My harness is restrictive, stiff and heavy. The tight crotch cradles my butt and affects my walking. The other prisoners all have shaved heads and look to be around my age and physical build. There are three skinheads walking with us, and each has one of those control-box shockers that seems to control two prisoners. A fourth skin (the one from the gas station) is definitely in charge of the others. All four of them are booted in 20-hole Rangers, dirty Levi’s bleaches held up and pulled tight on their butts by braces and showing significant bulges, mostly stained with piss.
The three in control of us all have zippers down their butts and look to be in their late 20s. The fourth skin (the overseer) walks down the line of us and with a black felt tip writes a number on the back of our shaved heads, from 1 to 6 (Jake is No. 5 and I am No. 6). He gives the order to the controlling skins, “Move these fags out.”
All of us receive a sudden shock to the balls. We grunt and jump forward, our chains rattling as our boots shuffle on the dirt. I concentrate on the horny sight of the booted, chained leather men in front. My cock tries to react, and I am only rewarded by pain in its steel confinement. We come up by a two-wheel cart containing two metal tanks and a half dozen shovels, and we are ordered to stop. The overseer shoves me over to the cart, backing me up between its handles and strapping my harness to it.
“Pick it up, fag, and start pulling,” he says and then orders the controlling skins to get us moving. We are again shocked into moving. I lean forward, the weight of the cart born by my harness. I struggle to get it moving as Jake’s lead chain pulls tight. I am working hard and am really sweating, trying to keep up with this chain gang. I fall several times, the lead chain tightens and I slow our progress and each time I fall the cart pulls my harness and I slide back a little. I am struggling to stand as the skinhead who holds our control box shocks both Jake and myself repeatedly. I am responsible for the ball shocks we all receive to get us moving.
This hell covers about a mile when we finally arrive at the work site. I collapse in the dirt. A skin unhooks my harness from the cart and drags me to my feet. The other leather prisoners surround the cart, and one at a time they kneel as the overseer skin takes a hose attached to a faucet on a the tank marked “water” and shoves it through each of the leather prisoner’s muzzles he lets them drink. I am last. We are each handed a shovel, led up the dirt track to a small ridge and ordered to dig. We are kept in a line by the controlling skins, who constantly shout jeers at us and occasionally boot us in the butt and when we fall down, they laughingly piss on us.
We work slowly in the heat, and any time one of us slacks off we all get shocked. We are allowed water breaks, and we shuffle back to the cart for these. None of us has eaten since yesterday and are finally given a lunch break and back at the cart another hose control by the overseer feeds us a liquid drink contained in the other tank. We are permitted to drink as much as we want, and then some more water. All of us prisoners are looking pretty beat down, soaked in our sweat and the skins piss, our leathers covered in dirt, piss dribbling out of our seed pods.
We are ordered back to work, our skinhead controllers are laughing as they continually shock our balls and we jerk about and moan out our pain in reaction. It’s a long day when we are finally ordered to stop work and return our tools to the cart, ordered to kneel down while the three skinhead controllers select three of us by number. Fuck one calls out No 6, me. The skin approaches pulling his cock from his bleachers, grabbing the back of my head with one hand, and using the other to shove his cock through my muzzle deep into my mouth.
“Fag, grab my butt and pull me tight.” He eagerly thrusts away until he shoots, grunting his pleasure. The same action is happening to the two prisoners selected.
He pulls me to my feet and re-attaches my harness to the cart. I struggle to turn it around and follow the other chained prisoners back the long mile to our blockhouse. My mind is trying to cope with the realization that I will be repeating this day after day. I can’t take this, never to get out of chains, living in my hot, confining leathers, soaked in sweat and piss all the time. Surely they can’t keep me here after my 30-day “sentence” is served! Jake must be mistaken, they have to release us!
We reach the blockhouse and are returned to our cells. Jake and I are chained to opposite walls. I collapse, exhausted, our muzzles have not been removed, the skinhead locking us gives us one more electric shock then leaves, slamming the cell door. The light goes out. I am crying and really frightened. I hear Jake, his leathers creaking, quietly sobbing.
The night passes at a crawl, mostly sleepless, the harness adding to the discomfort. The sudden light jars me as two skins enter the cell, both going to Jake, removing his muzzle, standing him up, unstrapping his crotch belt from his harness. One unzips his leathers as they shove him over the squat pit and proceed to give him his morning enema, flushing him out with the hose several times. When they finish they zip closed his leathers and again buckle his crotch strap to the back of his harness, and lock it.
They hand him a bottle of water and order him to drink all of it. They now turn to me, remove my muzzle, leading me to the squat pit, unlock and unbuckle my crotch strap, unzip my butt zipper and proceed with my enema until satisfied.
At this point one of them says, “Give me your bank and credit card PIN, now.”
I say I can’t remember them. One skin quickly replaces my muzzle, locking it tight. The other is now holding a steel butt plug, which he is screwing into a fitting on my crotch strap. I am scared, remembering Jake’s suffering when he was punished like this. I attempt to say my PINs, but my mouth tube prevents me from any coherent sounds. The plug is shoved into my hole as they close the strap, pulling it tight as they lock it to the back of my harness.
I keep trying to speak, sobbing out pitiful “please stop.” The skin replies by giving me a sudden shock to the plug and my balls. “You have no choice but to obey us, you stupid fag, you will be wearing this until we are satisfied you have learned this. Your battery pack is wired through your harness to both the butt plug and cock ring. It can be set to administer both pleasure and pain. We are going to enjoy your torment. I have set the timer on random.”
He hands me a water bottle, ordering me to drink it all. My butt plug begins to vibrate. It feels good, but as my cock painfully responds in the tight pod, there is a shock to both.
We are unchained from the wall. Jake pats me on the back as he passes. Head down, I shuffle out behind him, placing my hands on his butt and squeezing. The steel butt plug feels heavy and like I am being fucked when I walk or move. I don’t know how long I will be in this punishment. A sudden jolt to my ass jumps me forward as a following shock to my balls doubles me over.
Today is a repeat of yesterday, only my work suffers as my body reacts to the repetitive shocks. The other prisoners try to help me, but the overseer stops them. He tells me that I am adding extra days to my “sentence” and possibly other punishments.
“You have now added one day for your disobedience to a skinhead, and so far one day for poor work.” I know this is all bullshit, that they never had any intension of letting any of us go. The constant shocks are beating me down. I will give them anything they demand to stop this punishment. A skinhead comes over to me. “You know you will be wearing that butt plug all night and all day tomorrow until we are satisfied that you will be unconditionally obedient. This is your future.”
This second workday ends. How long have I been here? Only three or is it four days? I’ve never been in my leathers and boots this long, never been kept in restraints longer than 24 hours. It’s no longer a good feeling. I’ve come to realize that Jake was telling me the truth. We are prisoners here, with no possibility for release, chained in our leathers until they fall apart from our sweat, piss and hard labor doing mindless work. All six of us are trapped and captured by our leather fetish, only we got a bit more than we expected.
To be continued …
NOTE: rts wrote this as demanded by Metal, naked under his full leathers for 24 hours, 20-hole steel boots, balls tied tight with rope and for this last chapter wearing a tight heavy leather kidney belt.