By Shket36

With English-language editing by Joshua Ryan

Nikolai speaks:

June was approaching, the first hot days had set in.  In Eastern Siberia they are especially hot.  This always infuriated me, because I had to sweat in my Penitentiary Service synthetics or put on a woolen jacket with a cap. But I needed to visit my ward Peter. Working in the system, I was able to easily arrange a date, despite the fact that I am not a relative of the prisoner. When you’ve been part of the system for more than 12 years you become a tough and soulless person, but I felt a special attraction to Peter, which I had never had for any man before.  I liked this guy for some reason.

Arriving at the prison you have to go through an inspection procedure to detect any contraband, regardless of the fact that you work in the department.  You spread your arms like a convict so that the prison officer thoroughly searches you. After the standard procedure of filling out various papers, I was escorted to the meeting room.

When I am in prison, I experience special pleasure. I get a thrill from the sight of the escort service, how prisoners are escorted, searched, and a report is made. How clean and tidy the prisoners’ uniforms appear.  The sounds of steel and the sight of tech: closing locks, snapping handcuffs, and surveillance cams release lubricant on the penis. Particular pleasure is given by the prisoners in the punishment cells – MAXIMUM HELPLESSNESS and the opportunity to leave the prisoner completely torn to pieces by one’s visit.

Prison is a place of opportunity and pleasure.

They took me into a room. I waited about 15 minutes for convicted Sanin to be delivered, and looked around choosing words in my head, what I would say to this convict.  It was a bright large room about 9 meters long.  There was a table and two chairs, and a bunk made of armored mesh, without a mattress.  My request for a meeting had been granted for a duration of no more than 6 hours.  My inspection of the room was interrupted by the voice of the guard in the corridor saying “to the wall,” the clang of doors — “let’s go, to the right, to the wall”— and the clang of bars being closed.  The prison was going about its daily work.

A guard with the rank of sergeant entered the room and explained the rules of behavior and conduct of the meeting. I sat on a chair and waited for Peter to be brought in.  I weighed my opposing thoughts.  How cruel the system is towards its convicts!  How they all move in bent positions, how they are constantly forced to shout their reports, how they and their cells are searched, how they must answer to the guards, how difficult it is, physically and mentally!  But how enjoyable!

“The convict will turn and pass inside,” said another guard, leading convict Peter into the room and holding him in a bent position. Peter carried out all the actions clearly and repeated “There is a citizen in charge” — while wearing a mask over his eyes for disorientation. The picture, of course, excited me; my penis became engorged and I even fidgeted a little in my chair. I watched as Peter’s handcuffs were removed and without any reminder, he turned his freed hands backwards, palms facing the guard at the door. Once the two hands were freed, the convict was allowed to straighten himself up, and our room was closed.

Peter took off his mask.  Blinded by the light, he did not immediately recognize me. I went up to him. “Well, hello, dear Pyotr Ivanovich,” I said, and hugged him tightly. He was glad; we stood there for a minute without stopping, my penis continuing to be elastic. With my hands I felt the tactile fabric of the prisoner’s uniform, how smooth and slick it was.  I especially liked the stripes on it.

“Sit down,” I told the prisoner.  It felt good to be indulgent.  “Tell me how you are.  I see you are doing everything clearly, all your actions are already verified to the point of being automatic. There is no violation of discipline on your part. Well, how do you like it?  Did you get what you wanted?”

Peter began to talk enthusiastically about the order in which the prisoners were kept, how they fed him, took him out for exercise, and even allowed him books. But isolation and loneliness weighed on him. He had no one to talk to, as he was kept in solitary confinement. He talked incessantly; his emotions overwhelmed me. Then he asked why they had announced to him that his prison term had been changed to life.

I assured him that there was no need to worry–in this system everything always comes late, especially since Peter Sanin is not physically alive.  The sentence was extended so that no one will care about anything that happens to you.  No one will be tracking you, expecting to register your release, when you are silently withdrawn from the system.

“Peter, you were assigned here until August 1.  Your transfer is scheduled for that date.  I will take you out of the system then.  Relax and have fun.”

I took sausages, cheese, bread, and smoked meat out of my bag. “Come on, eat, you’ve lost weight here,” I told him, placing my hands on his shoulders and lowering them down his chest onto Sanin’s convict number, sewn onto his uniform.  My penis was hard again.  Through my uniform trousers it was resting against his back as he greedily ate his cheese and meat. I looked and was surprised at how little a person needs.  But I wanted to make Peter mine.  I was cruel and strict and always got everything I wanted. If I subjugated a person to myself, the subjugation needed to be final and complete.

I turned Peter towards me.  His eyes were opposite the buckle on my belt. He was surprised by my erection.  I nodded my head, letting him know that he needed to take out my dick and get down to business.

Peter reluctantly unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and lowered them.  He was moving slowly.

“Come on Peter,” I said. “You have to try this! I studied you, your interests, I know who you are. You like to be helpless, isolated, under restrictions and influence.”

Then Peter began to quite professionally take my dick, even smacking it between his lips.  I took him boldly by the shoulders, feeling the fabric of his black prison uniform. I touched his shoes, his pants. Then I put him against the wall, spread his legs wide, bent him over, spread his arms uphill, and began to rub against his ass. His penis was excited; it began to flow. I started to pull his balls.  He began to whine.

“Hush, there’s a guard at the door, but I know what you like. “ I started thrusting my fingers into his mouth. “Do you want it rougher? Do you want to know more about the zone? You don’t have much time, you have to make it.” To which I received approval from Peter. We became so close that there were deep kisses, and contacts all over the body.   Hours passed, and we were happy.  At that point, I decided to set him up so that I could have fun later.

We talked.  Peter did most of it, wanting to know what was happening in the world and how everything was there.  But our time was running out.  Before the end we were given 15 minutes’ warning; then I deliberately stayed to watch as they took Peter away.  For me, this was a deeply enjoyable process. Two guards entered the room.  One gave the command “To the original!”, and Peter automatically spread his legs, bent his arms at the elbows, and turned them with his palms backward.  Then the command “Hands behind your back!” was heard, and the special handcuffs of the Russian penitentiary system snapped quickly onto Peter’s wrists.  No longer was poor Peter able to move his hands. The picture was so exciting that I almost came again, right in my pants.   As Peter looked into my eyes the mask was re-placed on his own eyes, like a man about to be executed.  Then he was sharply bent into the swallow position to be escorted into the corridor, where he was again placed against the wall and subjected to a thorough search.  The convoy of guards was efficient in escorting the prisoner back to his home behind bars.

I went out to the checkpoint; they examined me once again and walked me through in my still-moist uniform trousers.  Then I decided to call the head of the prison. “Maxim Nikolaevich, this is the Grishin Regional Administration, are you there? I’ll come to you.”

I went into the office of my old colleague, the head of the prison, Maxim Nikolaevich Sazonov, and we talked about life and business. I asked him: “You have Sanin as a prisoner, what can you say about him?”

“Yes, he served almost 15 years.  But then somehow they changed him for life.  What are you doing there in the department?”

“Don’t get angry, Maxim.  Just put him in a punishment cell and let him think about his behavior.”

“Why did this guy visit with you, Nikolai?  He’s a disciplined prisoner, he doesn’t appear in the penalty box.  How can I send him to the punishment cell?  If I know  you, there is something else going on.”

“I need entertainment, Maxim!  I’m going back to Irkutsk right now, but I’ll return in a few weeks.  I’ll let you know.  Then bring him to an interrogation chamber, put him in a cage, and leave me with him. But first, let him sweat it out in the punishment cell.  And this,” I said, moving a few 5,000 bills, “is for your car.”

“Oh, that’s another matter, Nikolai!  Let’s do it!”

And I went home, turning over thoughts about meeting Peter again.  Before my eyes stood the convict Sanin in a black uniform with stripes across it.  Bent, hands cuffed, legs spread erotically wide, fingers spread like a swallow … And his three-second look into my satisfied eyes, in the moment of my cuffing his hands behind his back.

To be continued …