By Mister-X/Spartan

The stories she told were chilling. I was a budding investigative reporter, hoping to find a story to make my mark in the world. My boss knew this, and invited me to hear this woman’s stories. She lived in Romania, and was visiting in this country. She was telling us about how their ruler, Ceaucescu, would use insane asylums to house meddlesome dissidents, and the terrible things they would do to such people.

I was young, still in college. My parents had emigrated to the U.S. from Romania, and they spoke Romanian at home, so I was fluent in the language. I would be a natural for the job of doing a report from inside one of these hell holes. But it would obviously be a very dangerous assignment. The lady said that if I could get into Romania, she could get me the necessary papers as a resident student. My boss left the decision up to me as to whether to do this assignment.

I thought about it, thought about the stories the lady told, and decided I would do it. The paper would back me. I had to start planning everything quickly. The lady would be returning home in a week. She knew the people there who were leading the opposition to the ruler, and would put me in touch with them when I arrived in the country.

I was all set to go there on a tourist visa. Once there, I would switch identities. All this went smoothly. I soon got in touch with the opposition. We had to be careful, as we expected we were being watched by Ceaucescu’s men. I found out about the next rally, and prepared. I would be one of the ones who was most vocal. The purpose was to get arrested and sent to one of those asylums.

At the rally everything went as planned. As expected, I was one of the ones who was arrested. I was cuffed and taken to that infamous prison to be interrogated. On the way I was beaten by the arresting police. I was taken to one of the cells and thrown in, hands still cuffed behind my back. I spent several hours there, wounds not tended to, waiting to be interrogated. Finally it was my turn. The prison guards came and took me into a room.

I was sat down in a chair, hands still cuffed behind my back. I was asked my name, and gave them the one from the identity I was given. Apparently this was a known activist student. He already had a record with the police. I assumed a sullen, combative attitude. The officer questioning me finally issued the order to have me sent to a mental facility for ‘evaluation’. I had succeeded in getting to where I wanted to go.

I was taken under guard to another part of the prison. My clothes were cut off from me, and a hose was used to wash me off. A doctor was present, and he signed the necessary documents. A canvas straitjacket was produced. While the guards moved in, my cuffs were finally removed and, while one guard held the open straitjacket in front of me, two other guards grabbed each of my arms to guide them into it. I was trying to resist, but knew it was of no use.

I soon realized that the straitjacket was too small for me. I said something to the guards, who just laughed. They said that it was supposed to be small, that they would make it fit by pulling the straps tight. When they started doing so, they put muscle into it. I soon started being tightly contained in that jacket. Tighter and tighter it was getting as the straps were pulled tight, then tighter, then tighter still. They left the crotch strap and the neck strap to the last. I noticed the doctor still there, waiting.

One of the guards first tested my cock, and found that it was getting hard. The guard told the doctor that, and he wrote something on the report. Then that guard, with a big smile, yanked the neck strap as tight as he could get it before buckling it. I was starting to choke from that. That guard again checked my cock, and found that it was hard as a rock, dripping pre-cum. He told the doctor that, and he wrote something else on the form. Only then did they pull the crotch strap up and buckle it shut.

I was yelling at the guards during all of this. After I was in the straitjacket, they got a dirty rag and put it in my mouth. Before I could get it out, they got some of that thick surgical bandage stuff that adheres very well and put that around the gag and my head. All my complaints now came out as just so much mumble-jumble.

I was next blindfolded and had shackles put on my ankles with a chain between. The guards started taking me out of the room after that. I was taken inside a waiting van and put in a seat. There were straps at various places in the seat, and I was strapped in tightly. I could barely move any muscle. Plus, I was still having difficulty breathing with that tight neck strap on the straitjacket. I wouldn’t be able to put up much resistance like this. I’m sure that’s why the guards did that.

The ride to the facility took a couple of hours. When we got there, the doctor had accompanied us, and he escorted each of us inside, along with guards, and stopped at the reception to give the details, my name, and what the guards had found. My blindfold was finally removed. When the doctor told the receptionist about my cock getting hard when I was choked by the neck strap, the receptionist looked up at me and remarked “he’s so young. He should be healthy enough to last some years. He’ll be perfect for Stan.”

After reception, I was taken down a corridor to a room and taken inside. There were several others strapped to beds already in that room. I was put on a vacant bed and strapped down. I tested the straps, and found that they weren’t about to give. I had made it inside the asylum. My job now was to see what went on.

I first took a look at the others in the room. They were all strapped down, in straitjackets, and gagged like I was. Some of them were younger, some were muscled, and some looked like laborers. None of them looked like they were mental cases. They were all looking at me. I suppose in a place like that you were suspicious of everyone. After that hectic day, I decided to try to get some rest.

Soon a man walked in who was dressed in a white coat and was accompanied by a couple of armed guards. He was checking charts at the end of beds, and when he came to mine, he said “this one.” The guards started unstrapping me from the bed, and when I was free of the bed, but still in the straitjacket and ankle shackles, they lifted me up and started walking me out of the room.

I was taken down the hall to an elevator, a guard on each side of me. When the doors opened we took the elevator down. At the bottom level, we got out and started down the hall. I was hearing screaming coming from some of the rooms, several of which we passed. Finally we went into one of the vacant rooms.

There was an unusual combination of things in that room. I wondered what I was going to be experiencing. But what was done first was something I had not expected. They unbuckled the crotch strap and opened up the area over my cock. Next an ice cube was brought out and placed next to it. I reacted to the pain of that, but it was short-lived. Something was placed over my cock, a sheath of some sort. After that, the crotch strap was buckled back, but loosely, allowing my cock to get hard if it wanted to.

I was taken over to a nearby metal chair and sat down in it. There were the usual straps to keep me contained in it, going over my lower legs, upper legs, stomach below my crossed arms, and chest. My ankle shackles were removed and my ankles were placed in cuffs which were attached to the bottom of each chair leg. Last, there was a metal wire which was positioned at the level of my neck. The strap at my neck was finally unbuckled and opened. I breathed a sigh of relief when that was done.

But my relief was short-lived. The metal wire was placed around the base of my neck and hooked back to the other side. It was snug, but not tight. And finally my gag was removed.

As soon as that was off I said, “why am I here? I’m not insane.”

“You are here because you have been deemed to be an enemy of the state. In the eyes of this country, you are no longer a person. You are now just someone that I have been given to experiment with.”

“You can’t do that. I’m a human being.”

That caused the guy to laugh. “As you can see, we not only can do it, we are doing it.”

“What experiment will you be doing with me?”

“You are turned on by being choked. We have placed you in a garrote chair. We will be tightening that metal wire around your neck. We have also placed your cock in a spiked cock sheath. When your cock gets hard, you will be experiencing pain as your cock gets skewered. This is your home, now. You will be fed here, though the metal wire may be so tight that you won’t be able to swallow.”

“What will that experiment prove?”

“We are interested to find out how long someone can survive such a situation. At each one year anniversary we will tighten the metal wire. It will be interesting to see how long you survive.”

“And I’m to be kept here the whole time like this?”

“Yes.”

I tried to think of the right word. “You’re a, uh, a sadistic beast.”

“Not at all. I’m a scientist. Scientists all over the world are conducting experiments on animals. Since you’re no longer considered to be a person anymore, you’re now an animal for an experiment.”

Before I could respond to that, he got behind me and started turning a handle to tighten the wire. There would periodically be an audible ‘click.’ The wire would tighten, then ‘click,’ and the wire would tighten, then ‘click.’ Soon I started choking, but he kept turning the handle. My cock started getting hard, and I started screaming from the pain of that. But he kept turning the handle more. Finally he cut off my screams, and he stopped turning the handle. I was feeling the pain, but my screams were silent due to his cutting off my vocal chords.

I had wondered what his criteria would be for stopping, and I found out. My face must have turned a bright red color, and my eyes must have started bugging out. I was certainly developing a headache, and I was having difficulty breathing.

That guy had gotten to the front of me and was looking at my face. He was checking off various criteria on a sheet on his clipboard as he was noticing my symptoms. He finally finished, and turned to the guards. Talking to them, he said “excellent reactions, just like the others.” He turned and left the room, followed by the two guards.

I was wondering what had happened to the others that he’d tried this experiment on. But that thought didn’t occupy my mind as much as trying to stay alive did. I was having major difficulty doing so. A major sinus blockage had developed, and I could no longer breathe through my nose. Fortunately the gag was left out, and I could breathe through my mouth. I realized that I had better not do anything to cause them to gag me again as long as I couldn’t breathe through my nose.

As time passed, I found that I was able to adjust to living in these extremely difficult conditions. Attendants came by to feed me and to take care of my morning emptying. There was a hole at the bottom of the chair which I hadn’t noticed which allowed emptying at that end. That ‘scientist’ would come back periodically to test me, but only about once a week, again writing notes on a form on his clipboard. I would periodically hear screams from other rooms on that floor, but I hadn’t gotten my voice back yet.

I’d gotten enough information for my story. My problem now was how to get out of this place. I needed to devise a plausible story to tell them when I got my voice back. I obviously couldn’t tell them the real story. I finally decided to just tell them my name and that I was an American tourist. But now I had to try to get my voice back.

I found that the metal wire in the chair would adjust. So I started flexing my neck muscles periodically to try to adjust the wire to the shape of my neck, which had some recesses next to my muscles. I would also try periodically to say something. Finally one day I was able to say something which came out as a whisper. At last! I practiced and practiced, and was able to speak again, albeit in a whisper. But I figured this would be sufficient.

The next time that ‘scientist’ entered the room, I started talking to him in that hoarse whisper. When he heard me speak, he immediately started writing something on his clipboard. But he finally started listening to what I was saying.

I told him that I was actually an American tourist, and gave him my real name. I told him to check, as I’m sure that there would be a record of my disappearance. He immediately left the room. He was gone for the rest of the day. When he returned the next day, there was another man with him.   They started by addressing me by my real name, which I was very pleased to hear. But I wondered with what they told me whether they would let me go.

“You switched identities with that young man. He left the country using your identification. When he reached your country, he was found out, but has been allowed to remain in your country as someone who would be put into prison as a political prisoner if he returned. He has been raising all sorts of opposition in your country to our ruler. And yes, you are considered to be an American tourist who is missing in our country. You leave us with a difficult problem. Helping an enemy of the state, as that young man certainly is, is a serious crime in this country. That you helped him is sufficient reason for us to keep you here.”

He stopped talking and let that sink in. I was starting to get worried that I would never get out of this place.

The guy continued. “We also have the problem of what you have seen here and how you have been treated. We don’t want this further bad publicity. So what are we to do with you?”

I said, “do you think I want to tell people that I’m turned on by being choked? That’s not something that a person makes public. My life back home would become very difficult.”

“I can understand that. So if you agree to not mention your experience here, then I think we can resolve this. There will be a trial in which you will be convicted of helping an enemy of the state to leave the country. But since you are not someone from this country, you will be ordered to leave and not ever return, being put in prison if you do.”

“That would be most satisfactory to me. I thank you for that.”

“I’m not pleased to cut off my experiment. Perhaps if things work out later, I can continue this in your country.”

“That depends on what happened to the others you talked about experimenting on. I would not want to continue this experiment to the end.”

“I see. Yes, I guess I’ll just have to accept ending my experiment on you. Too bad. Science will be the loser.”

As they were leaving the room, I was thinking that I would have been the loser. The next day I was removed from the chair and taken to a court. I was still tightly enclosed in that straitjacket, the neck and crotch straps yanked just as tight as they originally were, the spiked cock sheath still on. There was no one else in the courtroom, other than the prosecutor, the judge, and the guards. The case went as was stated, and I was ordered out of the country.

I was taken to the airport, still in the straitjacket. Guards went to the airport security people and explained my situation. I was escorted through as one of the early boarders, and was strapped into a seat in the back of the plane, still tightly ensconced in that straitjacket. I wondered what the other passengers thought. At least I wasn’t gagged.

After the steward had served all the others, he came to me and started feeding me, and helped me to drink liquid. I thanked him for that consideration. When we arrived at the airport, there were local insane asylum people waiting for me. I was kept in the straitjacket while being transported to a local facility for evaluation.

When they started the evaluation, I told them that I was a reporter on assignment to a Romanian insane asylum as a political prisoner to get a story. I told them my boss’ name and phone number, and he verified my story. He had heard nothing back from me, and was worried. He asked to talk to me.

On the phone I told him to have a photographer sent to the insane asylum, and to bring a rag, some of that thick medical tape that adheres, some ankle shackles with a chain between, and some clothes. My boss understood, and told me he would try to answer my request. After the phone was hung up, the facility people started to help me out of the straitjacket, but I told them I needed to stay in it for pictures to be taken. They understood.

It was a several hour wait. I was fed in the meantime. I figured that they were having difficulty getting everything that was required. Finally the reporter showed up, as well as my boss and a couple of the others from the paper. They were all happy to see me. The pictures were taken, and I was finally able to get out of that straitjacket. I’d been in it for several months, and my body was in bad need of cleaning. Pictures were also taken of the deep imprint at the base of my neck which the rod had made, as well as the cock sheath, both inside and out. They chose not to take pictures of my skewered cock.

After I was cleaned and dressed, my boss took me back to my office to get started writing the story while it was still fresh in my mind. I told him that I would never forget that experience, but always the newspaperman, he was afraid that someone else would scoop me.

I got the story written. It took a few days to get everything down that I wanted to say, and to have it done such that it would grab people’s attention while being factual, yet readable. My boss was pleased when he read it. After he finished, he looked over at me, still dressed in those clothes he’d brought. He told me to go take some time off, and get some proper fitting clothes, shirts that had collars that were extra-tight. He winked at me when he said that. I realized that what I was worried would happen was already starting.

To be continued …

 

Metal would like to thank the author, Mister-X/Spartan, for this Story!