Rehab: Chapter 2: Arrival

Rehab

Chapter 2: Arrival

The van finally pulled off the road and on to a well-maintained dirt road. I still couldn’t see any buildings or anything that looked like a prison. Just a chain link fence on the right side of the van. After another few miles we turned in at an entrance in the fence. Now I could see low, wide one story sandstone collared building ahead. We drove up to it and the driver spun the van around so we backed up into the building. I guess they’d popped a door open just in time. The back doors were opened and a guard climbed in. “OK, sweeties, you’re here.” She would unlock one male and lead him out of the van, handing him off to another guard. Eventually it became my turn and I stood, muscles creaking and shuffled down the length of the van, off the end, and out into the room.

The van had backed up to the entrance to a room, big enough for the ten of us and a few guards to stand without crowding each other. The guards were all women, of course, dressed in standard prison guard uniforms: long black pants, a creased blue shirt, black cap. That and they were holding something that looked like a StarTrek weapon. I guessed they were some sort of stun gun device.

This was the first time I could get a good look at the other nine men. We hadn’t said much on the way there. Two or three were bragging and swearing at first, but when others didn’t respond, they grew quiet. One man was crying most of the trip. I looked at the group. It was a range of normal looking guys, some in good shape, most pudgy, some fat, various ages from 20’s on up to maybe 45 or so.

The guards hadn’t said much to us. No welcoming speech. They were looking at clipboards and confirming that we matched their list. They said something to the van’s driver, and she got back in and took off. The door behind us clanged shut. That was a signal for one of the men to start abusing the guards. It was quite a litany of “pussy” this, “cunt” that, “Fuck you,” and “wait till I get out of here.”

The lead guard just smiled, “OK, little lambs, off to the showers for you.” She motioned to the far door and we all started obediently shuffling in that direction.

The man who had been cursing refused to move. “I ain’t going anywhere I don’t want to.” I rolled my eyes. You’re naked, in chains, surrounded by five women with stun guns, but you’re going to do whatever you want, sure. I moved ahead with the others, so I only heard the sounds of him behind me. Apparently a couple of the guards had come up to move him forward and he resisted. Next I heard dull thunks. He was getting hit. The blows continued. A couple guys turned around.

“Move on, eyes front.” one of the guards said harshly. We walked through the doorway into what was obviously some sort of shower room. It was metal and tile with showerheads in rows on both sides. “Line up on the X’s” the guard shouted and we obediently found the line of black X’s on the floor down the center of the room. A long way from the showerheads, I thought, but I suspected the guards knew that.

One guard went to the first man in the line and released his hands from the cuffs. She indicated he should extend his arms over his head. As he did so I saw that there was a pair of leather cuffs on a short chain dangling from a track in the ceiling. There was a pair over each of the X’s. He put his hands into the cuffs, and she locked him in. Then a second guard who had come up on the other side, released all his other metal chains, taking the waist belt and ankle chains. One at a time, each of us was similarly adjusted. The guards left the room and suddenly the men began to speak.

“What the hell is this?” “God I gotta piss.” “Go ahead, just don’t fucking spray me.” “What happened to that big talker?” “He isn’t here yet.”

The door at our backs opened again, and two guards dragged in the man who had complained. Blood was flowing from his nose, and one eye looked swollen. He was groaning. It clearly hurt for him to stretch out, but the guards did it roughly. “That’s what happens to the assholes.” She looked at us. “Anybody who wants some of that,” she indicated the man, “just do what he did.” She left.

We didn’t have time to talk much before a hissing sound was heard. Each of the showerheads erupted with water – a lot of water. We were being hit from both sides with intense pressure. Each of us spun and twisted trying to avoid the needle sprays. The water got hotter. This wasn’t actually too bad up to a point, but the water kept on getting hotter and hotter until it really started to hurt. Suddenly it stopped and we choked and spit. A number of orifices in the ceiling opened up. We hadn’t seen them before. They began to spew out some sort of liquid soap. I closed my eyes just in time, some weren’t so lucky. This was clearly some intense, antibacterial soap. Once we were thoroughly coated, it stopped, and a moment later the water hit us again.

We went through two or three cycles of “wax and rinse.” After the first battering, I was just hanging on.

Then the door at our back opened again, and a guard leaned in and shouted, “turn and face the red wall.” We looked around and found that one of the side walls was painted red. We turned obediently. A clanking noise from the ceiling and the overhead rail started to descend. “Keep your feet! Bend over! Spread those legs” the guard cried. The rail came down to waist level and we were forced to start bending over. It went on down until each of us was bent over at a 90 degree angle. The door banged shut. Suddenly the nozzles at our back opened up. Get us up the ass with this one. Another cycle of hot water followed by the soap, followed by a rinse. More clanking the rail rose back up to the ceiling, stretching us out again.

Some fans opened up and sweep the steamy air clear. We were all hanging a little limper now than before. That had taken something out of us.

The door at the far end of the shower, opposite where we’d come in opened up admitting a different guard. She grabbed the elbow of the first man in line and told him to walk. As he did, his cuffs moved along the track in the ceiling. “Stay put,” she said to the rest of us, “I’ll be back.” She led the man through the rest of the showers and out the door. That track thing was effective I thought. You can go where they want you to, but nowhere else, and with your hands overhead, you are vulnerable.

A few seconds after the first man was led out, a second guard came in and got the next man. I was seventh in line, and eventually, the first guard came for me. As I’d seen the others do I walked, hands extend overhead, pulling my cuffs along the track. We went out the door and into a long corridor. I could see the previous man at the far end. But suddenly she pulled me to a stop and I saw that the corridor was lined on its right side with doors every twenty feet or so. She knocked on the door, labeled "Exam 6” and it opened.

The woman who opened it was a different class. Some of the guards were pretty, all were strong and fit, but this woman was clearly not one who did hard labor. She had long blond hair and was curvy not ripped. She was also wearing a white lab coat that extended only to the middle of her thighs and was tied tightly around her slim waist. She was wearing white shoes with low heels on the end of slim, firm legs. The top button of the coat was open, and I could see the surge of her breasts. The guard released my hands from the track, but not from the cuffs and pushed me forward.

I walked into a laboratory. Gleaming stainless steel shelves and cases with glass doors showing various bottles inside lined the right side. The floor was a white tile. I was being pushed to one end of the room and what I saw in front of me was scary. It was a cross between a rack and a drill press. Two gleaming vertical cylinders extended some eight feet in the air. A thick stainless steel cross piece a few inches high was at ankle level. Another cross piece was about six feet up.

“Turn around.” I did so, back against the machine. While the guard eyed me, the blond hit a control on the side and the lower cross piece separated in two with a puff of released air. “Get in. Put your ankles in the stocks.” I understood. The cross piece was a stock, mounted horizontally. I stepped back over the front part and fit my ankles into two recessed parts of the back cross piece. The blond pushed another button and with a whir the two pieces came together gripping my ankles firmly. I could feel that the pieces were lined with some leather or similar substance. The continued to press, filling with air I guess, until my ankles were snuggly, but not painfully, constricted.

My hands were released from their cuffs, and the guard stepped back. “Over head,” she said. I raised my hands. Even I could figure this out. The upper cross member was similarly open, and it had the same two, but smaller cut outs. Was I going to be broken on the rack? I didn’t see any signs of blood on the apparatus or floor. Once my hands were in the upper stocks, and they had clamped down like the ankle ones, the guard nodded to the blond and walked out.

The woman still hadn’t said anything. I just looked at her, filling with the same lust and longing I always did when I saw a beautiful woman. I watched her legs move, eyeing the motion of the smooth, long muscles. She had hit yet another button, and I could feel the upper cross piece winching up slowly. Gradually I was pulled out straight until I was completely extended.

The machine stopped and the blond walked in front of me and stood, hands on hips, looking me over. “My, my, I guess you’re happy to see me,” she said. I blushed, for I was getting hard.

“You’re beautiful. What are you going to do to me?” I just breathed it out.

“Well thank you, that’s nice of you.” She smiled. “The last guy in here expressed the same sentiment but he was a little cruder. I pulled him up nice and tight.” She laughed wickedly. “As for what is happening,” she said, walking away over to the bench, “I could just say, ‘you’ll find out,’ but that wouldn’t be so nice.” She paused at the workbench and picked up some equipment.

“I’m going to examine you. Won’t that be fun. With all you ugly, dirty men in one place we could have big problems with disease, so we have to prevent that.” She walked back towards me holding a tray with several syringes on it. I wondered what I was going to get, but was in no position to object. She put the tray on a nearby stool and picked up one of the syringes. “This is for various diseases.” She rubbed a spot on my left arm and injected me. She put the syringe down and picked up another one. Walking behind me, she said, “this one is for some more nasty diseases you could give someone during sex.” She injected me in the left buttock. I wondered if there was going to be any sex here. Another shot went in the right buttock. She came back around me. “Now, my favorite part,” she said with a laugh, and began to inspect my dick and balls. She was playing around with me, and I groaned. “Why goodness sakes, you can get big. You look surprisingly clean also. Now nice. I’ve never understood why men let their dicks get so nasty.” She gripped my cock and rubbed me. “Is this as big as it gets?” she teased me. Actually, I thought it was pretty big right now.

She had pulled a small steel ruler out of her pocket and put it along side my extended dick. “I’m going to guess 75% percentile. Why, look at that, 79%. Good boy. Only 21 out of a hundred men have a bigger dick than you do. What an accomplishment for you” she said mockingly as she released me and went back to the work bench.

The door opened and another woman walked in. I practically drooled. She was wearing the same lab coat and heels, but what a difference. She was voluptuous, big rounded breasts held high by her bra, curvy thighs below a rounded butt. I could see all this because she was wearing only a white bra, panties, garter belt and hose under her lab coat. I knew that because the lab coat was open at the front. Her long, thick, black hair swayed as she flounced. “Hey Susy, what you got here?” She looked at me, hands on hips, breasts thrust out. If possible, I was getting harder. The blond was ice and steel, this one was a pleasure model, that’s for sure. She wiggled toward me.

“Oh goodness, so big.” She walked up to me and let the tips of her bra brush my chest. “You know,” she said duskily, “I like big, especially if they take their time. You do last don’t you?” She fixed big dark eyes on me, and I felt I could be swallowed up in them.

The blond, Susan, snapped at the black hair, “It’s all done. I’ve already measured his cock, as if you didn’t know. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, calm down. Don’t have a cow,” she pouted. “I just like to check the merchandise out, see which one I want.” She turned away, as much, I suspect, so I could see her hair sway and watch her butt as for any other reason. She cast me a glance over her shoulder. “This one is a definite possibility.”

“Right, this one and a dozen others.”

“Well, I want to see you harness that cock. That’s one of my favorite things.”

Susan shook her head. She went back to the lab bench, returning with a flimsy looking net. Without a word she went behind me and slipped it around my waist. It became clear what this was, a sort of G-string for men. I couldn’t figure out what it was made of. It wasn’t cloth and wasn’t obviously metal either. I grunted as Susan pulled it tight around my waist. “You’ll loose weight in here, get all trimmed up, so we need this tight.”

She reached her arms around either side of me and started adjusting the front triangular flap of material. Her brushing against my cock was driving me nuts. I looked across the room and the other woman was smirking, her legs apart, fingering one breast.

Susan fitted the flap over my cock, and treaded the string at the bottom between my legs. I looked down. My cock was now encased in a meshed pouch. I could probably pee through the mesh, but I wasn’t going to using my dick for anything too fun. The cord through my legs immediately branched into two. I could feel Susan attaching one to the waist strap on my left back and the other on my right side. Probably wouldn’t interfere with my ass either, but I suspected that might be to allow stuff in, rather than out. She cinched up the cords rather tightly, until my cock was pressed down against my body.

She came around front and looked at me. “Well, now you can’t do to much damage. Couldn’t have you running around causing problems with that thing. We know how hard it is for you men to control yourselves.”

“Yea,” the other woman said from across the room. One hand pulled her bra down, revealing her rounded breast. She mocked blowing me a kiss. “I hear you’re better off if you don’t even get hard. It could hurt if you got excited.”

All I could do is groan again. God, I’d have done anything to fuck either one of these women, but no chance of that. What was coming next?

Susan snapped, “make yourself useful, get the straps.”

“Oh, all right.” The black haired woman flounced over to the work bench and returned with some web of thin leather straps. The two of them began to attach them to me. One strap went around my chest, just under the nipples. Another pair of straps was attached, one around the top of each thigh. Each of the straps had a leather cuff dangling from it.

“Now,” Susan said, “I’m going to release your hands. Give us any problems, and I call the nasty guard.”

“How could I give you any problems?” I said.

Susan didn’t reply, just worked the controls to release my hands from the upper cross bar. I flexed them gratefully to work out the kinks. She allowed me a minute of this, then said, “arms down at your side.” I complied.

With Susan on one side and other woman on the other, they secured me into the straps. My elbows were encircled by cuffs attached to the waist strap, pulling them in close to my body. Each of the thigh straps had a cuff that went around my hands. Now my arms were completely pinned. Actually, I could move them a few inches. While I was thinking about this, Susan had gone back to the bench and returned with a helmet. She and the other woman started fitting that over my head. It had two pads for the eyes and a strap that went under the chin. It attached to a wide strap that went around my neck. They worked the stapes and cinched them up. It was effective, I was completely blindfolded. My nose and mouth were free, but that was it. The wide collar was going to limit my head movements.

I heard Susan tell the other woman to call in the guard. I heard and felt the lower cross bar release my legs. “Careful now,” Susan said, “step over the bar.” She put her hand on my elbow to steady me and I got a thrill from the cool slim fingers around my arm. I stepped over the bar and went a step or two forward before being stopped.

“What happens now?” I said.

Evidently the guard had come in. “Where’s this one going?” Susan said

A strange voice replied, “Says here, level 6, section 12.”

I could sense Susan’s surprise. “Level 6? That’s a bit harsh. Are you sure?”

“Getting attached to this guy? Remember, I claimed him first,” I heard the black haired woman say.

“Yea, I’m sure.” the guard said with annoyance.

“What’s level 6?” I said.

“That’s usually where people who’ve given us some trouble on the trip start out. I’d have expected you to go to level 5.”

“How many levels are there?”

“Well, let’s put it this way. No one ever comes back from level 10.”

“Ten levels,” I said.

“Oh, there are more. Level 0 is close to freedom, but I think you’ve got some transitional levels above that right before you get out.”

“Above that?” I said, confused.

“Levels get higher as you go down into the ground. Level 6 is a good 6 stories underground. Level 5 is above that.”

“Come on,” the guard groused, “I ain’t got time for you to give him the nickel tour.” The guard walked over to me, and grabbed my elbow, pulling me forward. I walked hesitantly ahead, on bare feet, arms at my side, blindfolded.

“Have fun,” the black haired woman cooed, “maybe I’ll get to train you if you’re good enough to get up to level 2.”

I was led out the door, and to my right. We shuffled down the long hallway. Even though the guard hadn’t been that friendly, I just had to ask, “what’s on level 6?”

“Your cell,” the guard replied, and I didn’t risk another question.

We walked into a small room, or so it felt, the echoes changed enough to tell. We started to descend. After a time to go several floors down, we stopped. I heard the guard pushing some buttons and the door opening. “Step forward.” I did, just a few steps before being ordered to stop. “Turn one quarter turn right.” I did. “OK, you’re in a narrow hallway that curves to your left. Just walk forward, and when you get to your section, you’ll be told to stop.

For some reason, this was the worst submission of all. I had to trust that I wasn’t walking over the end of a cliff or into a buzz saw. When on a leash, you know the dom is going ahead of you. Now I was on my own. I bumped into the wall a few times but shuffled on ahead for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, something felt different.

“OK, two more steps and stop,” a different female voice called out. “Welcome to your hell.” I felt hands grab me and take me to the right into a much larger room. I could tell it was bigger by the change in the echo of my footsteps.

“Fresh blood,” another woman cried, and I heard the laughter of several women. What was this? Fellow prisoners? I was really going to get it now. My blindfold was removed, and I found myself standing in what looked like a police office. There were three or four metal desks, each with a computer terminal. Unlike any office was the pile of ropes, chains, and leather everywhere I looked.

Four guards were in the room, all looking at me. One, a burly, beefy one in her 40s with a evil-looking face came forward and planted herself in front of me. “Now you listen here, you trouble-making piece of shit, you’re in for it. If you give us any trouble here, I’ll send you down so fast you won’t remember going down the tube. If you do exactly what I or any of the guards say, well, then you’ll survive, but that’s about it. This is your last chance.”

“I just got here, I haven’t caused any trouble.”

Slap! She hit my face with her open hand, sending me spinning. A guard caught and steadied me. “The chair, one hour.” The beefy guard stepped back and the others got to work. Two grabbed me, one on each side. They frog-marched me through the office area towards a metal door. The remaining guard opened it and I could see down a long, concrete hallway. A couple of bare lamps provided some illumination. The hallway was lined with metal doors on either side. I’d arrived in jail.

They guided me into the second door on the left. This revealed a stone cell, perhaps eight feet on a side. In the middle, bolted to the floor, was a low chair, like those camping chairs that just keep you a bit off the ground. A camping chair, that is, made out of heavy wooden crosspieces and loaded with straps.

I was turned around with my back to the chair. They pushed my ankles against a wooden bar that had cutouts. Another wooden bar was latched into place in front, holding my ankles. The guards released me from my bondage, and one, the younger one who’d opened the door, “take a minute to stretch, you’ll need it.”

“Am I allowed to talk?” I risked.

“Generally only when spoken to.” The sentence hung in the air, I wanted to ask more questions, but that didn’t invite more.

“Sit down,” another guard said, and I sat down, as best I could, not being able to move my legs.

“Scoot back.” I fitted myself into the chair. It had side walls and was rather narrow, I just fit into it.

“Arms up.” I lifted my arms, and the guards swiftly fetched two straps that crossed my chest like shoulder harnesses, one starting on my upper right and buckling to a latch on the right by my waist, the other doing the opposite. The stapes were cinched down firmly and I saw that each was locked with a key into the buckle. Those weren’t coming loose.

“Put your wrists here,” one guard said as she slapped the one of the side walls. Another set of short straps and buckles, one on each side were obvious places for my wrists to be secured. And soon they were.

I was getting sadder. Bondage can be pretty sexy for me, but anything with my hands held apart like this wasn’t much sexy fun. I’d just have to sit here. No way to masturbate even.

With my ankles, wrists and chest strapped in, I wasn’t much threat to anyone. The guards straightened up and took a breath or two. One of the older ones looked at me, “well, whatever you did, you’re not very much trouble now, are you?”

I didn’t know if that was a direct question or not. I looked up at her, hesitating. “Ya got something to say, go ahead,” she said.

“I just arrived here, not more than an ten minutes ago. I’ve not caused any trouble.” I stopped, looked around at the three uniformed females who were looking at me. They could do anything to me, beat me, rape me, leave me here for a day. Of course, I started to get hard.

The older one shrugged. “Orders are orders. We’ve got to finish this tie, but don’t give us any lip or trouble and we won’t make it cut off your circulation. Piss off the lieutenant, though, and you’re going to realize what you’re in now was pretty good. Come on girls. Let’s get it down, we’ve got five others to turn quick enough.”

They again set to work. A wide strap around my neck held my head in place. Elbow straps kept me from even moving my arms. A rubbery strap went around my knees, holding them together. Side straps from this went to each side wall keeping me from moving them side to side. Finally, a strap went around my head at the forehead. This had another strap going over the top of my head, so the forehead strap couldn’t slip down. Side straps from this were attached to the side walls, both high and low. I couldn’t move my head much at all. I was forced to look straight ahead and all I’d see was that metal door. I guess the point is that I was going to be waiting for it to open.

The guards left, banging the door shut. All I could do was wait. This was not a fun bondage position at all. I couldn’t masturbate, couldn’t feel my arms pressing against my sides, and no mistress was teasing me with her firm body. Was this what two years was going to be like? I couldn’t take this, and I didn’t see what the Collector could have possibly meant was good about this situation. I started to cry with frustration at the whole situation. It wasn’t fair, I had more to offer a woman than this.

[ On to Chapter 3 ]