Galveston Texas has a wonderful collection of
Spanish Mission style buildings, one of which was the Post Office.
When I
walked in, I was stopped by two Federal Marshalls.
Marshall: “Did you just take a photograph
of this building?”
Me: “Yes,
I did.”
Marshall: “Why did you take a photograph?”
Me: “Because
Galveston is
full of wonderful Spanish Mission architecture and this building is one of
those.”
Marshall: “It’s unlawful to photograph a
federal building without permission.”
My next
comments were probably the ones that got me into trouble. I’m an Australian and
we often forget that US officials are carefully selected for their lack of a
sense of humour.
Me: “So
what do you do outside the Whitehouse?”
Marshall: “Show me your ID.”
I pulled
out my passport, which the Marshalls
studied carefully.
Marshall: “So you’re from Australia.”
Me: “We
are on your side you know.”
As the
exchange was taking place, I noticed the other Marshall take out his handcuffs. He then
entered the conversation. “Put your hands behind your back.”
Me:
“What’s going on?”
Marshal
2: “Put your hands behind your back, we are taking you into custody so we can
check your camera.”
Me: “For
heaven’s sake, lets not get excited about this; I’m just taking photographs of
buildings. I’ll show you.”
I reached
for my camera. As I was doing this, Marshall
1 started to reach for his gun. “Just put the camera down and put your hands
behind your back”
I
realised these guys weren’t kidding; I gently put my camera on the ground and
put my hands behind my back. Marshall
2 step behind me and applied his handcuffs – they were chain style – so my
hands were cuffed palms out. I started to get a hard on as I felt the metal on
my wrists and hear the ratchet of the cuffs locking. They were applied firmly
but not painfully. With my palms out I realised I was pretty effectively
restrained. I’ll add at this point that both of the Marshalls
were stunning lookers, Marshall was blonde with
brown eyes and Marshall
two blonde with blue eyes. Both looked like they had recently stepped out of
the surf and had donned their uniforms.
Marshall 1 had picked up my camera and
they look an arm each and led me down a corridor to a room. In the middle of
the room was a chair with a number of leather straps hanging off it. They
walked me over to the chair and sat me down. They started to do up the various
straps on the chair anchoring me to the chair – actually I could barely move
once they had finished. There was a definite bulge in the crotch of my
motorcycle leathers. There were straps which crossed over my chest going from
my shoulders to my hips. Straps held my waist and thighs firm with more straps
just above my knees and my ankles.
Me: “Come
on guys, what’s going on?”
Marshall 1: “I’d stay quiet if I was you.”
Marshall 2 had picked up a large roll of
tape. He had pealed of a length which he cut off and then applied over my mouth
very effectively gagging me. He added more tape for good measure. I tried
struggling against the straps holding me to the chair but they held me firm. I
mmmppphhed into my gag.
The Marshalls left the room with Marshall 2 commenting “We’ll be back when
we’ve checked your camera. I struggled in the chair wondering what on earth was
going on. I was in the United States,
supposedly home of the free, not communist East Germany. At the same time, my
predicament, being restrained by two drop dead gorgeous Federal Marshalls was
making me as horny as hell.
I was
left in the room secured to the chair and gagged for what felt like a couple of
hours. The Marshalls returned; Marshall 1 was carrying a black jumpsuit and
a pair of black boots. Marshall
2 was carrying a pile of chains. Both Marshalls
put their items on the floor. Marshall
2 got his gun out.
Marshall 1: “I’m now going to release you
from the chair. When I remove your handcuffs, you will strip then you put the
jump suit and boots on. When you are finished you will stand to attention. Do
you understand?”
I nodded.
Guns make me very nervous. I had read too many stories about trigger happy cops
shooting people and imagined a headline. “Australian Motorcycle Disappears in Texas.”
Marshall 1 undid the straps holding me to
the chair and helped me stand up. He removed my handcuffs but didn’t remove my
gag. As instructed I stripped out my leathers and put the jumpsuit and boots
on. I then stood still noting that Marshall
2 still had his gun trained on me. Marshall
1 then started with the chains. He put leg cuffs around my ankles. There was a
chain from the middle of the leg cuffs which my waist. He fastened a leather
belt around my waist. The belt fastened over a hasp in the belt. He passed a
chain from the belt through the hasp and he fed this chain through the chain
from my leg cuffs. He then handcuffed me in front. He passed the handcuffs
through the chain from the belt, which effectively locked the belt and the
chain form the leg irons. Ah I recall these, a set of prisoner transport irons
like I’d seen on Youtube.
Marshall 2 put his gun back in its holster
and picked up a black cloth hood which he placed over my head, plunging me into
darkness. Marshalls
1 and 2 took and arm each and led me away. I was led down a corridor then into
a lift, which I assume went down. I was led away from the left and helped into
a vehicle. I was strapped into a seat with some sort of harness seat belt. I
heard the vehicle start and I was driven some distance. There were starts,
stops and corners. Eventually the vehicle stopped and I was helped form the
vehicle. I was led some distance before we stopped and I was helped to the
floor on my stomach. An additional set of leg irons was put on my ankles and
the originals removed. My handcuffs were removed but my hands were pulled
behind my back and I was cuffed through the leg irons hog chaining me. The
other parts of transport chains were removed. My hood was removed and I could
see I was in some sort of cell. I was still gagged. My captors left me locking
the cell door.
I
struggled against the chains but I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
After
another lengthy period I heard the cell door open and my captors returned. They
rolled me onto my side and opened the fly of my jumpsuit pulling my still rigid
cock of. I heard Marshall
1 say “I think our prisoner is turned on by this.” He started to stroke my
cock. He and Marshall 2 took it in turns to stroke my cock steadily working me
to the brink of orgasm. Eventually I shot an enormous load after which Marshall 2 removed my gag
and have me a huge kiss.
My captors
then released me and introduced themselves as Dylan and Zack.
They were out surfing the previous evening where they’d seen me taking
photographs. They saw me again at the post office when they’d hurriedly come up
with their plan. We spent a wonderful evening together before I headed back on
the road.
Postscript. While this, like all my other
stories is a work of fiction, I did have run in with two Federal Marshalls at
the Galveston Post Office after having photographed the building. It took place
before 9/11 however, it all ended once the Marshalls had seen my passport. There
actually was law passed after the Oklahoma
City bombings that made it illegal to photograph a
federal building without permission. Still it made good basis for a story.
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