Training Officer

A BDSM Story by Harley Grant
© 2007, 2004 Harley Grant. Do not use without permission.

[ Back to Chapter 2 ]

Chapter 3: According to procedure

The time of waiting began, and unlike the relaxing time in the cell last night, this would be an endurance contest.  That my legs were secured with the ankles fixed at 90 degrees to each other meant that it was some work to find a comfortable position.  I could try sitting up with my legs making a square on the floor, but the cell wasn’t tall enough to permit that – I bumped my head.

I tried lying on my back and I could put my legs down on the floor, but this put some strain on my thighs and I could not keep it up for long.  Lying on my side with one leg on the ground and one in the air worked for a while also, but I had to keep shifting sides.

I also could go back to the sitting up position, but lean forward so my head didn’t bump things.  I tried leaning in the corner and against a wall.  I could get comfortable for a bit, and rest, but soon muscles started tightening up and I’d feel the need to move before I got too stiff to move.

I went through several cycles of this, getting comfortable, moving, getting comfortable again, feeling a rise of panic, calming myself down again. It was slow torture but becoming rather effective.  

Perhaps I even dozed off or at least drifted out of total consciousness for a time.  I’d reawake, wonder how much time had gone by, think I must be done, fear I wasn’t even half done. 

But eventually, I picked up the sound of her work shoes approaching.  She sat up on top of the cell, and unlocked the top grate. 

As she opened it and I beheld her face, a tremendous feeling of gratitude to her for rescuing me flooded me.  She had put me there, but the time of torture had led me to so wish to escape that she could earn my submissive thanks for opening the door.  I looked up at her as a dog would look up at its master.

“In the old days, I understand that the guards would open this door and tell the prisoner that if they could climb out, they were free to go home.  They’d do this after the inmate had been there for a day or so and would be too weak to even stand up.  How about you – can you get out – not that I’m sending you home if you do.”

I struggled to get up.  With my legs held at that angle I couldn’t really stand up.  After a bit I got them under me and stood on my knees.  My head and shoulders projected out of the opening.  But, my hands were held at my waist and there was no way I could use them for leverage.  I tried leaning my shoulder against the wall and trying to lever up on my feet, it might be painful, but if I could get there, I could hoist myself out quickly.

Soon I gave up and sank back in.

“I should let you stay, but that was so cute, and you looked at me so helpless.  Go back down all the way, and put your legs up here.”

I did, lying on my back and putting my legs up in the air through the doorway.  She locked a set of ordinary leg irons around my ankles and then released the rigid cuffs.  I knew what to do.

I dropped my legs back down, got them under me, rocked up on to a kneeling position and stood up.  Now my waist was even with the doorway and it was relatively simple to bend over onto the top of the cell and wiggle out.  Soon I was standing on the floor getting my bearings after the time in the cell.

She took me by the arm again and walked me out to the main area.  She placed me in an all fours position on the floor with my ass in the air. 

She retrieved a spreader bar and took the leg irons off and spread my legs and put them in the bar.  My hands were still cuffed together in front of me and this meant I had my face on the floor.  Reaching underneath me she moved the lock securing my heavy handcuffs to the waist chain and then pulled them back and secured them to a long clip in the middle of the spreader bar.

She snapped on some latex gloves and gave me yet another cavity search.  Throwing the gloves in the trash she walked around in front of me and sat down in a chair.  She consulted a clip board that was on a side chair.

“I find that you have worked off your demerits.  Please try not to incur additional demerits.  Additional demerits will incur additional punishments and these can increase in severity for repeat offenders.”

She paused.  “You may brush against your cock.”

In the position I was in, that was pretty much a guarantee.  The tip of my cock hung down against my lower arms.  I could just push it between my arms, like a simulated pussy and rub it in and out.

“Studies have shown that periodic sexual release by prisoners is helpful in reducing stress and tensions that, left unresolved, can lead to violent incidents.  You are now permitted to masturbate to release while I observe you.”

I groaned with the humiliation, and the rush of being humiliated.  Could I jack off in this position, using only the friction of my cock between my arms?  Could I do that before I cramped up?  I was probably a bit dehydrated.

On the last point, she must have wondered about that as well, for she stood up and got a small dish of water and placed it on the floor in front of me.  Gratefully, I lapped it up.

She sat back down and resumed examining the clipboard.  “Would you say you had reached full firmness as yet?”

I grunted a ‘sort of’.  I was firm, but the friction was hard to get a rhythm on and in my awkward position, it wasn’t exactly easy to get going.

“Your position has been chosen to emphasize subservience.  You are in a kneeling or position associated with showing deference to a lord.  Do you feel such a feeling now?”

I agreed and she ticked a check box on the form.  I kept rubbing.  Hope my back doesn’t give out.

This went on for a bit.  Abruptly she stood up.  “I wish to experiment with an additional position.  She unclipped my hands from the bar.  I was grateful again as I pulled up my arms and stretched. 

“Roll over,” she commanded.  I got on my back.

She sat down.  “You may resume masturbating.” 

I complied, using my hands to rub my cock.  But now I was on my back, looking at her.  She looked at me like a lab experiment.  She noted times and kept writing notes on the clipboard.  I just rubbed up and down and felt the flush on my face.

Eventually, I came, squirting cum all over my thighs and cuffed hands.  I lay back and blew out a breath and tried to chill.

She got up and removed the spreader bar and reattached leg irons.  She told me to stand up and took me, cum covered crotch over to a corner of the prison I hadn’t been in before.  It was a shower apparently.  She held my hands over head and cuffed them to a link hanging from a bar.  She then removed my leg irons.

Taking out a hose from a roll in the corner she turned on the water, checked to see that the nozzle worked, and then turned it on me.  A blast of cold water hit my mid section.  She stopped after a while and got a bottle and sprayed some liquid soap over me, then washed that off.  She followed that up with a blow drier to take off some of the moisture.

I was released and taken back to the cell. 

“You will have a short rest period before dinner after you sign this.”  She presented me the clipboard and a pen through the bars.

I looked at it.

“It is a record certifying that you were allowed manual release and specifying the time and manner of it.  It goes in your file.”

I signed and handed it back to her.  She turned and went back to the desk.