Officer Strong : First
Weekend (1)
by Inmate
They drove away from the park…away from his freedom.
After only a few minutes they pulled off. He heard her get out of the car, then into the back seat with him.
“Prisoner transport is very dangerous,” she said, “It’s too easy for them to escape. We must be very sure the prisoner is secure.” He felt her take off his hat (though not the blindfold), then place a hood over his head. She cut the blindfold a pulled it out through the back of the hood before zipping up the strong leather cover. He could breathe, but he could see nothing. He felt her place a collar around his neck, and thought (through the muffled sounds of the hood) that he heard the distinct sounds of a padlock closing.
He then felt something go around his waist. It was cold and unyielding, like a chain. He could feel her attaching something to the chain of his leg irons, then the chain was draped over his groin. “Listen very carefully,” she intoned into his ear. Her voice was close and seductive. “I am going to remove your handcuffs now. First one, then the other. Even if you think, erroneously, that you could get out of this car with one hand free, I doubt you’ll get very far wearing a belly chain and leg irons. Let alone being blinded by that hood, which is now locked. We’re not in the best part of town and, frankly, it’s a long walk for you back to the Park, even if you knew the way.” Yes, he realized, running was not an option.
He felt her reach behind him and unlock the cuff of his left hand, only to immediately reattach it to a cuff of the belly chain. She then did the same with his right hand. Neither hand was free for more than 5 seconds! He was in the care of a professional.
She got back into the front seat and they pulled back onto the highway. So now he was hooded, blind, and fastened into her belly chain and leg irons. In the back of a car going who knew where? What had he done?
He had done exactly what he wanted to do!
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They drove for what seemed like an hour. He had long ago lost any sense of direction. He could sense some time on the interstate, so they could be very far from home by now.
The finally came to a halt after a few final minutes on some slower roads, with a few sharp turns here and there. “A residential area?” he thought to himself. The roads felt too uneven for pavement.
He heard a dull humming noise immediately after they stopped. “A garage door closing?” She got out of the car and silence returned to him. He tried to get himself free, but his hand, chained to his waist, could not reach the car door handle.
After only a moment the car door opened for him. “Let’s go, prisoner.” she said. “Time to show you to your new home.” He heard the jingling of chain as something was attached to the front of his collar. She pulled him roughly from the car, and she could hear him grunt as he hit his head on the door.
He could hear the cicadas and the crunch of gravel under his feet as she led him strongly by the chain. They were back outside. His steps were shorter here than in the park, owing to his leg irons. The chain connecting his belly chain to the leg irons was also a bit tight, but if he bent over slightly and reduced the slack between his belly and his ankles he could take (slightly) longer strides. Regardless of his speed, she simply pulled him harder.
After a short walk they entered another building. He heard a wooden door being closed and bolted behind him. She led him through another door and down a flight of stairs. The smell here was more musty than before; it smelled like they had entered a cellar. He felt his collar chain being attached to something above him. He heard a door close, and she was gone.
“This is it,” he thought to himself, “either I’m the luckiest man in the world, or the dumbest.” His mind was keen enough to sense the pros and cons of both outcomes. “What the hell was I thinking??”
When she retuned something was different. He couldn’t tell what, exactly, but something about the situation had changed. Perhaps he was simply becoming more acutely aware of his true predicament. He knew only that he was in inescapable restraints, in the hands of a professional prison or law enforcement officer, and that he was somewhere within a 60 or 70 mile radius of where he had met her. Met her? He almost laughed at his choice of words.
Now she spoke, and her voice was once again slow and deliberate, as it had been on the phone. This was not the cold warden giving orders to an inmate, it was the warm and impassioned voice of a woman empowered by the control she had. The control he had given to her.
“You are my property now, the property of my prison. You have no rights, no power, no hope of escape. All control over your body and mind you have given to me. For the duration of your sentence here you are nothing. At the end, I will return you to where I found you, but until that time you belong to me.”
“This is my prison, where the cell you wanted so desperately to experience is only moments away, my new inmate. In fact your cell is only about thirty feet from here. I can see the door from where I’m standing. The door is open. The light is on. The bed and floor are cold. The walls are thick, and the bars are very real.” She paused as if to gauge his reaction to her dramatic imagery. “And judging from that bulge in your pants, I can tell that you would very much like to see it.” He felt her lean forward and place her hand on his groin, to feel the stiffening and the warmth there. She played with the zipper of his jeans, still slow, still deliberate.
“But first we have to process you,” she said, her voice becoming formal once more. He felt something at the back of his neck, and shuddered as he felt the cold hardness of a knife blade! “No wait.” He yelled through the hood. He tried to run but realized that she had also locked his leg irons to something in the floor. He heard her laugh.
“Be still, prisoner. Don’t worry, you’re not getting out of here that easily.” And he felt the knife cutting the t-shirt off of him.
She removed his socks and his shoes. She then cut his jeans and boxers off as well. He was now completely naked except for the restraints and the hood. His collar chained to the ceiling, his leg irons bolted to the floor, his hands locked into the belly chain around his waist; it was too much to be true! He could feel himself becoming completely erect, and embarrassed as he was in front of her, he could not help but let slip a soft moan of delight from his lips.
“So it seems we understand each other then,” she said. She gave his cock a playful tap with the knife. “But it’s late and you need to be well rested for tomorrow. Time to say hello to your new home.
She unlocked him from the floor and ceiling and escorted him, naked, down the hall to his cell. He could hear the acoustics change and he knew he had entered his cell. She stood close behind him, without touching him, as the sensation of closeness set in, even though he could not see it.
He turned slowly back towards where he guessed she stood. Back towards the “front?” of the cell. She walked gently into him, pushing herself into his shackled hands. He began to feel her, eagerly, though he could only move each hand a few inches in any direction. She slowly spun around in front of him, allowing him to caress her uniform. “Always remember this about your new warden, inmate,” she began, her voice low like a purr, “always remember that I am a woman,” as she pushed her bottom against his swollen cock, “that I am a beautiful woman,” as she lowered herself so he could cup her breasts. His erection was straining now, and he continued to fondle her with one hand as with the other he stroked himself, going faster and faster, “and always remember that this woman owns you.”
With the hood on he never saw her knee rise, but he certainly felt the impact of it as it hit him squarely in his unprotected balls. He screamed and fell sobbing to the floor of the cell, cupping himself as well as he could, in his chained hands. Quickly she was behind him, attaching his lead chain to a ring in the wall. As his erection rapidly subsided he felt something metal on his penis, like a small handcuff around the base of the shaft. “This will ensure your focus, your chastity while in my custody, INMATE,” she said. “The inside of this ring has a set of small but sharp teeth, which will prevent you from ‘enjoying’ your stay here too much.”
Leaning back he rested against what had to be the bunk. He stood up, barely, and climbed onto it.
He heard the heavy cell door slam shut, the echoes slowly dying around him.
“Welcome to Strong’s Prison, inmate.”
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The night was a blur. The chastity ring kept him awake for most of the time, biting into him. He stumbled around the cell, still tethered to the wall, trying to find the dimensions. The cell seemed to be about 8 by 10 feet, as best as he could tell. His tether did not allow him to reach one wall, which he thought must be the font. He worked himself as far as he could stretch, but even with the handcuffs cutting into his wrists he could not touch anything in that direction. In one corner was a bucket with a lid; it seemed empty, so he used it as his toilet. The night passed slowly. He did not know if he had a window, not that it would have mattered with the hood.
Without warning he heard the steel door being thrown open on its runners. Her voice pierced the calm like thunder, “Inmate will kneel facing away from the door, nose to the wall.” He literally fell out of the bunk, so sudden was her arrival. He crawled towards the wall away from her voice, cracking his head into it. Terrified, he smashed his knees into the wall as he pushed himself into a kneeling position. His nose was smashed against the hard rock.
“Very good response,” she began. He heard the clock-like clicking of her heels as she walked towards him. She paced around the cell behind him. He could feel her prodding him firmly with something, this time to raise his right elbow, next his left, this time to lean his head back, almost like an examination. Like cattle, he supposed. His knees were aching.
“Inmate will continue facing the wall,” she commanded as she began to unlock, then remove, his hood. It was the first time in (how many?) hours that he had actually had his vision. And even though his only sight was of a cinderblock wall, he still found himself blinking and squinting.
“I see you’ve found your toilet,” she said, “although next time you really should put the lid back on.”
“Damn,” he thought to himself. With the belly chain he really didn’t feel like fishing around on the floor for the lid in last nights’ darkness. He felt he needed to apologize before some form of heinous pain found its way into his scrotum again. “Er, I’m, uh, ss—s-ssorry –“
“SILENCE!” she yelled. Her voice was doubled by the crack of the riding crop across his ass. “Inmates never speak unless asked a direct question.” She covered his eyes with her (soft!) gloved hand and whispered into his ear, “Do you understand?” The warm, moist air from her breath enveloped his ear.
“Yes, ma’am!” he replied.
“Much better.”
She continued pacing around the cell behind him. He heard a metal scraping noise, and then heard the door close behind him. “You will finish your breakfast and be ready for inspection in 10 minutes. You may turn around, but you may not stand. Go!”
He moved slowly as the cement floor cut into his aching knees. She waited seductively outside his cell, just long enough for him to get a glimpse of her before she turn and left his sight. Her uniform, her hair, her eyes, her boots, everything he had imagined!
There was a metal tray of oatmeal and smashed fruit on the floor by the foot of the bunk. He quickly ate everything that was there, not realizing how hungry he had become. Without utensils, or even a napkin, he was quite a mess when he finished. But it didn’t taste too terrible, or perhaps it was just the delirious effects of the past night getting to him.
During this scant repast he finally began to have a look at his surroundings. He was in what, for all intents and purposes, was a very authentic, if old, prison cell. Three walls were of cinder block, painted a medium gray color. The fourth, front wall of the cell was iron bars, around 1” thick set at intervals he guessed to be 4 or 5 inches, interspaced with horizontal steel struts every 16 inches or so. The door was of the same construction. His bunk seemed to be an old military cot, made of metal and bolted to the floor. There was a single light in the room, which was on, recessed into the stone ceiling and covered by thick glass and a metal grating. The bucket, his collar and tether, iron rings at various points along the walls (one of which was connected to his tether, of course), ceiling and floor, and absolutely nothing else. A real cell, indeed.
Realizing that he was going to be “inspected” at any moment, he returned the tray to its original position. Looking around the cell, there was nothing he could do but fold the blanket on his bunk, replace the lid on the slop bucket, and wait. Wait, as prisoners have done since prisons began.
He heard the clicking of her heels as she approached down the hall. Quickly he returned to his “inspection” position, kneeling and facing away from the door, nose to the wall.
She stopped outside his cell. “Very good,” she said, “you’re a quick learner. That will prevent you from too much unnecessary pain while you are in my custody.”
He heard the tinkling sound of metal as she turned her key in the lock, followed by the grinding of steel as the door slid open on its rollers. She approached him and removed the tether from his collar, stringing the chain (and lock) out to the foot of the bunk.
“Morning routine, when you are allowed out of your cell, is to pick up your bucket and tray and follow me. Go!”
Without hesitation he did as she commanded. Following her down the hall, taking short steps in his irons, his eyes taking in his new surroundings. His cell was the last in a corridor of eight cells, four per side. Many were in various stages of construction. None of them seemed to be occupied, though each cell was different, and some included double bunks.
He was lead out a side hall through another stone room. Although they spent only a few seconds walking through it, the array of restraint devices, bondage furniture, and implements of pain astounded him. He was sure he would be seeing more of this room.
Once through they ascended a set of stone stairs and went out into the light. They were in a densely wooded area, and the building from which they had just emerged seemed to be only a small outbuilding of some kind. Certainly the cell system underground was larger than the visible structure.
She led him a short walk into another brick building, this one about the size of a garage. Inside the furnishings were sparse. It looked like a showering room of some kind, with additional large sinks on one wall.
“Dump your bucket over there,” she ordered, pointing to a large septic drain in one corner, “and clean off your tray in that sink.” He did as commanded, of course, and he found soap and a rag in the sink for the cleaning. Not that this was an easy task, as his shackled hands had limited movement and could barely reach over the sink rim to begin with. He found that operating the faucet was easier with his mouth.
He finished with his tray and turned to face her. She was right behind him, and his gaze met with a sharp slap across his face. “Never look in my direction without your eyes down,” she said, and as to demonstrate she grabbed his hair and pushed his chin down to his chest.
“Thirteen!” she yelled. “Thirteen what?” he thought. Then he heard a door open, then the shuffling sound of someone walking, like him, in leg irons, the chain ringing as it scraped along the floor.
“Into the shower, “ she commanded. He walked onto the tiled section, followed by the other inmate. “Thirteen,” he realized, was this other inmate’s number. Unlike himself, 13 was at least wearing pants, and boots, too, he saw. 13’s leg irons were connected to his belly chain as well, though his wrists were free. He was a man like himself, perhaps a little older, and with a slightly dejected and pitiful look on his face.
13 connected the new inmate’s collar to a chain hanging from the ceiling. His leg irons were then clipped into a ring in the center of the floor, above a small drain. This done, 13 took the new inmate’s wrists, one by one, and released them, then locked them into a pair of handcuffs in the chain above his head.
“Welcome to the showers, Inmate 26,” said 13 under his breath. “You stupid bastard.”
Inmate 26, as he now knew himself to be, thought of asking about that last comment, but thought better of it in case the “warden” were still within earshot. She was, of course.
Her voice sang clear. “Hold on, 13, I’ll do 26 myself.” And then he felt the cold, stinging spray of the hose on his naked skin. He recoiled, but could do little with the amount of restraint he was under. He shivered violently in the spray, which likely didn’t last more than 30 seconds. He could tell she enjoyed using the hose. At that it wasn’t a garden-variety hose, either, but more like a small fire hose.
“Get the soap, 13,” she said. 13 returned with a bucket and a small mop, just a sponge on a stick. He dipped the mop into the soapy water and began to wash down 26. It felt good, he realized, though he could not enjoy it, expecting the next stream of water to hit very soon. As it did. She actually laughed a little as he squirmed under the coldness.
13 returned when she was done with the rinse. He freed one of 26’s wrists, only to re-secure it to the belly chain. The same with the other wrist, before unclipping the leg irons from the floor and, finally, freeing the collar from the ceiling chain. “13, back to work! 26, follow me!” And so, just as before he was following her outside, chained completely.
She led him around to the back of the shower room. “Stand there,” she said, indicating a spot against the back of the building. He stood facing the brick, nose to the wall, knowing what was expected of him.
“Each morning you will be punished, 26. Remember that. I suppose there will be cases where you will be left alone in your cell for long periods. During those periods you may not even see me at all, which will be punishment in itself. But today, you will receive a punishment as a sort of ‘welcome,’ if you will, to my prison. She attached the front of his collar to a ring in the wall. He then felt something tighten around his neck, like a rope. It loosened, only to be tightened again, this time a bit stronger, though still not enough to cut off his air. She pulled the item up in front of his face – a whip! Long, braided leather passed in front of his eyes and she teasingly pulled it around him, then off of him.
He could hear her back away a few feet, and heard the faint cry as the strand cut the air before cracking onto his back. He had only been whipped once before, (oh, another story!), and he realized from this that the warden was starting gently on him. Though she didn’t stay all that gentle; by the time she arrived at the tenth stroke a fair yelp did escape his lips.
“What’s the matter, 26? Cat-o-nine got your tongue?” Her pun was more painful than that last blow, he thought.
She continued to rachet up the power for a few more strokes. By 15 he yelled our openly, and she could see his legs begin to weaken.
He felt her return to him, coming up to him from behind to whisper into his ear. “Impressive performance, 26.” She leaned into him, he feeling her heat through her uniform, feeling the softness of her breasts and the stiffness of her uniform equipment belt. She moved a leg between his. Leather, he realized, and tight, too. She caressed the inside of his thigh with her leather-clad knee, and stroked her leather boots along his calves. Her hands reached around and fondled his chest, then toyed painfully with his nipples. He leaned back into her as far as his restraint would allow. One of her gloved hands reached around his head and covered his eyes, pulling his head back until his face was pointing skyward. She began to blow into his ear, then nibble on it, finally beginning to bite painfully into the lobe. Her hand now strayed down to his mouth, where she forced a finger inside, which he eagerly began to suck, savoring the strong leather and the awesome power of this woman.
But the pain in his cock was becoming too great; the chastity ring she had placed on him was biting into his shaft, causing him to whimper and her only to play more strongly with his mouth and nipples. She reached down to stroke his cock, and he yelled as the chastity ring bit into him.
She laughed and pushed him away. “What’s the matter 26, don’t you like me?” She recoiled her whip and hung it on the wall in front of him. “Well then , perhaps you’d rather get down to work, inmate.”
She unhooked him from the wall and led him around to the windowless side of the shower room. He saw an open pit, a large buried canister where 13 was busy shoveling filth out and into drums. The septic tank, no doubt.
“26, you will empty this tank by nightfall. You have 8 hours. Fill the drums. 13, fit him with work shackles.”
She handed some items to 13 and walked behind 26. The new shackles were connected with a much longer chain, about two feet. 26 realized they wouldn’t seem so long once he was trying to shovel. 13 connected one to 26’s left wrist, then the other, before unlocking him from the belly chain. It felt good to move his arms.
13 then connected a chain to 26’s leg irons. The chain went to a large metal stake in the ground. 26 would have plenty of room to work, but not much chance of anything else.
The warden unlocked 13’s chain from the stake. “13, back to work on cell 4. I want the pit ready by tomorrow.”
And then he was alone.
Alone, for the next eight hours, nothing but aged, raw sewage and the hot sun beating down. It was a humid day, of course, without much of a breeze blowing. At first he didn’t seem to make much of a dent, but he knew she meant business, and after his head and shoulders were ready to give in, he realized he’d cleared most of the tank. The sun was far westerly.
“Damn, she wasn’t kidding about this. This is not what I had in mind. How dare she leave me here alone like this. What the hell am I doing here, anyway? What was I thinking?”
He wasn’t thinking, he realized, and that was the problem. His now chastised penis had gotten him into this mess. He wouldn’t get out for another two days. Sunday night could not come soon enough.
But still, he realized that in many ways this was what he wanted. He was truly a prisoner, with no hope of freedom (no, less in fact than a real prisoner would have, for a real prisoner has lawyers, activists, witnesses, and a parole date). She could toss him into this pit and no one would ever find him. Terrifying, real, absolutely solid. Yes, in fact this was what he desired.
13 returned just after sunset, to help close up the drums, and seal and rebury the tank. 26 tried to speak to 13, but each time 13 would only move away, and point in a certain direction, where 26 could see the warden nearby. Sometimes on horseback, sometimes just watching them , sometimes lounging, but always nearby.
When they were finished 13 left, and returned with a key from the warden. He unlocked 26 from the tether and brought him back into the shower room. The ritual was completed as before, this time with 13 on the hose. 13 then washed himself down and returned 26 to his cell, locking his collar back onto the tether. A few minutes later 13 returned with the dinner tray, which appeared to have some ground meat, some mashed veggies and rice. It was a small serving, and bland, but 26 was ravenous after the day’s work. There was also a new bucket in the room, a smaller pail than the slop bucket. This one had clean water, for drinking and washing, he supposed.
The warden appeared just after the meal. Hearing her approach, 26 quickly cleaned his tray and assumed the inspection position, kneeling against the back wall.
“Well done 26. Your performance is acceptable.”
He heard the sliding of his cell door, and the crash as it engaged the bolts. The warden turned her key in the lock and walked off. The sound of her footsteps faded, until he heard the closing of the hall door. There were some sounds of that door being bolted, and the lights went out. Another night.
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16.02.03
story continues in Officer Strong : First Weekend 2
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