By Strappeddown

When the sun rose bright through the glass block windows, I knew it was time to rest. Long ago I stopped fighting the men who would come to secure me. It was futile to resist them. There were always too many of them, and they were strong and knew all the ways to force me. It was easier after that, they didn’t ratchet the straps so tightly, and often I found myself secured on a mattress in warmth and comfort rather than spending the day shackled on the cold concrete.

This morning I was completely exhausted. I had spent the entire night being forced to exercise in The Chair. Every muscle in my body was spent … I couldn’t have resisted even if I wanted to … I was so weak I could barely even stand … yet twice as many men arrived to take me that morning. They all wore the uniform of the institution, perfect clean white jumpsuits, tailor fit to their bulging physiques. They all had military style crew cuts … extremely short, with clean-shaven sides. It was much more hair than I had been allowed since I had arrived. I absentmindedly reached up and touched the side of my head, it was smooth … no stubble, I had been shaved early last evening … before The Chair … I had somehow forgotten.

Something special was happening. The men came into the room and surrounded me and just stood there. Normally they would have been barking orders, grasping limbs, pressing me onto the floor and applying a straitjacket, or manacles, or if I was lucky the soft, padded leather restraints that made it so easy to sleep. Instead they all just stood there, with their arms behind their backs, waiting.

Finally he arrived … the warden, or CEO, or owner, I wasn’t sure. I had seen him only once, the first day I arrived, and he hadn’t introduced himself then. He wore a blue suit and yellow tie. I found myself staring at his clothes … it had been an eternity since I had seen normal clothes. He approached me. From behind I felt some of the men grasp me, clutching my arms and legs, as if I might do something unexpected after all this time.

“It is time to transfer you to a more secure facility,” he said, calmly. “I have enjoyed watching your progression and training, and I will miss seeing you.” He then turned, and walked out of the room.

More men came in the door. They carried with them a white canvas duffle bag, which I saw briefly before the men surrounded me. Part of me wanted to resist … part of me deep inside wanted to kick and scream and try to escape … but there were so many … and I was so tired and weak. I let them lower me to the floor.

“That’s it, buddy, just relax and let us do our job,” one of the men said.

As always, they were quick and efficient. I watched their faces as they applied the head harness, forcing the large gag deep into my mouth and strapping it on tight. It had been a long time since they had used it … back when I used to scream and curse … it felt familiar, though, and comforting somehow. I suddenly felt like I had somehow missed an opportunity to ask a question.

The straitjacket they pushed me into was different. It felt thicker, stiffer … maybe it was newer? They pushed my arms in and flipped me onto my stomach. It felt tighter than the usual one. It seemed to take longer for them to apply, there were more straps … or maybe they were going slower? They flipped me back around and a hood was pushed over my head and strapped into place.

I felt them unlock and remove The Cup. My cock felt cool air. I wish I could see it …it had been so long … I knew this was something different, the situations changed from evening to evening, but the cup had always stayed securely locked on.

I felt them pull more canvas up and around my legs tightening them together, and then I heard one of the men say, “Stop … just for a moment …”

The activity stopped, and everything was suddenly quiet.

I felt a strong hand gasp my cock and slowly start to stroke it. It had been so long since I had felt anything down there … but I suddenly felt blood surge, and that sensation that had been denied for so long. Three strokes … four strokes … it was glorious.

“Come on, that’s enough now. Let’s get him to the truck,” a voice said.

The hand released my now hard cock.

The sensation had awakened something in me. I suddenly wanted to get off … I wanted it more than anything. For the first time in months, I began to struggle. I pulled against the jacket, with all the strength I had left. I tried to kick off the sack, I screamed through the gag, a long muffled groan.

It was all weak and futile. My movements didn’t even register as resistance to them. I felt the sack tighten around my hips as its straps were fixed. I then was lifted by many hands into the air and carried out and placed on a padded surface. I felt movement, they were rolling me down the hall … I was really leaving this facility.

But I wasn’t thinking about that … I was hard, for the first time in a long time, I was hard, and the longing to get off had awoken something inside of me. I wanted to resist. I wanted to buck. I wanted out. I wanted escape.

But it was too late for that. I was completely secured, strapped tightly in this thick canvas. My muscles were too weak to even attempt a continued struggle. I could only moan, crying out past the gag as I was moved to a soft surface. I heard a door slam shut. Not long after I felt the rumbling and motion of being in a truck. I was going somewhere new.

I was tired … so I found myself drifting off to sleep … but I was still hard.

 

Metal would like to welcome Strappeddown to the Prison Library. You can find Strappeddown on recon, and on his Tumblr page.