By Marknorth

I didn’t care for the plaster encapsulation of my head at all.  Breathing through straws stuck in my nostrils as the plaster cured didn’t do it for me a tall.  In addition to the straws, the plaster shrunk as it dried and kept getting warmer and warmer.  I’m not claustrophobic by any means – I’ve been locked in a shitload of bondage hoods, sometimes for days – but that plaster really got to me.

You can’t imagine the relief when they finally removed it!  They had a perfect cast of my head – every measurement and detail would be perfect for the craftsmen to use.

 

It was a little funny watching him squirm while they applied the plaster to his head.  Once it was all on and drying I thought he was going to jump out of the chair and try to break it off by smashing against a wall or something!  The casting was the final step in the measurement process – every square inch of his body had been measured and re-measured by two of the craftsmen.  Detail was important and they took their work seriously.  They had a reputation for precision and quality – and let me tell you that they charged a pretty penny for their work – but I knew it would be worth it.

Once he was cleaned up I took him back to the farmhouse and had him locked back in his cell.  The old barn had a serious of stalls in the lower level and I had renovated the area into a prison.  I basically built a building within a building – fully equipped and secure.  No one entering the barn would ever have a clue what was down there.  Even if the inmates screamed until they were hoarse no one would be able to hear them – a foot and a half of concrete and a serious of heavy steel doors ensured that!

I had 15 cells down there, bought them when an old prison was being torn down.  There was a shower room for the inmates a fully-equipped guard station and all of the associated electronics to make sure that no one escaped.  I had ‘round the clock security staff stationed there and I could monitor everything from my office in the house – usually just to get me hard.  The guards were retired cops or military who liked the extra money and enjoyed keeping the inmates in line.

I ran what amounted to a private prison.  I liked to refer to it as a boutique jail – a very high-end and secure facility.  Day-to-day cost per prisoner was pretty high, but there were a lot of expenses to cover.  The funny thing, though, is that the prisoners pay their own way.  You see, it’s almost like a dude ranch or exclusive resort – the kind of place where you pay to be a cowboy for a week or learn to drive race car.  This experience, however, is a little more intense.  My “guests” pay to give up their freedom and get a full taste of what it is like to be imprisoned without a chance for escape.

It’s a cash operation – all fees due in full up-front.  Of course you get three squares, a cell and a uniform – but that’s where the amenities end.  The contract they sign relinquishes their rights and they are subject to whatever might come their way at the hands of the guards.  There are no restrictions on how they are treated – no regulatory agency looking over anyone’s shoulder – so it is a pretty intense experience.  Oh, no one gets beat-up (too bad) or leaves with any permanent damage – other than some psychological scars.  But, amazingly enough, they sign the contract and forfeit their freedom and subject themselves to humiliation (full strip searches, fingerprinting – the whole deal) of imprisonment.

I haven’t had an empty cell for a few years – I would add more, but making new inmates wait for their lock-up is part of the fun.  Contractually, they do not know the start date of their imprisonment.  They are arrested by what appear to be real cops at a time and place of our choosing.  At their office, at a restaurant, the park, even at home – they are handcuffed and led way in a squad under the guise of serving a warrant.  The dash cam in the squad provides a great deal of entertainment – the looks on their faces alone are priceless.  You see, when they sign the contract they expect a phone call telling them when to report to the facility – I even rent an old warehouse in the city where they think we a relocated.  They never know what’s coming or where they are actually going – once they are out of the city they are covered with a capture hood.  Same occurs in reverse when they are paroled.  It’s up to them to explain what happened with the cops when they are released (all of them have to inform their families ahead of time that they are going to be gone for whatever length of time – how they handle that is up to them.)

Anyway, back to Roger – the guy that just had his head covered in plaster.  He was a special case.  Rich, single, and a freak when it comes to bondage games.  He has been a prisoner here on and off over the past three years.  His sentences have been increasing – lately up to several months.  He’s been “arrested” so many times his neighbors are afraid to even talk to him anymore.  Most of our guys get locked up once, maybe twice.  This guy wanted to be locked up for good – but that’s not my deal.  If he wants to commit a felony and serve “real” hard time, fine by me.  But he made me an offer that was hard to refuse – enough cash for me to retire and move to some nice tropical island.  That’s what led us to the craftsmen.

 

I never get used to the hood they use in the squad when I am being transported to and from the prison.  I think it has to do with the fact that I have no idea where the prison actually is.  When I’m not imprisoned, I’m firmly in charge of every aspect of my life and my businesses.  When I am arrested, I lose that control – the transition is hard.  On the way back from the craftsmen I reflected on this last incarceration – coming up on the sixth month.  It wasn’t enough – it never was enough.  This time, though, I had set plans in motion to make sure that it would extend into the future for an undetermined length of time.  The guy who runs the place – I have no idea what his real name is – balked at my idea at first, but money always talks.  In the end he agreed, drew up the contracts (always in the name of some shell corporation with offshore accounts,” added a lot of conditions (always adding to the overall experience of losing control), and we signed off.  The game was afoot, as the say.

The strip searches were another thing that I never got used to.  I dreaded them.  The guards always took extra time – thoroughly enjoying the humiliation that I endured.  Once they were done I was locked back into the shackles and led to my isolation cell.  This time around I was kept in solitary – solid steel door, no interaction with the other prisoners at all – 24/7.  This was one of the “unknown” conditions in the contract that I signed.  The guy always had a catch-all section of the contracts to add whatever he wanted to the imprisonment.  That unknown factor was the thrill.

 

About three weeks after we had returned from the craftsmen’s studio the final product was delivered to the farm.  They arrived in a non-descript van and unloaded the crate.  We moved it into the interrogation room just outside of the cell block and unpacked it.  I had never seen anything like it before.  It was an amazing piece of work and, even though I have never been into the whole bondage thing, was making me hard.  Roger was definitely getting what he wanted this time.

The craftsmen set everything up and we removed all of the packing materials.  I had the room cleared out beforehand so the only thing in it now was the craftsmen’s work of art.

I sent the guards to retrieve our prisoner – making sure that he would be showered and fully shaved before they brought him here.  The craftsmen fiddled and fussed, they were excited about their creation and wanted to see it in use – they were chattering like school girls and it was getting on my nerves.  I left them alone to their devices and went to the guard room so that I could watch on the monitors.  At least I could turn the sound off until Roger was brought in.

My head guard was amazed that anyone would go through this much trouble – not to mention pay a fortune for it – but he was already enjoying the bonus that everyone on staff received from Roger’s windfall.  The guards had seen a lot while working here, so this one would be taken in stride, too.

I noticed on one of the monitors that they had Roger naked in the showers and were making sure that he was shaving every hair off his body.  We had already shaved his head yesterday.  I can only imagine the humiliation he was feeling right now.  But I had no real sympathy.  The guy was getting what he wanted – I had already added to his experience – and there might be another surprise or two along the way.

 

I knew that this was going to be a part of it, but I didn’t realize that I would be standing naked under a cold shower, shaving every inch of my body, while being watched by three guards.  Why three, I don’t know – maybe they were getting off on it.  I know that it was humiliating as hell.

The fact that I was doing this meant that it had arrived – I hoped it wasn’t some cruel trick to get my hopes up.  Once I got through this humiliation the guards would lead me to wherever the craftsmen were waiting – I couldn’t wait to see it.  Apparently my dick couldn’t wait either as it sprang to life – cold water and all.  The guards just laughed and one knocked it around a bit with his nightstick, and I thought I couldn’t be any more humiliated!  Finally, I was done, rinsed and dried off.

The guards shackled my legs and handcuffed me before leading me down the length of cell block – naked.  Again, I didn’t expect that.  Yes, I knew that I would be naked soon enough, but I thought that they would at least have let me wear the prisoner uniform through the block.  There I was being led stark naked past the cells, my dick leading the way, as the other inmates hooted and hollered.  Shit, what the hell was I doing to myself?

 

Part 2

 

They led me out of the block and into the interrogation room, and there it was!

It was more than I had expected.  The craftsmen were standing on either side of it grinning and laughing – the look on my face told them all they needed to know about how pleased I was.  The guards removed the cuffs and shackles and stepped back to stand by the door.  They were quiet – trying to anticipate just what the hell was going on.

The craftsmen encouraged me to step forward and I walked over to their creation and was in awe.  It was, you see, a full-body bondage suit.  Custom fit to every dimension of my body.  Specially designed and equipped to allow long-term confinement.  My sentence inside the cells was going to be secondary to my confinement in this suit.  I ran my hands over it and was amazed that the design came to fruition.  I told the craftsmen that it was perfect and they gracefully accepted the compliment before getting down to business.

The body was primarily leather – several lightly padded layers that conformed to the curves of my body.  There was a composite exoskeleton that covered the chest, back, and crotch area – that held the electronics and some of the tubing (I referred to it as the life support system – although it wasn’t anything quite that developed).  The craftsmen had seamlessly integrated everything into the sleek design of the suit.  It had a futuristic look to it – smooth lines – black with lighter gray accents.  It was a cross between Batman and Tron.  It was just what I had envisioned.

I had no more time to drool over it, the craftsmen motioned to the guards and the pushed me forward.  The suit opened just like a leather racing suit with the exception that the exoskeleton opened and was able to be removed like a clamshell.  Before I knew it they were pulling the suit on.  It was a tight fit – as expected – and there was some struggle to get it up over my shoulders.  The whole thing felt great against my skin – the lining was smooth, high grade leather and the padding was just enough to keep the whole thing soft and, dare I say, cozy.

That was the end of the fun.  The craftsmen quickly set about getting my cock situated in the cod piece that acted both as a chastity device and a means for me to piss – since the suit was not coming off for that.  Even though my dick was hard, they forced it into the cock tube as they forced my balls through the ring and into their own enclosure.  I quickly became flaccid I felt a hell of a shock from the tube and ball enclosure.  I yelped and was taken aback by that – I hadn’t asked for any electro stimulation in the suit.  The craftsmen just smiled and said it was something extra from a friend.  I was immediately reminded of that “extras” clause in the contract that I had signed with the owner of this prison.  What else was I in for?

Once they were satisfied that everything was where it should be they locked the cod piece in place.  I would not be able to get hard again until it was removed.  There was a small tube that exited the suit that attached to receptacle for pissing.  The only area of the suit that could be opened once it was fully locked was the ass – I couldn’t tolerate the thought of defecating inside some type of enclosure and waiting for it to be cleaned out.  That, at least, had not been changed from my original design.

They zipped up the suit and sealed the locking mechanism on the zipper.  Slowly they worked their way up each leg snapping buckles that pulled the suit tight to my body.  Each buckle (modeled on the type used on motocross boots) locked as it was engaged.  They did the same to the buckles on my arms.  Padded gloves were pulled on and locked to the sleeves – I would have use of my hands to the extent allowed by the leather in the gloves. Once complete, the suit left no gaps between my skin and the leather.  The boots were pulled on and locked in place.  They melded seamlessly to the suit and were made to envelope my feet in the same smooth, padded leather.

The exoskeleton was next.  Hung over my shoulders and connected to the wires that were sewn into the suit itself.  I noticed even more wires than just the heart monitor wiring than I had originally requested.  Of course, the electro device would need power and control – but I couldn’t help but wonder what else he might have added.  Once in place the exoskeleton was locked on – effectively sealing off all access to the already locked zipper on the suit itself.  The skeleton carried the monitors for my heart rate, the wireless communication device, and batteries.  As it was originally designed the suit would send information to a receiving unit for monitoring – I suspected that now it would also receive commands from that same unit.  I would not be able to communicate once locked-in.

Finally the helmet.  The thing that I had endured the plaster casting for.  My heart was racing as they brought it into my field of vision.  It looked exactly like a motorcycle or snowmobile helmet – except there was no face opening at all.  It was solid front and back.  It too opened like a clamshell, hinged on one side – locking mechanism on the other.  Inside it was padded with the same leather as the rest of the suit – but matched the exact contours of my head.  There wouldn’t be even a small gap anywhere between my skin and the leather.  Breathing tubs were built in that extended right in front of my nostrils – there was a small area open in front of my nose to allow easier breathing.  A small feeding tube also extended like a straw to my mouth.  It would be liquid nourishment only while locked into the suit.

The craftsmen put the helmet on and locked it in place quickly.  I was instantly cut off from the world.  No light and very, very limited sound.  I also couldn’t be heard outside the helmet – even if I were able to open my mouth far enough to speak.  I felt them locking the helmet to the collar of the suit.  I was now fully enclosed and totally helpless.  My dick tried to get hard, but couldn’t do so within the confines of the chastity tube.  As if on cue the electro hit my cock and balls hard – I screamed (or at least tried to) and almost fell over – but was grabbed by either the guards or the craftsmen.

“Fun, isn’t it Roger?”  What the hell, there were speakers in the helmet and he was broadcasting to me.  “The electro shocks are triggered by any attempt at an erection, can be set off by whomever has the control device, or can be programmed to torture you automatically.  Just a little gift from me to you.  Maybe you’ll think of me each time it goes off?”

I was dismayed, but knew that something like this was probably going to happen.  It is why I paid him so much money to imprison me – he was clever.  We had agreed on a lock-up time in the suit for about a week this first time.  If there were any modifications hat needed to made for fit or function they could be done at that time.  I assumed that he would stick to that schedule.  But once locked back in it would be anyone’s guess how long it would be.  I felt the elctro hit me again as my cock tried to get hard.  This time the guards grabbed me and started to drag me out of the room – back to my cell I assumed.

 

Poor Roger, I almost felt sorry for him when I saw him collapse when the electro hit his cock.  But, then again, not too sorry.  The freak wanted to be locked away from the world in an isolation suit within a secure prison for an undetermined amount of time – had paid a fortune for both the suit and the imprisonment – why would I feel sorry for a little added suffering?

I watched the monitors as the guards half dragged him down a side corridor.  He wasn’t going to be locked up in his old cell – that wouldn’t do.  I had a new cell made for him thought I thought he would enjoy.  A padded cell – fully encased in leather that matched his new suit – all four walls, floor and ceiling; although he wouldn’t be able to appreciate it fully, it made me happy.

As they tossed him in his new home, I left the guard room.  I had a few contracts to go over – I did have an open cell to fill, after all …