By MarkNorth

The following is a fictional tale centered on an actual stay at “Men’s Central Prison” in Southern California in early July. The storyline is part of the fantasy role-play that encompassed the visit; but all of the bondage scenes described are real. The Officers at MCP are well-versed and well-equipped in bondage and role-play, which allowed me to drift into the desired “headspace” rather easily. Thank you to Bind, Hawk, and Rob for a great trip!

I thought I was in the clear and the other guys were too. It was taking a chance, but I needed to meet with them one final time to work out the arrangements for the transfer of the money. A quick in and out so no one would even know I was in town.

The flight landed a few minutes early, and the blast of heat and bright sunshine that hit me as I crossed onto the jet way felt good. Especially after being cooped up in cattle-class for almost five hours. It was a little too risky to ride up front — no need to draw attention to myself.

The guys had arranged a car to take me to the airport hotel where we would meet. A 5-minute ride for a quick meeting, then back to the airport for the late afternoon flight out. Sliding in and sliding out unnoticed was the plan. It was crucial that we all were on the same page before walking away — as we would never meet or talk to each other again. We had to lay low for a while before spending any of the cash and it was important that the cash had been safely spread out. The accountant in the group had the details for each of us. I wasn’t worried about that; we had worked jobs together for years and we trusted each other with our lives. This would be the last one, though. A big enough score to quietly retire comfortably anywhere we wanted to. Just this one last meeting.

The driver was standing at the foot of the escalator as I reached the baggage claim area. The name on the sign he was holding was one of the many aliases that I had used over the years. I smiled at the thought that soon I could just stick with one name as I made a new life for myself.

The car wasn’t out front as was expected, he mumbled something about security and we headed toward the parking garage. The walk took us almost to the far end of the structure, and he apologized for not being able to get closer. Oh well, the little sweat that I worked up under the sport coat was no big deal. I had intentionally dressed to look like a middle class, middle management staffer — out on a sales call or some other errand for the corporate hacks that he worked for. Bland in every regard and invisible in any airport on any given day.

The driver opened the rear passenger door, and I slid in. We drove out of the garage and up the ramp to the freeway. I wasn’t surprised, as I was sure the guys had picked a nondescript, out-of-the-way hotel that wouldn’t be too close, but not too far, from the airport. We exited after a few miles and the driver eased into the first parking lot we came to. He was pointing to his cell phone as he got out of the car, and I assumed he had received a call from the guys with the final instructions. I was very wrong.

Before I had a chance to react, he flung the door open and strong-armed me against the seat. He was much bigger than me and had all the leverage. His arm across my chest held me firm, and before I knew it I heard cuffs snapping shut on my wrists and then my ankles. It had happened so fast I hardly had time to react at all. Where the hell he had the cuffs hidden or how he had acted so quickly baffled me. He pulled me forward and locked on the waist chain of the travel irons that I was now trapped in. He pulled the seatbelt around me, slammed the door and drove off. I swore and screamed at him, but he just laughed it off.

“Welcome back to California, Mr. North. My colleagues and I have been hoping for a break in this case, but we never dreamed you’d just waltz right into our hands. Not too smart. Not too smart at all.”

He pulled the car back on the freeway, and I watched the traffic in disbelief. How the fuck could I have been so overconfident? I was so engrossed in the dream of fading away into retirement that I had become sloppy.

“Sad to say, though, your partners in crime slipped away from us this morning. Good thing for us that you were in the air, otherwise they may have been able to warn you off. They must have got suspicious after they called the limo company. Too bad — we were so close to grabbing all of you. Doesn’t matter, though, we’ve got you, and I am sure that — given time — you’ll be happy to tell us exactly who they are and where they might be going to ground.”

My brain finally started to kick into overdrive, and I sputtered my innocence and how this was some kind of bizarre mistake. I was here on business — a quick meeting — and then back home. I was sure we would be able to get this all cleared up in no time if he would just check my ID and make a few calls. I had to stick with that story. Build on it. Act scared and nervous. I had been able to get out of worse than this. I’d get out of this, too. Play it up. Panic. Profess your innocence. Act confused.

He wasn’t buying any of it, but I had to keep it up. Even a shred of doubt in his mind might give me the break I needed. I didn’t even know if he was a local or a Fed. If he was local, my chances were better by far, but he wouldn’t respond to any questions. He went stone silent on me. He was a professional, but so was I.

Twenty years of doing jobs, and I had been arrested exactly three times. Every other close call left them in the dust, wondering what the hell had happened. The first arrest, though, I ended up in a local lockup — county jail. Misdemeanor. Couldn’t prove anything beyond that. 18-month sentence with potential time off for good behavior, but I walked away after three months. Idiots gave me Huber privileges. They had me booked and convicted under a false name, so I was in the clear and I just picked up a new identity and carried on.

Second time ended up in State. Three years. Shit charges, but they missed the mark on the big one. Could have been much worse for me. Lazy cops and an overburdened prosecutor. No way I was gonna serve the full time. Played the crazy card and was transferred to the mental ward. Easier than the cell blocks. Therapy helped, so I was “cured” and allowed to return to the real world in 20 months. Time served. Another false identity. Another shortcut to freedom. And I carried on.

Third time they had me dead to rights. They tried to convict, but I played it up strong and ended up in an observation ward as a possible looney. It delayed the trial while they ran the tests to see if I was or wasn’t off my rocker. It gave me the one chance I needed, and I took it. I was gone after a few days. They needed better security at that place, but it was a good thing for me that they were so careless. I let them think I was harmless and docile, then a quick flash of violence and I was out. The guards eventually recovered, from what I heard. Would have been easier for them if they hadn’t played hero.

That was eight years ago. Been living pretty high since, a few more major jobs under the belt, and numerous aliases to spread around. This last, big job was enough for all of us — we were through.

Now they had me again. Don’t think I would make it inside anymore. Been living the first-class life for too long. The thought of wearing prison orange every day made me shudder. I would play it the insanity way if it got to that point. For now, though, keep up the scared businessman routine. Make it ring true.

“You can shut the fuck up now. This little charade that you’ve got going back there is cute, but you’re wasting your breath.” With that he rolled down all the windows, letting the 65-mile-an-hour wind drown out my pleas of innocence.

I had lost track of direction and location. Another slip on my part. I needed to focus. Needed to know where I was, so I could plan. Memorize signs, buildings and landmarks, whatever. I’d done it dozens of times to make sure escape routes were planned and well known in advance. Backup plans and alternate routes. Places to hide should the cops be on my tail after a job. This was a city that I hadn’t scoped out, though. Quick in and quick out for a simple meeting. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

The car slowed, and we exited into an industrial area. Small offices, warehouses, workshops. Nothing distinct. There were places like this in every city. But why here? It was an odd place for a lockup or Fed office. They usually went for flashy. A few turns and we pulled into a lot between nondescript buildings. No signs. He pulled in front of a metal overhead door that began to open as soon as he approached. Drove slowly in and the door closed behind us immediately.

Shit. A sally port. First chance to escape was now blocked. Where the hell were we? It was dark as he got out of the car. I kept up the scared routine. Asking questions in a shotgun manner. Where? Who? Why? No answer.

Then the car door was opened and a flashlight beam hit me square in the eyes. A good Maglite if I knew my flashlights — which I did. Hands reached in and dragged me out. I stumbled. There were two of them now. They weren’t taking chances. I protested. Stumbled as they pulled me. Had to play it up. Act like someone who had never been in cuffs. Scared. Started to whine.

“Geez, he’s a good one, hey?”

“Yeah, you didn’t have to listen to the routine all the way here. This is one time that the reputation matches the man. Now shut the fuck up once and for all!”

Go silent. Look scared. No strength. Look down. Go meek. Keep spinning it. Any doubt they have at all will play into your hands.

They pulled me through a heavy door that was immediately locked behind us. Whatever this place was, it was real. A cell block. Small. Typical institutional green everywhere. Third officer (guard?) waiting. Three cells to the right. Windowed door to the left — with a booking area just beyond. Heavy door at the far end of the room (another cell block?) Similar door just to the left of that one. Hallway past the booking area (possible exit?) Got it. Knowing the layout is the start of the escape plan.

One of the cells was occupied. An inmate in prison orange. He barked out some smart-ass comments about fresh meat as they led me in from the sally port. Play it up. Act scared as hell. Look away from the guy in the cell. Don’t answer his taunts.

They were taking no chances, though, as they pushed me — still shackled — into the first cell. Narrow and dark — no furnishings. A holding cell. What the hell was this place? Turn around, walk to the back of the cell. Removed wrist and waist chain. Take off your shirt. Cuffs back on. Ankle cuffs off. Take off shoes, socks, pants, underwear. Naked. They backed out of the cell. Door slams. Shit. Go back to the act. Scared. What the hell? Why?

Come to the front of the cell. Wrist cuffs off through the bars. Naked. Shivering. Fear is becoming real. Don’t need to act so much. Hear gloves snap on. Go to the back of the cell. Hands on the wall. Spread your legs. Cell door opens. One of them walks in. A fucking strip search. Thorough as hell. I think they are enjoying it. He backs out of the cell. Door slams again. Naked. Cold. Play it up. Keep up the act. Make it believable. You gotta get out of here. You WILL get outta here. No place for you — retirement just ahead. Care-free and easy.

Let me stew for a while. No place to sit but the floor. Cold concrete on bare feet. Dark and narrow. Hands reflexively covering my dick and balls. Keep it up. Never been anywhere like this before. Innocent businessman. Mistake. Call for help. What’s going on?

One of them returns with a bundle of clothes.

“Drop the routine, Mr. North. You’re about as far from an innocent businessman as it is possible to get. Put this shit on, and shut the fuck up. This place isn’t like any other institution you may have visited. No one is watching over us. Our own rules apply.”

Prison underwear — orange. Prison Stripes — also orange. A pair of socks — how about shoes? None. Shit. Keep your mind calm. Look for a chance and be ready to take it. You can get out.

They came back. Cuffed through the bars, then leg irons, before being led to the booking area. They had the ID from my wallet — the businessman persona. Of course, I was smart enough to know every false detail. They just tossed it aside. Act scared. Keep it up. Plead. What is this place?

“Oh for Christ’s sake, drop it, asshole. We know of at least five different aliases, and this one isn’t one of your better ones. We will, however, be booking you under your real name, Mr. North. We know that you’ve been locked up at least twice before. We certainly think there are more.   Somehow, however, you’ve managed to disappear before completing your sentences. Not this time, asshole. No one gets out of this place. No one!”

Chained to the counter. Fingerprints. Question after question. Name, address, birth date, blah, blah, blah. Keep up the game. Use the alias’s details. Don’t waver. They aren’t buying it, but don’t back down. Cast doubt. Keep up the innocence and wrong guy routine. Mug shots. Not my best side.

The other inmate was always watching from his cell. I could feel his eyes on me. Don’t look. Don’t acknowledge him at all. Play it scared.

More questions. More stalling. Stick to the story. They back off. But I know it’s only for the moment. Led in cuffs to one of the cells. Door slams hard. Cuffs removed. Deep breath. Shit. Trapped. Caged. Don’t have to pretend to be scared now. Keep up the game, but clear your mind. This is all familiar, isn’t it? Is it?

Hours pass. They walk by, checking often, but don’t respond to questions. Just grin. This isn’t a regular jail or prison. What the hell is really going on? Dark thoughts. They said that I’d eventually rat out the others. Shit. No one knows I’m here. They can do whatever they want to me. Fuck. The fear is there – torture? No, they can’t do that – can they?

They wandered by from time to time. One of them always stopping to question me about who my accomplices were and where they went to ground. Where was the money hidden? Did I really think I was going to get away with it?

Stay with the story. Harder to keep up the businessman persona in prison stripes. Who the hell is this “Mr. North” that you keep referring to? Scared. Starting to remember why I had to get out of the lockups before. Caged. Trapped.

“Apparently, Mr. North here is having delusions of some kind. He seems to truly believe he is really someone else. It would be best, perhaps, if we focused on helping him get well again. You will find, Mr. North, that we are very well equipped to deal with these types of mental health issues at this facility. Relax, we’ll take good care of you and help you get better and we will do it with your safety in mind at all times.”

Torture? No. “Treatments” is how they referred to the sessions. And the first one began almost as soon as he had finished telling me that I was delusional.

Just remember to stick with the story. Mistaken identity. Somehow grabbed the wrong guy at the airport. Make some calls, and it’ll be cleared up in no time.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when they approached the cell holding the straitjacket. It was canvas, and I recognized it for what it was immediately. I had seen one before. Panic. What the hell? But I gave up struggling quickly. They easily overpowered me, and a wrongfully accused person would be too scared to fight for long.

They pulled the sleeves over my outstretched arms and started the process of buckling me in. Arms crossed and pulled tight. That warm hug. Seemed familiar somehow. I hoped they hadn’t noticed that my dick was getting hard as they pulled the crotch strap tight. That wouldn’t help jive with my storyline at all. What panicked businessman would get hard while being locked in a strait jacket? For that matter, why was I?

Institutional leather ankle hobbles were locked on, and they took me out of the cell and toward one of the locked doors at the back of the cell block. I quickly saw that it was an isolation block. Dark and insulated. Two cells to the left and two cages. Cages? What the hell was that about? The fear rose up quickly, and I began to struggle against them. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t “normal” in any sense of the word. They easily held me and walked me toward a solid, heavy metal door that stood open at the end of the block. A padded cell. Small. Narrow. Dark. They pushed me in to my knees and locked a chain from the wall of the cell to the ankle hobbles. “Just to be safe.”

“This is what you can call ‘solitary,’ Mr. North. Cozy, don’t you think? We’ll give you a little alone time to help clear your thoughts. To relax a bit. You’ll be comfy in here with all that padding, don’t you think?”

He grinned at me and proceeded to slam the heavy door shut. I heard the locks being snapped in place and then the two openings in the door — a slot for meal trays and a larger one with metal grating — had their covers closed and locked. Total darkness. I jumped as a heavy bar was slammed across the door — as if more security was needed. I could just make out the sound of the outer door to the block was closed. I assumed it was also locked. Silence.

Well, this was something. I struggled to slide to the corner of the cell so that I could lean against the walls to stay upright. I was afraid that if I fell over or lay down I wouldn’t be able to get back up. And for some reason that frightened me. The panic was rising. There was no way out of this room, even if I wasn’t trussed up and chained to the wall. Deep breaths. You can control this. Just keep repeating your story. Don’t let them confuse you. They’re gonna use this to break you down. You can handle it. Darkness. Silence. I struggled in the jacket to see how much freedom I actually had. Almost none. It was somehow comforting as I sat there, enveloped in that canvas. My body heat gently rising. Time passed. I drifted. Forgotten?

I don’t know how much time passed before they came back for me. I was hot and stiff. The light was blinding as they opened the door and reached in to pull me to my feet. The chain was unlocked, and they led me back to the cell block. It felt great to stretch my arms once they had the jacket off. And the rush of cool air hitting my skin was blissful.

I was expecting questions. Grilling. But nothing. They put me back in the main cell and slammed the door shut. Leaving the leather hobbles locked on. “Just for my safety.”

Shortly after that, a prison meal was served. Spork and plastic tray. Enjoy your lunch, Mr. North. Simple food. Water. Enough to get by. I was famished. Wasn’t long before lights out. The routine had begun. The cell block was still lit overnight. Dim bulbs over the booking area. Just enough to annoy. Gotta think. They’re gonna try to break me. Keep the story front and center. Don’t let ’em get past that façade. I dozed.

Breakfast. Bland, but enough. The other prisoner was taken out of his cell, and they started to work on him, too. He was taken into the isolation block, and I could hear chains rattling. No idea what they were doing to him, but, for the moment, I was left alone in the cell. Still hobbled.

Soon though, they were back to me. Before pulling me out of the cell, an institutional leather collar was locked on. For humiliation? To show they had control? Protested my innocence. Keep up the front. They led me into a room off to the side of the cell block. An “observation room” where I would be placed to ensure that I was safe. I was now deemed a risk to myself and others. It was clear that I needed to be restrained for my own good.

Forced down onto a specialized bed. Straps and leather restraints at wrists, elbows, ankles and a strap across my knees. Minimal movement allowed. The collar was left in place. They left me there. Strapped to the bed while they would occasionally peek through the slit window in the locked door. More time to stew. Making sure I was “safe.” I needed treatment for my delusions. Needed their help to “get better.” Keep replaying the storyline. Don’t let them see past that. Any doubt that I could sow would help.

 

Hours passed. Had to piss. Began to beg to be let free. Eventually they relented, but only long enough to piss and eat lunch in my cell. Still collared and hobbled. Then back to the observation room. No idea how long it would be. They began to talk soothingly to me. Offering their help. “Mr. North, all that we ask is that you just talk to us. Tell us what we can do to help.” I chose silence. How long could they keep me here in this place? Who was in charge? Probing questions were always interspersed in their conversations. Looking for me to break and fink out the guys.

Eventually put back in my cell for dinner. Ate. Left alone. Lights out. The routine continued. Was exhausted and eventually just passed out. Why so tired after doing nothing but lying strapped to a bed?

After breakfast they came to the cell and removed the leather hobbles, but handcuffed me behind my back. They had rolled some type of restraint chair in front of the cell, and I was soon strapped in. It was designed to accommodate the cuffed hands with an indentation built into the back of the chair. The straps were pulled tight “for my safety,” and a leather muzzle was pulled tight on my head. Although I could speak somewhat, it was too muffled to understand. “We’re a little tired of your bullshit stories, so we figured we’d just keep you quiet while you relax in that chair. It’ll keep you out of the way for a while.”

Even with the indentation for the cuffs, the chair quickly became uncomfortable. They watched me struggle to get somewhat comfortable and just grinned. I was wheeled into a corner facing the puke-green walls and left to ponder my position. I hate handcuffs. Never could tolerate them for long. I’m sure they couldn’t have cared one way or the other. Let me sit there. Again, no time reference. Discomfort grows. Focusing on getting comfortable, I let my mind wander to the guys and where they went to ground. When (if?) I get out of this place, will I be able to connect with them? Would they have scattered already? If they did, the money would go with them. Couldn’t blame them for that. I would still be all right. Had several stashes of cash. If I could get out of the country and head to Central America I’d be OK, as long as I didn’t live too large. Shit. Keep the storyline front and center. Mistaken identity. Businessman. Scared. Nervous. Who am I really?

Eventually back to the cell. Lunch, dinner, lights out. The shadow of the bars on the wall from the dim light overnight. Sleep came late. The snoring of the other inmate in the adjacent cell woke me early. They had been working him over pretty heavily, but always out of my sight. I didn’t know who he was or what he had done, but they weren’t “treating him.” They were punishing him for something.

Another day. Back into the observation room. Strapped to the bed. Different this time. Covered with a heavy canvas “blanket.” Made for that purpose with openings for my arms, which were locked by the wrists and elbows again. The canvas pulled tight, limiting my movement even more than before.

“Mr. North, this is all in the name of keeping you safe. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, after all.”

More soothing conversation and pointed questions in between periods of being left alone. Why was I fighting it? Just let ’em help. Wouldn’t it be better for me in the long run if I faced these delusions? I’d be able to move on.

Did I really think I was just a businessperson mistakenly arrested? How would that happen? They didn’t make mistakes like that. Why would I be strapped down like this in prison stripes like this? If that was the case, it would have been cleared up by now.

There was no record of this alias.

“Mr. North, no such person exists outside of your mind. There is no businessman. There is only you. A criminal guilty of armed robberies and thefts and wanted for escaping at least two detention facilities under numerous aliases. Own up to your crimes and accept who you really are.”

NO! Stick with it, don’t let them get past the cover story. It was a mistake. I don’t know why you can’t verify my identity. Computer error? Don’t waver. They kept at it.

Lunch. Dinner. Back in the cell. Leather restraints on ankles, wrists, elbows, locked together to limit my movements. Again, just for my safety. But they weren’t finished. Something that I never expected or could have anticipated. The fact that I knew what it was as soon as I saw it would have revealed a little “dark side” of mine that was better left unsaid. Act scared and try to resist. They, however, easily slipped the heavy leather hood on my head and laced it tight. The collar of the hood was locked. It was heavy leather with straps across the eyes and under the chin. Once tightened, the padding over the ears limited my hearing, and I was in total darkness. I heard the cell door slam, and I was left in the restraints and hood. In the darkness with just my thoughts. I had experience with hoods, so I didn’t panic at all. Too late, I realized that I should have pretended to. But the leather was comforting, and I drifted off in my mind. I pictured each of the stashes of cash. Plotted how I would gather them without being seen. How best to get out of the country? Flying would be out. Driving would be too dangerous with that much cash through Mexico — even if I could get across the border without them finding it. Charter a boat? An experienced captain could get down to Costa Rica in a few days. Drop me off and be gone with no hint of suspicion. NO! Businessman. Scared. Trapped. Caged. Don’t forget.

Eventually the hood was removed. Questions and soothing talk followed for what seemed like hours before I was left alone to sleep. Again, exhausted. But they had me up early the next morning. Sleep deprivation? Making it hard to concentrate. Stick with the storyline. When can I expect to be released? Have you verified my identity? Have you checked with the FBI or someone? How about the state? My license was valid, I had to be in their system somewhere.

They continued their questioning and promises that they were only trying to help.

“Mr. North, if you would just work with us, this whole thing could be cleared up and you can resume your ‘normal’ life. We just want to make you better. Nothing else. If you assist us, we can go easy on you. Maybe no prison time at all for your crimes. Just treatment to help you reintegrate into society. Relax and let us help you.”

My continued protestations fell on deaf ears. Another day. Breakfast. Lunch. Trapped in the cell. They approached the cell carrying more leather. Didn’t know what the hell it was until they laid it out on the bunk in my cell. I recognized it, but had to play dumb again. A leather sleep sack. Struggle against them, but forced into it. Arms trapped in the inner sleeves. Zipped and trussed tight. No movement to speak of. The sack was tied to the bunk. No way to roll off the bunk, for my safety, of course.

“Mr. North, we have found that strict confinement like this helps the patient relax and focus on his thoughts. You’re protected and safe in that leather sack. So you have no worries. You can concentrate on your mental struggle to push away these delusions and find your true self. We’ll leave you here until we feel you have calmed down and are relaxed. Just think about what you’ve done and who you are. There are no other worries.”

I could hardly move. The sack was comforting and warm. I again forgot to act panicked. What ordinary businessman would have seen, much less been locked into, a leather sleep sack? Too late. Put it down to being exhausted. Keep up the front, though. Never acknowledge that you’re not who you have been claiming to be. They won’t break you.

Lost track of time. Quiet in the cell block. They only came by occasionally, but said nothing. Was it obvious that I was at ease in the sack? Was I giving myself away? Did they somehow know that I had previous bondage experience? Was that possible? The money that I had accumulated over the years had allowed me to get hold of some pretty good gear. Had been able to play now and then. NO! Forget that. Middle management businessmen don’t play with leather restraints. Don’t lose your focus.

Time really had lost its meaning. The only marker was mealtime. And I had no idea if lunch was close to noon and dinner was in the early evening. I was let out of the sack, covered in a thin film of sweat. Almost immediately I wanted to be put back in that cocoon. Had to push that thought away. Express gratitude for being let out of that thing. What the hell is it, anyway? Any luck confirming my ID? How much longer will I be kept here?

“Mr. North we are disappointed that our treatments aren’t helping you so far. We have all the time in the world to work with you, though. We will help you. It will be so much easier if you just relax and let us in. Drop this phony playacting, or fight the delusion if you truly think you are someone other than Mr. North.”

A crack. Could it be that I really do believe that I am someone else? Are they right? Should I just let them in? Maybe they really are just trying to help. Crap! No! Don’t go down that road. Keep up the front. Too much at stake.

The routine was interrupted when the officers decided that a cell check was necessary. The other prisoner and I were chained together at the booking desk while they rummaged through the cells. They found nothing in mine, but found a small baggie of drugs in his. He, of course, protested his innocence and accused them of planting the drugs. I was tossed back in my cell while they took him away to continue working him over. The whole thing threw me for a loop. I had begun to think of this place less as a prison and more as a treatment facility. But they were guards, and the cells were real. Need to stay on top of the situation. One slip, and you’ll be screwed.

More time locked up in solitary. The canvas jacket and hobbles were familiar now. The cell quickly became hot and the stay was more intense. They checked in on occasion but ignored my whining about the heat. I was left to sweat and stew. I was losing focus. It would be easier just to give them what they wanted. Maybe they were telling the truth and I wouldn’t get any prison time. Maybe probation or time in a treatment facility? If that would be the case I would be able to slip away and disappear in no time. Start playing up the crazy card? Sink into the delusion? Let something slip about one of the guys? Give him up to secure my freedom? NO! We had all worked together too long, it wouldn’t be right. Stick to the story. Fight them.

Another day. Breakfast. Lunch. Then more time in the leather hood and leather restraints in my cell. No way to gauge the passing of time. Starting to go stir crazy. I think they may be breaking me down. Tired. Caged. Darkness. Shit! Just give ’em what they want, then you can get out. Eventually the hood and restraints were removed, and I was allowed to sleep.

“Well, Mr. North. It seems that you are a hard case. Your delusions run pretty deep. There is no businessman past or present that matches the fake ID that you were carrying. He’s not you or, more correctly, you’re not him. He doesn’t exist anywhere but in your mind. We’ve decided that an extreme form of treatment is necessary.”

They put the hood back on and locked it in place. Blinded, they led me out of the cell. Before I knew what was happening I felt them pulling on another straitjacket. This one, however, was something else altogether. Heavy leather. Sleeves pulled tight and strapped down. My dick jumped to life as they tightened the dual crotch straps and began tightly buckling the jacket on. Did I hear them laugh? Too hard to tell through the hood.

I was led away but soon realized I was back in the observation room, as they pushed me down onto the bed and began strapping me down. Leather ankle restraints were applied — different from the others — tied off to the bed. My head was strapped down — no movement. Knees were roped together and tied off to the bed. A strap across my waist and over my chest held me down. Movement was almost impossible. Tight and restrictive. Began to truly panic. Can’t move. Can’t see. Can’t breathe! Wait. You’ve had the hood on for hours — you can breathe. Focus on that. Deep breaths. Relax. It’s OK. Just sink into the bonds. You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you? Here it is. Just go with it.

I would have jumped if I could have.

“Mr. North, this setup has proven to be very effective for us. The loss of all faculties and movement lets the patient focus solely on his thoughts. He can struggle with those inner demons that prevent him from coming to grips with his reality. You’ll remain this way for quite some time, so we suggest you relax and concentrate. When you’re ready to help us help you, just let us know. And, above all, this setup keeps you safe. No harm can come to you, whether self-inflicted or otherwise.”

I felt the air pressure in the room change, so they must have left and closed the door. I assume they would be checking on me from time to time, but I probably wouldn’t be aware of it. I let out a few muffled questions, but no one answered me. Alone. In the black confines of the leather hood and warm embrace of the leather jacket. My movements were minimal. Soon I was focused on the sound of my breathing. The scent of the leather was intoxicating. The creaks and groans of the jacket as I struggled against it were soothing. The warmth of my body was comforting. I relaxed and began to float.

As before, time had no meaning in the warm darkness. My future plans came into and out of focus. I could be on the run forever, or maybe I could rat out the other guys and live in relative freedom? With all that we had done — much of it the cops could never pin on us — the guys would be put away forever if I turned on them. So no worries that they would get out and track me down for giving them up. No more running. No more pretending. No more aliases. Well, there would always be one …

I dozed on and off. The warm darkness was so comforting. My arms were getting stiff, but there was just enough give to flex them from time to time — resulting in the sound of creaking leather. Yes, it wouldn’t be so bad finking on the guys. They probably would do the same if they got caught, anyway. Sure they would. I doubt they would be put through “treatment” like this. I suppose the cops thought I was the ringleader. Not quite accurate — we worked as a team — but not that far off, either. If they could break me, they would get all of the guys, too.

Yes, that’s how I was gonna play it. Tell ’em everything they wanted to know. Turn in all the guys and tell ’em where the money was hidden. Not all of my money, of course, but enough to satisfy the cops. If I could work out the deal ahead of time, I’m sure I’d be out in no time. I drifted. The smell of the leather was so comforting. Time passed.

I was asleep when they finally came to release me. I was still disoriented and dreamy as they undid the restraints and removed the hood and jacket. The lights were blinding, but I already missed the feel of the leather against my skin as they led me back to my cell. They didn’t close the door but, rather, leaned against the frame and began to question me.

“So, Mr. North, did you wrestle with your demons and win? Are you willing to let us help you now? All we need is your cooperation. The names and locations of your accomplices. Where is the money hidden? Then it’ll be easy for you. A little more treatment at another facility, and you’ll be on the street in no time. What’ya say?”

I looked him in the eye for quite a while — my thoughts scrambling to catch up. Would this “Mr. North” reveal himself and walk out the door? Could I resist longer? Could I stick to my story after another set of treatments? Would I want to? I drew a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m here on business like I keep telling you. I don’t know why you can’t verify my ID and I don’t know why you don’t believe me; but I can’t answer your questions ’cause I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what this place is, but I am sure that it’s not legal to keep people locked up like this without a judge or something. Let me call a lawyer, because I’m scared to death and I’m not going to talk to you anymore. Whatever is going on is some kind of a big mix-up, and I’m sure it can all be straightened out if you just let me get in touch with my family and my office back home…”

He slowly looked at the other officer, “Fuck it all to hell!” and slammed the cell door so hard it echoed for minutes …

 

Epilogue

 

I was surprised when they opened the cell in the morning and led me to the very back of the facility. Handed me a towel and a toiletry kit and pointed to the shower. “Clean yourself up. You’ll find your street clothes in that bin over there.”

Then the dance began … “We regret that we may have made a mistake. Maybe you’re not who we thought you were. We’ve arranged to get you to the airport, and we already have a flight booked for you based on your previous outbound ticket. We need to be there in about an hour.”

“We’ll have our people contact you once you’re ‘home’ to discuss this situation with you. We wouldn’t want to cause you any more trouble here, and I’m sure you’ll be much more comfortable, level-headed and relaxed once you’re back in the daylight, as it were.”

“Don’t worry about anything. We’ll make it right with you.”

The shower felt great, and I did, indeed, start to relax. But the thought that this was a ruse to catch me off guard jumped front and center. Hold the story. Play nice and tell them that you understand that mistakes happen. You’re none too pleased, but I’m sure something can be worked out to make it all go away. Let the frustration show. Keep it cool, though. Don’t overplay it.

The trip to the airport went by in a flash. Worried it was all a trick. Gonna end up back in a cell. Dropped off at the curb. Boarding pass in hand. Car pulls away. Walk briskly, but cautiously, to the security checkpoint. Cringe at the sight of every cop and TSA agent. Are they staring? Watching? Tracking?

Boarding went smoothly. On the plane. Cabin door closed. Taxiing. Take off. Deep sigh. Easy breathes. Free? Don’t be fooled. They’re watching. Gonna use you as bait. They’re hoping you’ll lead them to the money and the other guys.

Stick to the story. Why yes, I am traveling on business. Yup, air travel is terrible these days. No, didn’t get to Disneyland. All work this trip. Back to the office first thing.

Watch your back. Play it easy. Slip away first chance … Mr. North, indeed.

 

 

Metal would like to thank Marknorth for this story, which he says is a fictionalized account of a true incarceration roleplay experience he had in July 2014 at the Mens Central Prison.

For more information on this facility and the types of activities that happen there, you can visit the official Mens Central Prison website.

And for those who want to learn even more about what goes on at this facility, you can view numerous behind-the-scenes videos at Serious Male Bondage, a subscription-based website.