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Gay Male Submissive, 69,  Boston, Massachusetts
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prisonpug

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Friends:
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Been doing this since a teenager. Spent twelve years in prison which ended fifteen years ago. My attitude and perspective of life has changed radically since then. Looking to become involved with a man who possesses a creative mind-- someone who can be well respected-- that I can dedicate the remainder of my life to. A man I can ever work to please-- a man who becomes the first thing I think about when I awake-- the last thing I think about when I go to sleep someone I can hope to also dream about when sleeping.A few notes regarding the prison experienceMost of the men that used abused pug were black. While such was not enjoyed at the time, there is currently a longing for that culture and their mostly large appendages. One such Man trained pug to eagerly comply with complete daily toilet service.All of pugs teeth were removed early on in prison.So much more-- but this is enough to start. Thanks for reading, Sirs! Results from bdsmtest.org 100 Submissive 99 Degradee 98 Exhibitionist 97 Rope bunny 97 Slave 94 Experimentalist 93 Pet 82 Non-monogamist 72 Voyeur 64 Primal (Prey) 58 Masochist 55 GirlBoy 37 Brat 20 Ageplayer 10 Vanilla 2 DaddyMommy 2 Primal (Hunter) 2 Sadist 1 Brat tamer 1 Degrader 1 Owner 1 Rigger 1 Switch 0 Dominant 0 MasterMistress


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 prisonpug

 Submissive Male

 Boston 

 Massachusetts

 Willing to Relocate

 6' 0"

 250 lbs

 69

 Gay

 Caucasian

 11/11/05

 06/21/21

Actively Seeking:

Dominant Male

Submissive Male

Switch Men

Mascdom Couples

Friends Only

 Lives For:

 Exhibitionism (Beginner)

 Mental Bondage (Beginner)

 Outdoor Bondage (Beginner)

 Role Playing (Beginner)

 Aromatherapy (Beginner)

 Body Art (Beginner)

 Tattoos (Beginner)

 Atheism (Expert)

 Loves:

 Travel

 Bicycling

 Camping

 Walking (Expert)

 Anal Play

 Blindfolds

 Body Worship (Beginner)

 Bondage

 Cages (Beginner)

 Chastity (Beginner)

 Collars

 Enemas

 Housework Service (Beginner)

 Hypnosis (Beginner)

 Leashes (Beginner)

 Masks (Wearing) (Beginner)

 Massage (Getting)

 Obedience Training (Beginner)

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 Pony/Puppy Roleplay (Beginner)

 Public Play  (Beginner)

 Sensory Deprivation (Beginner)

 Shibari  (Beginner)

 Spanking (Beginner)

 Speech Restrictions

 Suspension (Beginner)

 Theatrical Scenes (Beginner)

 Vibrators

 Watersports

 Wax play (Beginner)

 Whips (Beginner)

 Photography

 Lifestyle BDSM (Beginner)

 Blue Grass

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 Classical Music

 Country Music

 Eighties Music

 Oldies

 Pop Music

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 Seventies Music

 Likes:

 Hiking (Beginner)

 Horseback Riding

 Begging

 Chest Play

 Canes and Crops

 Corner Time

 Electrical Play (Beginner)

 Eye Contact Restrictions (Beginner)

 Domestic Service (Beginner)

 Gags (Beginner)

 Massage (Giving) (Beginner)

 Medical Play (Beginner)

 Strap-Ons (Beginner)

 Vacuum Stimulation

 Alternative Medicine (Beginner)

 Industrial Music

 Jazz

 Curious About:

 Rollerblading

 Skate Boarding (Beginner)

 Yoga

 Genital Punishment

 Fire Play

 Foot Worship

 Gas Masks

 Hoods (Beginner)

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 Local BDSM Community

 Female Supremacy

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 Basketball

 Boxing

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 Munches

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 Catholicism (Expert)

 Christianity (Expert)

 Football

 Kick Boxing

 Street Hockey

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Journal Entries:
3/28/2018 1:06:56 PM

I've recently received a rather kind and generous message from a user here. My response was rather lengthy. I've decided to edit the message a bit and post it here:

I've been so busy lately doing things for others and when it comes to things I should be doing, I'm too tired.

Thanks for your kind words. Truth be told, I've become so weary of the self-appointed doms and the self-serving miscreants that I continually seem to attract on these sites. (Currently, I have accounts on Adam4Adam, Recon and of course, CollarSpace. I was spending some time on Craig's List but the personals there are now history.

In the fifteen years since my release, I may have been with five different guys; four of which were one time only and that was only to suck their cocks. The fifth was the only one that had any degree of warmth to it and again, that was me using my mouth to service body parts. He moved out of Massachusetts and I heard nothing further from him.

The prison experience was at a minimum difficult. Still today, I am reconciling those experiences-- both forced as well as willing. The black element (or perhaps I should say "brown") is key in my attempting to reconcile those experiences.

Perhaps some history would be in order regarding speaking to my decision to develop my breasts.

Back at the end of 2016, I was having difficulty seeing. I do much computer work-- setting up PCs, networks and web sites. When I went to have my eyes examined, I was informed that I was suffering with cataracts.

I was referred to an ophthalmologist. Unfortunately, having no trust or desire to interact with any government agency and having no insurance and very little income, I was at odds with how to proceed. A few months later, my sight had become so milky that I was unable to drive. As time progressed, very quickly I might add, the cataracts became worse. Watching television became a challenge. I hung dark drapes in my room and found myself sleeping days and being up at night when it was dark.

Finally, I embraced Mass Health and was given a Standard card. I went to the ophthalmologist with my Mass Health Standard Card and after many examinations by remarkable technology, was told that I needed to have a physical before I could have the cataract procedure.

I hadn't seen a doctor or been examined in thirty-five years. As with much in my life, I had no faith in them and actually resented their know-it-all attitude.

Just prior to the cataracts becoming all consuming, I had a problem with my pathetic little cock. I am uncircumcised and the foreskin would no longer pull back over the glans. The foreskin had always been able to expose the head of my cock but now it was but a tight little ring around the urethra.

I begged my way in at the local queer community health center and with a payment of ten dollars was examined. I was informed that I was suffering from PHIMOSIS. Immediately, the doctor was scheduling me to go to a full service hospital to be circumcised. I was angered with his presumption that I would accept his direction without question and informed him and her that I would have to research further before doing anything. They kept mentioning "being swollen" as I continued to protest that I had said nothing about any swelling-- that there had been none.

I hadn't made the connection at that time but I was having trouble masturbating for my cock wouldn't get completely hard which was a new experience.

So, back to the physical exam. In my twelve years in prison, I had always refused any medical attention save the extraction of all my teeth. The staff knew me well enough that they never called me for "med call" but rather would summon me around seven o'clock in the evening to sign a refusal form.

At the community health center I had visited, I was attended by a young female intern. I was NOT impressed but being a pauper, I was polite and held my tongue. (Unusal for me as I tend to be brash, bold and rather blunt.) In the process of these examinations, I dealt with three such female interns. The more I dealt with them, the more discouraged I became. Finally, I demanded to see an "attending" (was unfamiliar with the nomenclature at that time). A young male doctor responded and in no uncertain terms I told him that I was done with being the fodder for daddy's little girls to become grown up physicians. I won't detail the lack of "bedside manner" afforded me by them.

When all was said and done, I was informed that I was suffering from diabetes and hyper-tension. I was prescribed meds for the diabetes and a minimal for the hypertension.

The focus was to bring down the numbers for my afflictions so that I could have the cataracts taken care of.

By the time this was done, it was the fall.

In September and again in October, 2017, I had one eye done and then the other.

It was curious as I had been asked what was my pharmacy and I responded: Pharmacy, I don't have one! (As an adolescent, mom would not allow even an irin unless one was quite sick.)

I studied all that I needed to know about my afflictions and purchased a blood pressure monitor as well as a device to check my glucose. Currently, my blood pressure is excellent (about 120 / 70) and my glucose averages between 100 and 130.

My cock no longer gets hard.

I have stopped taking the meds as of a month and a half ago.

Now to respond to my breasts.

I have switched to a combination of tea tree and lavender oil. From the regimen I developed in prison, in the morning, I shower and shave my body using baby shampoo. (Shaving cream dries out the skin.) I bathe with TONE SOAP.

After my shower, I use tea tree oil on any blemishes that I have noticed. I massage my breasts with the combination of tea tree and lavender oil paying attention to my nipples (which are getting bigger). After about ten minutes of rubbing the essential oils into my breasts, I take two delightful suction cups with a twisting mechanism and place them over my nipples. As I twist the suction plunger, it draws my nipples out with the most exquisite pain. Sometimes, there is a leaking of fluid and a light blood color after leaving them on for twenty minutes to half an hour. Subsequent to that, the nipples develop some crusting which falls away in a few days. Each such practice makes the nipples a bit bigger each time.

In the evening, I take another shower and soon after coat my body with coco-butter. I sleep with the coco-butter on and the subsequent morning shower is a delight as the sensation of the coco-butter being washed away is actually exciting! Of course, this assists in the daily shaving maintenance.

I am naked in the house always and would be naked all the time were I able to do so without offending or getting into trouble. (Oh, to live in Vermont!) I find myself massaging my breasts frequently and excite myself by squeezing and pinching my nipples.

As of a month ago, I have begun taking PUERARIA MIRIFICA once in the morning and again in the evening every day. I ordered it on eBay and after a while, it arrived from Thailand.

I can no longer get hard enough to masturbate to an orgasm. However, my new best friend has become the vacuum cleaner hose. With my pathetic little cock and the foreskin I wouldn't let them cut away, I am able to achieve the most compelling orgasms!

I have many videos of brown skinned men fucking white holes. They excite me! I have them on my server so that I can view them on my fifty inch television. On my computer, I play-- full screen-- this video I have of a young Asian guy poopin' in one of their toilet holes (they don't use toilets as we know them). He has such a long thick continuous turd that dwarfs his small body. While I am quite confused about such, I know that this relates to experiences put upon


6/4/2017 3:50:47 AM
pug has added some photos. 

The first is one that has been up for awhile.

The next is after shaving its body as it had been trained to do in prison.

The next shows the tits that have been growing (unintended) instigated, pug believes, by the use of Tea Tree Oil on blemishes and the like.  Uncertain if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

The rest of the photos were taken some time after its release from prison in 2003.  pug believes that with inspiration / proper motivation, it will be able to get back to its former body type.  it has experienced such motivation previously and knows how driven it can become when serving / pleasing Master.

Note: those "outfits" were worn in prison when it was made to provide service.

Since it has been going through some psychological and emotional changes, it will be installing further journal entries to detail thoughts and hopes.

9/28/2013 5:57:14 PM

Unlike most that say they will update later, pug will.  Am back after a year's hiatus and much has been experienced.   (Unfortunately, none of it sexual or lifestyle as pertains to this site.)


2/10/2011 2:30:26 AM

Superior?  pug's definition?  A legend in their own mind!


2/9/2011 2:53:02 PM

Back in the late '60s when pug started coming to terms with being queer, it began to realize that those who would reject it for its sexuality were actually doing it a favor; they showed pug that they weren't worth knowing and in doing so, saved pug the expense of investing time and effort in an association that would never grow to friendship.

In the early '70s, pug had to come out again; this time to the queers that it had come to know.  In the process pug endured the trauma of reconciling wanting to be a man with needing to be bound, abused, fucked like a bitch and wanting to be subservient-- not as a scene but rather as a lifestyle.  Once again, those queers not worth knowing made themselves quite evident.  (Kink or one's freak were not PC back then.)

Here on CM, pug has found this premise works yet again.  When pug observes someone's profile that it finds particularly compelling-- mostly by narrative-- it sends a quick note complimenting the author.  Being 61 as well as most likely not being attractive to many who are younger is something that pug understands resulting that in those quick notes, pug wishes the author well and relates that it felt a need to relate such and wasn't looking to connect.  (Truth be told, most of such notes go to those who are NOT Doms!)  Those who respond with a comment or at least an acknowledgment are the ones who actually walk as they talk; the ones who don't, well, thanks for keeping pug from wasting any time.

Btw, only looking for one and most know that it takes many failures before discovering success!


12/1/2009 3:48:38 AM

Have got to say it: as pug browses so many of these self-proclaimed DOMINANTS, it muses how many of them have never seen a meal that they didn't like.  If they can't discipline themselves...


2/17/2008 10:22:12 PM

It’s been awhile since pug has posted here so this post is overdue.

pug’s life is seldom dull. The household it lives in is constantly in a state of drama (not of its doing; yet pug is the focal point when there is nothing else to blame for their bad behavior). While ever becoming less sensitive to such, pug hopes that it doesn’t become entirely indifferent for that would indicate the final erosion of its humanity. (Perhaps not a bad thing if dog training were on the agenda perhaps?)

There have been several instant messages via Yahoo that have been troubling. pug has a screen name of prisonpug there. Such aberrant messages says much of the dangers that lurk on the WWW. At one point, pug considered deleting its various instant messenger screen names and the memberships to the four or five queer social sites it subscribes to (such as collarme).

However, that thought might be academic. Currently congress is in the final throes of passing legislation that demands that pug register any and all internet identifiers with prevailing government sex offender registries. Failure to do so commands prison time. pug muses how the owners of these various queer social sites pug subscribes to will deal with such an event. The purpose of registering sex offender identifiers is about more than protecting children-- it is about further punishment through banishment.

pug used to be such an optimist! Now it bills itself as being pragmatic. However, it feels that slowly but surely this government is beating into pug that the glass is much more than half empty. it imagines these social sites where pug mingles with those queers that it can relate to will eventually follow the government’s lead and delete its online persona when its online identifiers become public record as belonging to a sex offender.

But this is paltry when compared to how many states are currently working to implement the federal Adam Walsh law. If they don’t incorporate this federal law into their state penal code, they will be subject to losing federal funds.

This law is all encompassing! pug suspects that when implemented this law will change pug’s assessment from this state’s level 2 to a federal government assessment of tier 3. Such mandates that pug visit the police station four times a year for photographs and personal information update.

Further, this law all but eliminates pug’s fourth amendment rights. Law enforcement needs neither warrant nor probable cause to search pug’s person, property (home, car), computer, personal papers etc.

Additionally, there is a state senator who is working diligently to pass a 1000’ foot law here in Massachusetts. The current version has no grandfather clause which would leave pug susceptible to being forced to move.

Next month will mark five years since pug’s wonderful counsel won its freedom from a lifetime of civil commitment. The trial was an arduous three week event where all pug knew and had learned of the government and its players had been reinforced. To see an honest judge rebuff government prosecutors for lying and disobeying court instructions was heartening. Yet, five years later, pug must confess it feels that the laws being implemented by this society and its government is killing pug by inches. pug grows smaller by the day.

Most can’t understand or don’t wish to understand how civil liberties for those of us at the fringes are being eliminated. pug prays that before too much longer it might discover something that it can believe in-- something that makes sense.

Be well,

-pug


9/27/2007 10:36:11 PM
Due to many considerations, Mile High City didn't happen.  It would appear that another season of isolation here in Brockton is pug's lot.  it muses what torment the nazi sex offender police will subject it to in the coming year.  As the days pass, it wakes with progressively less anticipation of what each day might hold. 

6/19/2007 5:48:04 PM
Reaching out has potentially created some options.  With some luck and due dilligence, pug may be living outside of mile high city this fall.  Am looking forward to this opportunity; certainly have been patient and the punk is due for a break!

6/1/2007 1:44:55 AM
Have finished re-reading my all time favorite story:  Mason Powell's "The Brig".  Listening to music such as "Walk The Night" by the Skatt Brothers certainly made it that much more exciting!  For those of you who have not read The Brig, there is a reasonable sample of it here:
The Brig (A Continuation...)
by Samhexum <Samhexum at aol com>

In 1984, Mason Powell wrote a classic novel of erotic military torture called THE BRIG. While many have clamored for a sequel, he never (to my knowledge) wrote one. I have taken it upon myself to finish the story. I've also got the audacity to change his ending...I never liked his (too convenient and radical an ending). My story begins at the end of chapter 16...

BACK-STORY: The novel, written in the first-person, is about an idealistic young navy man who had walked off his watch one night as an act of conscientious objection. As punishment, he was sent to THE BRIG until his discharge would be finalized. When he went into THE BRIG he was straight; that would soon change. Each prisoner was assigned a three-man team that systematically worked him, both mentally and physically, until the prisoner was broken and put back together as a dog-slave, unable to get excited by anything other than a strong man abusing him. While the subject still had independent thought, his will and reactions were given over to his trainers through the systematic use of torture, rape, whippings, hypnosis, and drugs. By the end of training, each dog would only be able to respond to orders, and not his own thoughts or impulses. It was explained that this brainwashing would make them better soldiers, obeying all orders immediately and without questions. By the end of chapter 16, Rover had learned to suck _c_o_c_k_, drink piss, and think of himself only as a dog. He spoke only on command, and never begged for mercy during puinishment/training sessions. He had learned to love the whip and having a big _c_o_c_k_ up his ass--and the rougher, the better. His trainers were a sadistic trio: the sergeant, a muscular, hairy bear of a man, with a fat _c_o_c_k_, and deceptively soothing voice; he made the most frightening words and excruciating punishments almost seem like endearments. The red-headed corporal was a slender, tightly-muscled farmboy with a real sadistic streak and a long, slender _c_o_c_k_. The dark corporal was tall, and had the washboard abs and powerful arms the navy boy had only dreamed of one day developing. He also had the biggest _c_o_c_k_ Rover had ever seen; even soft, it barely fit in his mouth. Rover thought it had to be at least 12 inches long, and incredibly thick. Rover thought he'd be torn apart the first time the dark corporal had _f_u_c_k_ed him; now he'd even grown to crave those attacks.

All during his captivity, Rover had been shown films of a dark-haired sailor going through the same training process, although with a trio of blond marines as the trainers. The dark-haired sailor was ahead of Rover in the process, and so each film served as a coming-attraction reel for Rover. After several weeks, Rover finally is put into a room with the sailor, and must torture him, or be tortured himself. It seems that this is part of each prisoner's training; it breaks him of the last of his humanity. Understanding the sailor's pain, Rover tells him he must be tortured, but that it will be with love and understanding. When the session is over, Rover sees something in the sailor's eyes, but the sailor is too out of it to be conscious of the bond that passed between the two. Rover is later punished for inserting his personal thoughts into the session, and given electro-avoidance-therapy to make him cringe from any thought of love and afftection. He will only respond to pain and torture from now on...

This is where we pick up...

CHAPTER 17: By now I had lost any reserve of will that I'd been able to retain. I went through the daily training sessions without resistance, and serviced as many men as I was assigned to. I drank piss as if it was water, and swallowed _c_o_c_k_s like I'd been a sideshow sword-swallower all my life. My time in the brig seemed to drag on endlessly; was it really only eight weeks?; it seemed longer. I didn't know what else they could do to me, but the sergeant had told me I would soon be able to cum on command, which would be the only way I'd ever come again, since I was never allowed to touch myself without permission. After that, he'd fix me so I'd even sleep or wake on command. My viewing of the sailor's films were always scheduled a few days before I was subjected to the same fate; that way I'd have several sleepless nights of anticipation.

One day I was brought into the exercise room, where lately I'd been the featured attraction. It was here that I was lifted into the air by a winch in the ceiling attached to a rope around my wrists, then slowly lowered and impaled onto a giant vibrating _d_i_l_d_o_, bigger even than the dark corporal's _c_o_c_k_. When the vibrator was turned on, my _c_o_c_k_ would get instantly hard and would stay that way. During my earlier training, my hands would be untied, and another prisoner would be made to lick caress my whole whole body, except for my _c_o_c_k_. I would have to keep my hands at my side or clasped behind my back; if I touched myself, I would be subjection to special punishments. I never touched myself. My excitement would build to unbearable levels, and just when I thought my _c_o_c_k_ would explode, the sergeant would bark "CUM!" and I would. I was getting good at cumming on command; today would begin the next step...

The session began the same as usual, but as soon as I was impaled, the sergeant took out a pair of sharp tit-clamps and snapped them onto my tits. I groaned with pleasure as the teeth bit into my tender skin. The prisoner working on my body was now working his way up my thighs. The combination of pleasure and pain was exquisite and my moaning increased. The sergeant smiled at this. I was turning out to be the best dog he'd ever trained. He went to the side of the room and returned with a riding crop. Telling the other prisoner to suck on my balls, but not touch my _c_o_c_k_ at all, the sergeant began working my ass over with the crop. It was all too much for me; my ass was on fire, my balls were sending waves of pleasure through me, and I could feel the cum rising in my engorged _c_o_c_k_. Just then, the sergeant yanked off the tit-clamps. I threw my head back and let out a moan so intense it made all the other prisoners in the room stop and take notice. (Of course, they were all later punished for interrupting what they'd been doing.) The sergeant came around to stand in front of me, and began whipping my aching nipples with the crop. My screams built to a crescendo, and the sergeant said "CUM!", and I did, my body heaving and spasming wildly from the release.

This session was repeated daily until the sergeant could make me cum any time he wanted just by torturing me, then giving me the order. I also found myself getting more and more turned on by the ever-increasing levels of pain I was subjected to. And I never begged for mercy. I was becoming a good slave.

CHAPTER 18: The physical ordeals were bad enough, but sometimes the brainwashing exercises were worse. After he'd trained me to cum on command as a result of punishment and pain, the next step was for him to take command of my very state of conciousness. I was kept up for days at a time, and punished any time I might drift off. I was also hypnotized at this time, and given more drugs. I was repeatedly told that I could not sleep until the sergeant gave his permission. When he did give permission, I was given ten minutes to fall asleep, or I'd be stimulated and kept awake for hours more. Even when I did manage to fall asleep, I'd be awakened after a short while. I was given the post-hypnotic suggestion that even when I was asleep I'd be able to hear the sergeants voice and would do whatever he told me. First he'd captured my concious mind; now he owned me when I was asleep. Eventually I reached the point where I could not fall asleep with his command, no matter how tired I was. And no matter how tired I was, even when asleep I would hear his voice and awaken on command. The only thing I did on my own anymore without permission was breathe. My training was nearing an end.

CHAPTER 19: One day the two corporals came to get me, and they brought a uniform with them. I hadn't worn clothes since my first days in the brig, and it was a strange sensation. After all, I thought of myself as a dog now, and how many dogs wear uniforms? As we silently walked down the halls to a part of the building I'd never been in before, I wondered what was about to happen to me. I knew better than to ask either of the corporals--they wouldn't answer, then they'd punish me for talking without permission. We continued on in silence.

Eventually we reached an oak-paneled door. I saw the nameplate; it was the sergeant's office. He was inside, along with a well-built man in civilian clothes. The man was tall, maybe mid-40s, with salt-and-pepper hair. Something about him seemed familiar.

The sergeant spoke first. When he addressed me by my first name I almost didn't respond. Not only did I now respond to "Rover", I'd begun to think of it as my real name. He introduced the man with him--it was my home-town senator. (No wonder he looked familiar!) I'd forgotten about the letter I'd written to him before I was sent here. It had been so long ago, I'd just assumed he'd never replied. He apologized, saying it had actually fallen behind his secretary's desk. He responded as soon as the letter was found. When he investigated, he'd found out there'd been an error in the orders given upon my arrival; instead of eight WEEKS detention, the orders had said eight MONTHS. I'd been here 5 months longer than I should've, and if that letter hadn't been found, I'd have been in for one more. My head began to spin at the thought of what I'd gone through because of some bureaucratic foulup. I began to faint, but just before I blacked out I saw the red-headed corporal smiling that knowing, sadistic smile of his. This had been no foulup.

Chapter 20: I was revived, and discharged. I left the brig with the senator. I didn't know if I'd be able to survive in the real world again, but I was glad just to be free. I had never thought I would be again.

I stayed with the senator in his suite that night. We ate in the room, and discussed my plans. I told him the whole story of what had happened to me in the brig. He was horrified; he promised to launch a full-scale investigation the next day. I broke down several times while telling him what happened. I was exhausted when I finished, and he suggested I wait until I was refreshed in the morning to call my family. I agreed and wished him good-night, as I headed off to the second bedroom. I heard him call out "pleasant dreams."

CHAPTER 21: I drifted off immediately and found myself back in the brig. The sergeant was telling me I'd never be free. I no longer owned my body or my mind; even if I'd left the brig, I was still his prisoner. I tossed and turned violently. I was telling myself it was only a dream, but it felt so REAL. I HEARD the sergeants voice. The sergeant saying I'd never be free, saying I'd spend the rest of my days as a dog serving his master. IT'S ONLY A DREAM, I tell myself. WAKE UP! But I can't. The dream goes on, and suddenly the senator appears. Instantly I feel relief; I'll be safe now. I know the senator will save me.

The senator smiles at me. A warm, benevolent smile. Everything will be all right as long as he's here. The senator tells me to wake up. I opened my eyes half-way, and sat up, banging my head on the top of my cage. I looked up to see the sergeant and the senator smiling down at me.

CHAPTER 22: I'm fully awake now. I am in an oversized pet cage, maybe one built for a great dane. It's about 6 feet long, so I can just stretch out. It's only about three feet high, so I can't really sit up. I CAN stay on all fours. I'll eventually get used to that position, especially when I eat (my food and water dishes are in the corner of the cage).

The sergeant began talking. Apparently, writing to my congressman would've been a good idea if I lived almost anywhere else. It was my misfortune to write to the man who'd envisioned and constructed the special "program" at the brig!

The senator was a long-time master sadist, an expert in the art of molding and training men through pain and torture. In Washington, he'd come across a secret society of high-powered men with similar interests. Politicians, businessmen, and military men, all with wealth and/or power. Talking to a high-ranking marine and a general from the army, the senator pondered how effectively slaves could be trained using all the techniques our government (and others) know to bend men's minds. All 3 men agreed that such a place would yield slaves that would be trained to follow any order without question or hesitation. That night, the senator had an idea...

All this time, the senator had been quietly watching me. He came over to the cage and put his fingers through the top to scratch me behind the ear. I felt the instinctive pleasure and gratititude a dog feels when his owner pets him. The senator looked at me with that benevolent smile and picked up the story...

He had realized such a facility could exist, if the powerful men he'd met in the society could band together. But no matter how much juice they had, the facility would have to be explained to someone at sometime. How to explain doing this to our young men, even if it's those being punished for wrong-doing. He formulated a plan; this would be a facility to train spies (at least that would be the cover story). Any prisoner who emerged from the program reasonably intact would then be a perfect spy to send abroad--he would follow all orders, never act on any personal impulse or agenda, and if he were caught, he'd actually enjoy the torture attempts. He'd never crack! Of course, there'd be other, less-discussed uses for the trainees-- if U. S. intelligence knew of any special "desires" of any foreign dignitaries, a spy could be sent in as a _s_e_x_ slave, privy to the dignitary's most private moments. In special cases, the slave could be sent with no spy mission, simply as payment for something in the dignitary had done for us in the past, or to build up goodwill for something we might need in the future. Almost nobody was told that some slaves are simply sold to wealthy men here and abroad to help pay for the program. This way, they are able to need minimal federal funding and don't raise any suspisions about the cost of "special equipment." Using the small but powerful network of politicians and military men he'd met, the facility was set up as a military prison with "special training facilities." Special psychological profiles were designed to help select men who would support the facility and keep its secrets. The profiles looked for sadists, gay men with a mean streak, men with such strong patriotic feelings that they'd be able to do anything to another man and feel pride in what they were doing for their country. They also looked for Marines who just liked roughing up young men from the other branches of the military. Special tortures were designed to break men and bend their minds. Many young men had passed through before me, and many would follow. The senator told me I should feel a sense of pride; I'd been the best-trained dog they'd ever had. When it came time for the senator to pick a pet for himself, he picked me. My dreams last night had been a result of more drugs and the sergeant's suggestions in my sleep. He had transferred control of me over to the senator, and from now on it would be his voice I would follow. I looked up at the senator's warm smile...and for the first time saw the cold sadism in his eyes.

CHAPTER 23: Over the next several years I was the senator's pet and slave. I would spend my days in my cage, then be allowed out to service him the rest of the evening. Most of the time I'd be at his feet, licking his boots, often hog-tied. Most nights he'd subject me to a torture session. This wasn't for punishment (THOSE sessions were much worse). It was just for his amusement, almost like foreplay before he'd raped me then lock me in the cage overnight. In the brig, I'd mostly just had to survive whippings, with occassional pain and torture of another sort. The senator was much more versatile than that. I learned the agonizing joy of electrotorture, endured hours of total mummification with only my nose and _c_o_c_k_ and balls exposed, so I could breath and so the senator could torture them while I was completely bound and immobile. He would rub ben-gay on my _c_o_c_k_ and balls, then attach electrodes to my balls. After setting the electric current to the setting he wanted he'd whip my _c_o_c_k_ with a crop until commanding me to come. He'd usually make me come at least 3 times before releasing me. Then he'd rape me with his big _c_o_c_k_, never lubing up or loosening up my hole in any way. He'd just ram his _c_o_c_k_ inside of me and start pounding away. This happened every night. I loved him so much.

After a few years, the senator brought home another dog from the brig. Gradually he began to take my place in the senator's affections. This made me very sad. When I'd been sent to the brig and then selected for training, my family was told I'd committed a far worse crime and would be incarcerated for years. Their subsequent letters were returned unopened, and they were told I did not want to see them. After awhile, they gave up trying. Now I feared the senator didn't want me anymore. One day he had me come into his den. He told me to sit in the chair. I knew something was wrong.

He said he was retiring, and simplifying his life. With all the people that came into his house all the time, he didn't want two slaves on the premises. He told me that the understanding was that any dog whose owner didn't want him anymore would either be sent back to the brig to be re-trained for another master. No dog would ever be allowed to go free, for fear that he'd blow the whistle on the program. Any dog unwanted by another master, or that tried to run away too often, would be put to sleep. I began to shake with fear, but the senator smiled, and this time I saw warmth in his eyes. He said I'd been a wonderful pet, and that he couldn't bear either of those options. He said he was going to release me, but if I ever tried to go public with my story, I'd be hunted down and killed. My family was told that I'd been killed in a jailhouse fight. He warned me not to contact anyone I'd ever known.

And that's how I was left to wander the netherworld of leather and pain, always looking for, but never finding what I needed. I was used and abused by many men, and still I was incomplete. Then one day, I saw him in a leather bar...

CHAPTER 24: It was the dark-haired sailor. I was sure of it. How had he escaped? He had the same lost look in his eyes that I had in mine. Suddenly I knew what I had to do. I shifted the keys on my belt and strode up to him. I felt sure he wouldn't know me, because he'd only seen me the one time, and his focus was on the ever-larger _d_i_l_d_o_es I'd kept ramming up his ass until he came. Now I looked him over head-to-toe, made eye-contact, and wordlessly led him out of the bar. Back at my house I did things to him that only I could understand he needed. As I tortured him I told him I loved him. That night I topped a man for the first time.

He has been my slave now for several years, and we are both finally at peace. That is, we came to be at peace after what happened next...

CHAPTER 25: One night when we were out in another bar, I stopped dead in my tracks. Again I recognized someone from the brig, only this time it was the sergeant. A little grayer, and thicker around the middle, but it was him. I played it cool and struck up a conversation. He didn't recognize me. I was relieved, but also a little hurt--I had been his best dog. But then again, he must've trained hundreds of dogs. I invited him back to my house and my slave and I quickly jumped him and secured him. He was still trying to get loose when I told him who we were. The fear in his eyes was priceless! It is something I've seen very often since that night.

Both my slave and I had been through the deepest underground world during our years of looking for what we needed. It gave us a thorough knowledge of where to find the most depraved men on the planet. That knowledge would come in handy as I plotted our further revenge. I had decided to spare the senator because he'd freed me (and, though I hated to admit it, because I'd loved him), I wanted revenge on the 2 corporals and the three blond marines who'd trained my slave. Since my sergeant had run the training center, he knew all the personnel there. My slave become quite a computer wizard, and he tracked down all 5 men. We eventually tracked down all 5, and sold them off to men we knew would make their lives hell. One of his trainers, a bigoted southern redneck, was sent to a black man whose family had suffered terribly from slavery and racism. It was a special joy for the owner, and a special hell for the blond, to know that he'd spend the rest of his days as a slave to a black man.

Another of the blonds had been sold to an Arab white slave-trader for use in a brothel someone in one of the Arab countries. I always smile when I think of him getting _f_u_c_k_ed daily by new _c_o_c_k_s and never having anyone he can speak English to.

The third blond was simply send to the most sadistic man I knew. He's been kind enough to send me tapes of what he does with his new possession. My slave especially loves watching that.

I had special plans for my 2 corporals. The redhead was sold to a biker gang who keeps him as a _s_e_x_ slave. He services anywhere from 10 to 20 guys on a daily basis. He had been the first one to rape me. I made sure he'd get it back in spades.

The dark corporal had had the biggest _c_o_c_k_ I'd ever seen. He'd enjoyed raping me, and making me crave his big fat _c_o_c_k_. It always seemed to be hard, and he would give me a cold evil smile when he was about to make me take it. I sold him to a man who wanted to castrate a well-endowed man and have a eunuch-slave. The dark corporal will never _f_u_c_k_ anyone again.

As I write this, my slave is at my feet working on my boots, and the sergeant is hanging from the ceiling with clamps on his tits and weights on his nuts. Of course, he's been trained not to complain or ask for mercy. After all, I know how to train a man; I was taught by the best.

5/23/2007 1:40:59 PM

The days continue to be more difficult.  pug’s history and suffering as a wrongfully incarcerated sex offender continue in this world of non-incarceration.  There are many documents published that speak to the wrongfulness of pug’s conviction.  (e-mail pug and ask for the URL for those documents.)  pug fought the state’s sex offender registry board to lower their rating of it from a level three and they acquiesced (begrudgingly) to a level two.  It should have been a level one.  Recently, the local sex offender cop came by to verify pug’s address.  pug had a 24’ trailer in the backyard where its computers were-- where it maintained websites regarding these heinous laws.

 

Shortly after the cop’s departure, the local fire department lieutenant came by to tell me that the power connection from the trailer to the house was illegal.  From there, he demanded to see the basement apartment in pug’s ex-lover’s home where pug is living.  Subsequent to that, notification was sent that this was an illegal apartment.  Most of the houses in this area have these so-called in-law-apartments.

 

The intent is to drive it out of the place where it lives.  Current legislation requires that pug register here and there a change of address ten days prior to moving.  Income is meager.  pug does online web work for a queer publication.  Finding work at my age is difficult; add being an ex-con and a sex-offender makes it nearly impossible.

 

Today, while reviewing media outlets that pug quotes from, it discovered that there is currently a bill in both the US House and Senate to mandate that sex-offenders register their e-mail addresses and instant messenger screen names.  Part of the reason for this is so that social networking sites may delete all sex-offenders.  It has been pug’s experience that queers can be as ignorant and thoughtless as straights.  Wonder how many of the queer sites it has a profile on will delete such when this bill reaches fruition.

 

pug wonders if any of you realize how easy it is to become a sex-offender under current (not to mention pending) federal statute.

 


5/12/2007 9:44:20 AM

Took some time and ventured further on this site today.  There is much beneath the surface!  The powers that be have approved the 2nd photo that pug has uploaded. Also, thought to mention that it is teeth optional since its incarceration. 


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