By Shket36

With English-language editing by Joshua Ryan

This is a story about adults, and for adults only.

Senya Petrov speaks:

It’s hard to remember when I became interested in the prison theme. Since childhood I liked the feeling of helplessness. I imagined myself in the place of a prisoner, a convict.  One day, my godfather (he served in the police) left handcuffs at our house. This was my finest hour. It is difficult to describe the secret delight and excitement from the feeling of metal in my hands.

Time passed… school, university, work…  Interest in restrictions did not disappear. Gradually I began to form my own collection of shackles, handcuffs, chains. Two years ago I came across an advertisement for the sale of real convict uniforms. I think there is no need to explain that I wasted zero time placing my order. When I received the delivery of the black suit with gray stripes of a Russian prisoner, made of coarse fabric, my hands were shaking.  My adrenaline was off the charts, as was my excitement. From that time on, I began looking for prison-themed role-playing meetings.

A year or so ago — it was in mid-September— an intriguing message arrived in my inbox: “I can put you in prison temporarily.”

My heart skipped a beat–but I answered. The proposal was this: my interlocutor had connections within the authorities managing Russian prisons, and for a small reward he was ready to assist in placing me for a time in a real prison. Regarding security, he assured me that everything would be under his control.

I hesitated for a long time, but on New Year’s Eve we finally agreed on a meeting in the town where I lived.  A tall, athletic man in military uniform Introduced himself as Nikolai. Nikolai told his vision of events.  The basic idea was an option for me to take the place of one of the convicts in a maximum security prison. To be honest, I was a little hypnotized by his monologue about the regime of detention, about convoying in the “swallow” position (the convict moves around the prison in a bent position with his arms extended back and his fingers spread out, pointing upward, birdlike), about mandatory reports during daily checks (In his report, the prisoner must state his last name, the article under which he was convicted, and when he was convicted), about checks and searches of the cells, and much else.

My dick was stiff from what I heard. Maybe that’s why I believed that this idea was easy to pull off. My doubts about how I could end up in prison under a false name were soon quieted by Nikolai, who told me that convicts are often moved discreetly from one prison to another, and the information about them is mainly stored in printed form; it is almost impossible to check it through information systems. The main thing is to provide copies of documents certified in the prescribed form.

In the end, I agreed.  We promised to communicate with each other within a month.

Before the month was over I received a message from Nikolai in which he said that in early February I needed to come to him at Irkutsk and undergo “training” to be a prisoner–to practice the correct movements when walking, communicating with guards, making a report, and so forth.  At that time I was unemployed, so I had no problems with work matters.  After reading the message, I immediately bought tickets.

Nikolai met me at the Irkutsk railway station on February 2. He was as beautiful as he had been the first time: crisp uniform, shiny boots, broad shoulders, great posture….  He greeted me cordially and helped carry my things to his car, which was going to take us to his place.  The road turned out to be long – about two hours by car. But it was not boring.  I liked him, and it was clear to me that he liked me too.

Nikolai had planned an exciting week, and his planning was not in vain.  But first things first…

My friend Nikolai lived in a quiet suburb of Irkutsk–a former village, later annexed to the city.  His house was located on the very outskirts.  It was completely inconspicuous – a one-story, ordinary, average house, with the exception of one thing.  It maintained its privacy with a two-meter fence made of profile metal sheet.  The yard was not visible to passersby; only the roof of the house could be seen.  When we reached the house, Nikolai pressed the remote control and opened the gate. We drove across the yard and turned in behind the house.  At that moment, Nikolai turned to me and asked: “Are you sure you’ve decided? There is still an opportunity to cancel everything.” I replied: “Yes. Exactly. I’m ready”.

As soon as we got out of the car, Nikolai ordered me to put my hands on the roof and spread my legs wide apart.  He then pulled my hands behind my back and handcuffed me.  Then he put a bag over my head and bent my arms up so that my body involuntarily bent like a knife, face pointing at the ground.  The command “forward” followed.  After stumbling forward for a few meters, I was ordered to stand up, lean my forehead against a wall, and not move a muscle. I heard the metallic sound of a door being opened.  Nikolai took my hands, and we moved inside.  There was a turn to the left, then straight, then to the right, then there was a difficult descent on some stairs….  At some point, Nikolai again put my forehead against the wall, again opened a door, again led me inside, and again ordered me to stand, leaning against the wall, while he loudly closed the door and locked it with his keys.

My friend then allowed me to straighten up and took the bag off my head.  I saw the room where I found myself. It was a room with an “official” renovation – the kind of renovation that is usually done in government institutions.  The walls were painted blue with oil paint; lampshades with grilles were installed on the ceiling; several benches had been planted in the room, and a steel table in the corner.  Its surface was stacked with steel containers.  Nikolai took my cuffs off and ordered me to undress completely and put all my things in a container.

I unlaced my shoes, took off my jacket, pants, sweater, and t-shirt. I didn’t know whether to take off my shorts or not, and hesitated for a minute, but Nikolai repeated “completely” and I took off the last thing I had on my body. I put all my clothes in the box and closed the lid. Nikolai handed me a plastic seal with a number on it (I still remember – 734562) and told me to push it through the lock.  Thus, I was sure that if the seal was preserved, my things would be there.

Next, Nikolai ordered me to turn my back to him, bend over, spread my ass with my hands, and show him my hole. He put gloves on his hands, lubricated my ass with something, and quickly climbed inside.  Unpleasant! After repeatedly twirling his finger inside me, he said “everything is clear” and pulled out his finger. After this, he ordered me to stand up straight, handcuffed me behind my back, turned me around, then told me to close my eyes and stick out my tongue. After that, he put his hand in my mouth, felt with his fingers under my tongue and behind my cheeks, and checked in my throat. I was completely searched for drugs prohibited in prison.

Again Nikolai turned me around, took my hands from behind, and directed them upward so that I was forced to bend over, followed by the command “forward!” We moved to another room, one with a drain hole in the floor, which I saw very clearly from my eyes-to-the-floor view.  Nikolai sat me down on a stool, took out some electric clippers, and began shaving my head—first with the clippers, then with a razor, so that the hair would not quickly grow back.  Nikolai explained that a convict’s face should always be clean-shaven, and the length of the hair on his head should never exceed 1 cm. Next, he told me to stand in the middle of the room, where the drain hole was, and began to pour cold water on me from a hose.  I screamed, and he said to be silent and wash myself.  Then, turning off the water, he poured some liquid on my head (some kind of shampoo or soap) and told me to smear it over my body, after which he hosed me down and threw me a thin little towel.

Next the handcuffs were on me again.  We proceeded to another room, where there was a cage and a table.  He put me in the cage and began to instruct me. He told me that when a guard addresses a convict, the convict has only certain options for his answer: “Yes, citizen is the boss” (when receiving an order to perform a task), “That’s right, citizen is the boss” (if the answer to a question is affirmative), “No way, citizen is the boss” ( if the answer to a question is negative)… In general, it is necessary to add “citizen boss” to any remark.

I practiced these responses for a long time.   Then Nikolai brought me out of the cage and took mugshots of me for my prison record.  The mugshots were in black and white, as it is in Russian prisons, where almost everything about a convict, including his photos, is black and white.

Then he put a file on the table–the personal file of a convict, a certain Peter Ivanovich Sanin, and honestly, I was amazed at how similar Peter and I were. Peter had been sentenced 13 years before to a term of 15 years. According to Nikolai, Peter is no longer alive, but information about this has not yet been entered into the system. Nikolai’s idea was as follows: I was to spend no more than six months, from his moment of delivery, in a maximum security prison; then he would send a request for transfer to another institution. He would be responsible for my escort, so I had nothing to fear.  Instead of taking me to that other prison, he would release me.  This calmed me down.

After my introductory briefing, I was given a set of convict clothing, including gray underwear, black socks, black trousers with gray stripes across the knees, a black jacket with gray stripes on the pockets, on the shoulders, and across the back, a cap with a gray stripe on the forehead, and heavy black boots. This was the first set of convict clothing that was ever given to me, and I eagerly put it on.

Nikolai then instructed me in the “swallow” position in which prisoners are moved and managed — head facing the ground, body bent, arms extended backwards, hands upturned as if they were the “fingers” of a bird.  He applied a set of handcuffs to my upturned hands, and with me in my swallow position muscled me out of the room, down a hallway, and into a “cell.”  Thus began my training week in his home prison.

Nikolai arranged for me a real course for a new prisoner: morning checks, reports, escort by my uniformed guard to the place of exercise.  I, like a real-life sentencer, was entitled to an hour of walking, which took place in a separate room that is hard even to describe. I assume if the home prison was somewhere in the basement, so was the exercise room.  I was moved to this place in a bent position, hands cuffed behind my back, pointing upward, and wearing a blindfold over my eyes. The walking room itself was a rectangle approximately 4 by 3 meters, about 4 meters high. The walls were lined with white bricks. Instead of a door there was a metal grille painted blue. On the floor in the center of the room was a hook, from which a chain stretched down, to be attached to my handcuffs.  During the walk, my hands were always handcuffed behind my back. In addition, before I entered the room, Nikolai inserted a gag of an extremely clever design into my mouth.  It reached almost to my throat, and talking in it, even trying to make any sounds, was extremely problematic.  It turned me on wildly.  I loved it!  Nikolai, I think, loved it too.

In addition to the standard procedures that are characteristic of the penitentiary system, Nikolai continued to apply non-standard ones to me.  The next day after arrival, during the morning inspection, he ordered me to completely remove my pants and spread my legs wide apart and lean forward, putting my forehead against the wall. During the inspection, Nikolai stuck his finger into my anus, but instead of quickly checking everything and moving on, he felt the prostate and began to leisurely massage it. Then there was a second finger… a third….. After some time, he pulled his fingers out of my ass.  I heard his belt unfasten.  He took down his pants –  I felt his penis begin to enter me. Imagine the picture: me, with my legs spread wide apart, my hands in handcuffs pointing upward, my forehead resting on the wall, and Nikolai, holding my waist with one hand and pulling my arms up with the other. There was a mixed feeling – I felt good from the friction of Nikolai’s penis on my prostate (I think I even came), but my hands were swelling from constant tension, and this caused extreme discomfort.

Nikolai fucked me every day and I liked it all. But good things pass quickly.  On February 8, I woke in the darkness around 5 am, to begin my trip to prison.

To be continued …

Metal would like to thank the author, Shket36, for this story and welcome him to the Prison Library. And thanks to Joshua Ryan as well, for translating, editing, and facilitating!