold up Sirs' clothes very carefully and placing them on Sirs' front stoop. When he had stripped naked, he took the leg irons and locked his ankles together. When they were securely locked in place, he picked up the spreader bar and attached it between his knees, which made him look bowlegged. He very carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of Sirs' front door, facing away from the door. So now his cock and balls were clearly on display to anyone who cared to have a look, and as there were no keys left for any of the locks, he was now totally at Sirs' mercy. For Sir to do anything he wanted with him, and he was powerless to stop him. But even as that realisation hit home with him, he locked the handcuffs around his wrists and put his hands on top of his head, and tried valiantly to stop his cock from leaking precum that was pooling on the tiles beneath his cock.
He didn't know how long he had been kneeling there for when he felt the door behind him open. A hand reached around his head and held his nose closed until he had to open his mouth to breathe. With that first breath, something was shoved into his mouth, and he started to suckle on it because his nose was still being held close he had to open his mouth again. This time the thing in his mouth was removed and held in front of his mouth instead, he thought he knew what was being asked of him and he stuck his tongue out and the object was rubbed against his willing tongue. When it was decided that it was wet enough he felt a hand pushing him between his shoulder blades, so he leant forwards until his face was almost on the tiles of Sirs' porch, which consequently raised his arse in the air.
He felt a finger probing his arse, which eventually was joined by three more fingers, one after the other until he had a total of four fingers up his arse. The fingers were removed, and he felt the blunt tip of a butt plug being forced into his waiting arse, but it was bigger than anything he'd ever had up there before. In fact, he thought his arse lips were going to be torn to shreds before he could accommodate the whole plug, he vaguely wondered if this was how his `conquests' felt at his wrestling matches. Eventually, Sir worked the whole butt plug up his very sore arse. Now he had something pushing permanently on his prostrate quite hard; consequently, his cock was now ramrod straight, and the precum was running out of his cock. Like water out of a hose with the tap turned on full.
Sir grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him upright again, until he was kneeling upright on his knees, and told him to lock his hands behind his neck. With his fingers interlocked. "This is kneeling display," Sir told him. Still holding the hair at the nape of his neck, Sir continued to pull him back until he was resting on his heels, "this is kneeling rest," Sir told him. He then felt the door close at his back. So now he was kneeling naked as the day he was born, with a spreader bar clearly visible between his knees; that's if anyone even wanted to look at his knees. When he was kneeling there completely naked, with his cock rock-hard, pointing straight at the street before him with precum pouring out of the end of it.
Now. He was beginning to wonder if he wasn't in fact, in over his head, but how was he going to call anyone, even if he wanted to? He was locked out of Sirs' house without a stitch on. He had no phone, and he couldn't use it anyway because his hands were still handcuffed, and he didn't have the key. So, he had no other choice, but to wait Sir out and see what happened.
He wasn't sure how long he had spent on his knees in bondage on Sirs' front porch, but it had to be longer than an hour, he has been rock-hard the entire time. As well as leaking precum the entire time as well. He didn't think anyone could produce so much precum. There was quite a pool of it between his aching knees.
He felt the front door open again, "Umm..Sir..." he stammered, only to feel the door slam at his back. This time he waited for what seemed like forever before the door opened again, so he tried to speak to Sir again. "Um, Sir I just..." Again the door slammed at his back. This time he was there so long he thought Sir must have forgotten all about him, so when the door eventually opened again, he didn't make a sound. This time he heard a `tsk tsk' the only reason could have been for all the precum pooling at his knees. "Well", was the only other thing he heard. So, he very carefully moved away from the puddle of precum. Then leaning forward very carefully he licked up all of his own precum from off the tiles of Sirs' front porch and rocked back onto his haunches.
"Eyes down," he heard before he had a chance to even have a glance at Sir. So, all he could see were a pair of 12" red stitched lace up boots topped off with, what looked like, some tight leather pants. He did open his mouth to ask a question but closed it instantly as he didn't want to spend any more time on Sirs' front porch on his knees "since you have finally learnt your lesson. Come." Was his next command, and the boots turned and disappeared from view, and he was met with his next with his next problem. How to get up the half step to be able to get inside Sirs' house. He got as close to the step as he was able to, then leaning all the way over to his right, he was able to just get his left knee up onto the step. He then threw himself as hard as he could to the left while also trying to throw himself forwards onto Sirs' stoop and just managed to get himself onto Sirs' stoop. Holding himself very erect he swung first one knee forwards, followed by his other knee. This way he was able to `walk' down the passage, and by the time he reached the end of the passage, he was sweating profusely.
He'd made it to Sirs' loungeroom when he heard the front door being closed. He must have missed walking' past Sir without noticing him because he was concentrating on walking' without falling flat on his face. "Kneeling display," was all that he heard, so he remained upright on his poor sore knees.
Sir came and stood in front of him, and he remembered to keep his eyes downcast. So, could still only see Sirs' red stitched boots and the lower part of Sirs' leather pants. "I must confess, I'm very disappointed. I only advertise on the dark web to attract responses from slaves who have had some training, but you seem to have had none. When I saw your set up downstairs, I thought you were a serious bondage bottom, but I can clearly see I was wrong. I will reimburse myself for my outlay up to this point, and then I think we will call it quits. I would suggest, strongly, that if you aren't ready to play with the big boys, that you stay off the dark web.
Is this acceptable to you?"
He wisely didn't reply, he just waited. "Speak," was the one-word command he was given. "No, Sir," he replied, "you could teach me to be your boy. Couldn't you Sir?" He said as tears sprung, unbidden to his eyes. "This is all I have ever wanted. To find someone who could teach me to be his boy, Sir."
"Well. You do seem to be teachable. I'll give you that," Sir replied, "but I just don't know if I want to start all over again." Sir was quiet for a while. Sir sighed, "Ok. I will give you the rest of the weekend. If, by Sunday night, I don't think you have improved enough. Then I'm just going to have to recoup my losses and leave. But, you really shouldn't be fucking around on the dark web if you don't know what you're doing. The outcome could prove disastrous for you. Oh well, let's see..."
Sir stepped out of his line of sight. He heard Sir pick something up and felt Sir move behind him and felt Sir unlock the handcuffs, spreader bar, and leg irons, but he didn't dare change his position. All he got for his trouble was a pat on the head. But to him, it was almost as if god himself had just smiled on him, and he couldn't help but beam, and bask in the pleasure of doing something right for his Master.
"Now," said Sir, "stand up."
Which he did on very wobbly legs. "Now stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, and your hands interlocked behind your neck with your fingers interlocked."
He complied instantly. For which he received another pat on his head. "Good boy. This is `standing display'. Now. Stand with your feet closer together, and your hands by your side." Again, he complied with Sirs' instructions. And again, it solicited a pat on the head. "Good boy. This is standing rest.
Now. Let's see if you remembered what you've been taught. Kneeling rest."
Instantly he dropped to his knees. Spreading his knees as wide as he could with his hands behind his neck with his fingers interlocked, with his bare arse resting on his heels. "Kneeling display." Instantly he rose up on his knees. He watched as Sir lifted his right foot slightly off the floor. He watched as Sir moved his foot behind himself, and before he realised what Sir was going to do. He watched as Sirs booted foot swung towards him, but still he didn't react until Sirs' booted foot connected with his totally exposed nuts and cock. The force of the kick was strong enough to knock him over backwards. He rolled onto his side clutching his throbbing groin, with his knees drawn up to his chest while he tried desperately to breathe.
"Kneeling display," Sir barked the order at him.
Reluctantly, and somewhat shakily he slowly rose up to `kneeling display'. "Good. I see your cocks' gone down. Don't make me do it again. Understand! Speak"
"No. Sir," he gasped.
"Standing display," Sir barked at him.
Again, somewhat unsteadily he got to his feet. He spread his feet shoulder width apart and locked his fingers behind his neck.
"Standing rest," Sir barked.
He moved his feet closer together and dropped his hands to his side.
Sir left the room with him standing there. He almost sighed a sigh of relief but wasn't sure if Sir was within earshot or not. He could still feel the butt plug pressing cruelly on his prostrate. Still with the same amount of force, but thankfully his traitorous cock stayed down this time. Or was it, in fact, coming back to life? He instantly tried to think of something else, anything else but the pain in his arse and his thickening cock. But, try as he might he couldn't stop thinking of that butt plug in his arse and how he felt fuller with it in than he ever had in his entire life. Which, of course, made him think about his cock that much more. Because it was being thought about, no matter how hard he tried to think of something else, it was creeping back to life and was now almost at half-mast.
"Standing display!" Instantly he spread his feet shoulder width apart and locked his hands behind his head. "I thought too that might be the case," Sir said as he walked towards him with his hands behind his back. When Sir was standing in front of him, he brought his hands out from behind his back. He was almost afraid that Sir might have some other torture device for his poor sore cock and balls, but he was relieved to see it was nothing but a tea towel. Sir scoped his cock and balls up in the tea towel and tied it off.
When Sir pulled the ends of the tea towel tight, he discovered that it was full of ice. He almost jumped and cried out, when his genitalia made contact with the ice, but he remembered what the last time he spoke out of turn and kept as quiet as he could.
"Good! Hold," Sir said. He instantly dropped one hand and held the tea towel and ice in place, when all he really wanted to do was throw it to the floor and go and have a good cry on his bed. Sir took the belt from his shoulder, which he hadn't noticed when Sir had walked in, which was understandable as he still had his eyes locked on the floor. Sir cinched it around his waist and used it to hold the tea towel in place.
"Standing display." Instantly he complied.
"Ok," Sir began, "you've had a big introduction tonight into what real bondage feels like. You still have to, as do I have to decide if this arrangement is what we both want. Now, what are you called outside of this house? Speak."
"Um. My name is Eric. Sir."
"Well then, Eric, outside of this house you will still answer to, Eric, but inside this house, if I call you anything, it will be `boy.' But I expect you to come if I whistle or click my fingers. Is that understood? Speak."
"Yes. Sir."
"Good now there is only one other thing we have to do tonight." With that Sir turned around to get something he had left on the table behind him, and Eric realised that standing, with his eyes downcast he actually got to see Sirs' cock. Even though it was encased in the tight leather of his pants, and Eric was very glad that his cock was still encased in ice because he would have got a boner instantly. It would have to be the biggest soft cock he had ever seen, other than his own of course. But he thought that Sirs' soft cock was bigger than his, and he couldn't wait until he got to try and service Sirs' cock.
At that moment, Sir turned around and told him to go into kneeling display. Eric heard Sir turn on the clippers seconds before he felt it eat into the hair on the head, but again he reminded himself that he was the one who had contacted Sir, and not the other way around. He wanted this, so consequently, he submitted to Sir shaving his head. When he had shaved his head bald, Sir told him to hold his arms out to the sides, and Sir proceeded to shave his arms. Followed by his pits, and his chest and back hair.
Sir told him to stand in standing display, which Eric did instantly, while Sir got a stool and told Eric to turn around. He shaved all the hair from his arse cheeks and pushed him in his lower back until he was bent over at the waist exposing his hole, with the cruel butt plug in situ, to Sir. Sir proceeded to shave all the hair he could find in Eric's crack. Moving the butt plug out of the way while he shaved around Eric's hole, all while the plug remained in his arse. He told Eric to stand up and turn around. With Eric facing him, Sir removed the belt and tea towel full of ice and proceeded to shave his treasure trail and pubic bush. Pulling on Eric's cock and balls to keep them out of his way. He continued down Eric's legs until he was totally denuded of hair.
Finally, Sir turned the clippers off, and Eric thought that was going to be the worst of it. But when Sir turned back he had a wicked looking straight razor in his hands. He told Eric to kneel in front of him, and he covered him in shaving crème and proceeded to shave him all over again. Eric could feel Sir dragging the straight razor over his scalp, and he prayed that Sir wouldn't nick him. Sir moved down and shaved Eric's face, so, now he was clean shaven for the first time in years. By the time his head was clean shaven, Eric started to relax and trusted that Sir knew what he was doing. Sir continued and shaved his arms, pits, and back. Sir then turned his attention to Eric's chest. Eric thought it was a good thing that his paps were slightly indented into his pecs. Because while he was learning to trust his Master, he wasn't totally there yet.
He stood in standing display, while Sir shaved his abdomen and pubic area. Pulling on his cock and balls to move them out of the way, and to ensure he shaved every single hair. Eric sweated it while Sir shaved his sack. He turned around so Sir could shave his arse. He bent over to give Sir unfettered access to his crack and hole. Again, Sir left the butt plug in situ while he shaved around it. While Eric was bent over, Sir shaved his perineum. Eric then stood upright while Sir finished shaving his legs.
When Sir had finished, there wasn't a single hair left on Eric's body other than his eyebrows and eyelashes. He ordered Eric into the bathroom, and after setting the temperature of the water, he ordered Eric to wash, while Sir stood there and watched. When Eric got into the shower, he found that it was stone cold, but he had suspected that that was going to happen. He washed all the shaving crème and remaining hair off his body so that when he got out of the shower, he was as bald as the day he was born.
Sir threw an old towel at him, and Eric dried himself off as best he could. Sir had Eric clean all his hair up off the floor in the lounge. He then told Eric it was time to go to bed, as he thought Eric might have had enough for one night. Mentally Eric agreed and couldn't wait to get upstairs to his king size bed. To stretch out and have a good sleep. Sir bade him follow him, which Eric did. Sir led him out the back door and over to the clothes line. Sir pulled a collar from his back pocket and laid it around Eric's neck. From Sir's other back pocket, he pulled out a length of chain, and from one of his front pockets, he removed a padlock. He closed the collar closed around Eric's neck and locked it closed, with the padlock that also locked the chain in place attached to the collar. Sir removed another padlock from his other front pocket and locked the other end of the chain around the base of the clothesline.
When he had finished, he turned and went back inside, turning off the light and leaving Eric there for the night. Eric laid down and got as comfortable as he could on the cold concrete and tried to get some sleep.
Let me know what you think Bastian meetingfrogs@outlook.com