Tag Archives: incarceration

Story

The Speed Trap – Part 03

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By Rubrpig

My brother and I stood in our cells watching as the leather troopers dragged our Sir from his cell. He shuffled along at the end of the heavy leash they hooked to his collar. He was still locked in the steel bondage helmet so he had very little vision so shuffled slowly depending on the leash to guide him. They took him through the back door of the cells which appeared to be the one I saw them use that morning.

We shuffled over to the cots and sat down taking the pressure off of our necks and backs as the chains we wore forced us to stoop a little to take the pressure off of our bodies. We looked at each other and I asked him what should we do next. We really had no options available to us as we were both padlocked into heavy 5 point chains and locked in a jail cell.

Really no way to escape unless we could figure out a way to overpower the troopers and get the keys to our chains. We both looked at each other and discounted that option as the wrist shackles had short chains so we did not have much movement for our hands and arms so that seemed like a faint hope.

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Story

One Year – Part 15

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By Taurus

Part 15 – “Treats”

Day 194. The day for James’ second pleasure session, and the last day of Riley’s stay.

James awoke to the all too familiar blaring alarm in eager anticipation.

In came through the cell door a slave and two handlers, no doubt Russell and Riley with his handler.

Riley was fully naked, and thrown onto James’ mattress as expected. The slaves were ordered to drink the protein shake breakfast together, and so they did, on all fours and side by side like pigs at a sty. Their teeth were brushed straight after.

What was not expected, however, was the proceedings of the pleasure session itself. Strangely, the slaves were left alone, both without restraints other than chastity, locked in the cell while their handlers left presumably for breakfast.

Regardless, they took the chance to play. They tousled with each other, with a hint of play-fighting – light slapping among a bit of wrestling.

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Story

One Year – Part 08

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By Taurus

Part 8 – “Time and Sanity”

Like James, I too have a confession to make as this story’s messenger – not an author; I can neither confirm nor deny its fictitious nature.

I have no idea how to properly convey the passage of time in its whole – its significance, its poetry, its aesthetic. I struggle with passing a few hours, let alone the months I seek to skip over.

Forgive me for skipping so much time. I do not want a story that has more chapters than days in a year, that takes more time to read in its entirety than a dictionary, or an encyclopedia.

In any case, it simply is impossible to come up with so many original ideas to fill out each and every day of the year, which applies to James’ guards and handlers to arguably benefit, not detriment.

At times, the most profound epiphanies and most powerful destructions are achieved through repetition alone.

One could make use of silence and let it sit there, unchanging. Get that, and pile on ad nauseum.

Well then.

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Story

The WORC Program – Part 16

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By Joshua Ryan

Back at the House, the atmosphere seemed to be changing.

Everybody noticed it  — things were different. Cicero was snapping at everyone, at least everyone whose existence he noticed. Sacky complained about “these constant ALTERATIONS in my menus” that were made by Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Thomasen. Marky complained about being rousted “in the middle of the night” — meaning his jerk-off time after dinner and Sacky’s kitchen wine — and having to drive Mr. H and Mr. T to the Parrot Lounge and wait in the car till they “came out with something or other,” a something that spent the night in their bed and was returned to obscurity the next morning, “after stinkin up my car.” Then it all stopped, as suddenly as it started. The Misters decided to try something else.

Late one afternoon, right before dinner, a new workie arrived in the back of a truck and was hauled out of its cage and led to the barracks. Its name was Jody, and it was a very cute young man, or had been before it got put in a workie suit. Clearly, it had done service in some other venue besides Hamilton Farms: there was fuzz on its head, and it still had eyebrows. But it had big brown eyes and a nice slender body. This was no field hand. Wherever it had been, it had been given easy treatment. To its body, anyway. The brain might be different. Its eyes were scared — very scared. Which is normal, when you’ve just been shipped somewhere in a cage. Cicero stood in the door of the barracks and told Nob to “take off its hair and move it up to the House. That’s where it’s gonna live.”

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Story

The WORC Program – Part 10

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By Joshua Ryan

So that’s the way it was, as — what do they say? — the days stretched into weeks and the weeks stretched into months. If this was a movie, there would be a calendar with the pages flipping past. No reason to stop at any of them. Every day was the same, except for Sundays.

They don’t make you work on Sunday. Somebody said “it’s because Old Man Williams needs a day off,” which made everybody laugh because nobody could figure out what he did on the other days of the week. Him and the jeans dudes. Who turned out to have names. “Ethan is the one that locks us up at night,” I was told, “and Chad is the one that lets us out in the morning.” There were a lot of jokes about whether Chad and Ethan were always packing guns because they never had anything else to shoot with. But everybody knew that they wouldn’t think twice about shooting one of us.

That first Sunday I just laid on my bunk, listening to my body trying to recover from every kind of pain, in every member except one, which I hadn’t used in so long that I couldn’t remember it. But the overwhelming pain was knowing that I was a workie. On the other Sundays I was given more education about what that meant.

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