The Prisoner
Word Count: 13,483
He sat staring at the far, blank white wall of his
prison cell. Far off in the distance he could hear
footsteps. Coming closer...ever closer.... to take
him away.
To take him to that 'other' small white room. And his
death. He gulped now, more scared than he'd ever been
before. Even when they'd pronounced his sentence
some years before, it had all seemed like a dream. A
crazy mixed up dream, from which he'd soon wake.
But he didn't wake. He'd spent the 10 years from
'that' day, to this, wondering how it had all
happened. Now, in his final hours, he 'again'
wondered how it had come about that he, a 32-year-old
former protege to the business world, had ended up on
death row.
Prior to that day, his life had been like any other
red blooded Americans. He'd gone to good schools.
His parents had been loving, kind people. Not the
slightest bit abusive. Well, maybe his father had
when he was drunk, but that wasn't often.
He'd gone to the best colleges, graduating with a 3.99
GPA. From there he'd been hired by one of the top 10
of the Fortune 500 sets and had moved to New York. In
his first year with the company he'd worked his way up
to a Junior VP of Bi-Coastal Operations without even
breaking a sweat.
Then that fateful night. He and some of the other
Junior Officers had taken the weekend and driven up to
Connecticut. They had been given use of one of the
companies many 'rental' homes upstate and had jumped
on the opportunity for a getaway from the hectic pace
of the city.
There had been five of them. All recent college
graduates. All horny, 22 year old males in need of
some action. Action, which unbeknownst to them, the
company was going to provide them with.
When they had arrived at the vast, sprawling mansion
type setting, the girls had been waiting for them.
Hookers or "Escorts" as they'd termed themselves. And
they were good too. Receptive, willing, pliable.....
The booze and the broads had been plentiful all
throughout the weekend. In truth he 'still' couldn't
remember much about that weekend, but he didn't know
if it was from the alcohol, or from time now. But
never the less, it was that one weekend, when he'd
woke on Sunday morning, alone in the house, with a
dead hooker beside him that had brought him to this
moment.
He'd been 'calm' in the beginning. Figuring she must
have just overdosed on some of the drugs he could
'vaguely' remember being at their wild weekend bash.
But when he'd searched the vast mansion for
the others, they'd been nowhere to be seen.
It wasn't until the police slammed in the door with
guns drawn that he'd truly panicked. From the outset
they'd accused him of murdering the poor girl, despite
his protests of innocence.
Everything after that was a hazy, terrifying whirl of
motion. The trial had been quick, within a month of
his arrest, and the sentence had been even quicker.
Death. The evidence had been so stacked against him,
that he couldn't blame his court appointed lawyer for
feeling buried...and vastly outnumbered.
The lawyers for his former company had been vast and
well paid. Lending a hand to the prosecution to
ensure his conviction. Though to this 'day' he
couldn't understand 'why'.
In the year he'd 'been' with the company, he'd kept
his nose clean. Dotted his "I's", crossed his "T's",
never making any waves at all.
But yet, here he sat, on death row, mere hours away
from his own execution.
He gulped 'hard' as the footsteps grew ever closer to
the tiny, ten by ten foot cell that had been his world
for the last 10 years.
The guards appeared then, closely ringing an older man
with a black and white collar. Four of them. Burly
ones all and again he gulped down his fear. His
large, well-muscled frame shivered with something
that 'might' have been cold, but it wasn't as his
bright green eyes rose to regard the priest through
the bars of his cell.
The older man held a bible close to his chest and
patted it gently when he spoke. "Are you ready to
confess your sins my son?" He asked with a slight
Irish sounding accent.
He gulped again, swallowing nothing but air, then
managed to croak out weakly. "I...I didn't...do
it...."
The priest's head dropped toward his chest and he
sighed deeply. When it rose he no longer looked at
the man in the cell, but at the guards. He gave a
crisp nod of his thinning haired head and stepped
back from the bars themselves.
The bars slid open, allowing the four burly guards to
enter almost in unison. They lifted him bodily from
the thin mattress on his cot and put the shackles on
his wrists. They looped the heavy chain around his
trim waist and padlocked it at the small of his back.
Another chain was locked to this one, then run to the
two heavy cuffs already locked around his bare ankles.
Another shiver of fear coursed over his large frame as
two of the guards took him by the elbows and led him
out of the tiny cell itself.
He dropped his head to his chest and hobbled along the
dimly lit corridors of the prison, his mind blank and
uncomprehending of the entire affair anymore. He
offered no resistance as the priest chanted a couple
of prayers on his behalf.
He'd never been 'much' of a religious individual, but
now felt oddly comforted by the older mans words, if
not his tone as he shuffle walked to his ultimate
destination.
The only other sound to mark his passing was the soft
rattle of the chains on his shackles. He grimaced
slightly as the cold metal bit into his flesh, but
that was the only sign on his otherwise blank face.
The priest continued to chant behind him softly.
Finally, after a long series of twists and turns they
arrived in the chamber that would become his final
resting place. It was a small affair really. A
single high backed chair, enclosed in a seamless,
thick looking room. The front was semi-cylindrical,
and in the outer chamber were rows of chairs for
witnesses to watch the execution.
Now, however, the chairs were empty and would probably
stay that way. Both his parents had died in the years
he'd been in prison, and what friends he 'had' had as
a younger man had all moved on with their lives after
his railroad conviction.
The guards guided him into the room with its lethal
looking chair and began to methodically remove the
shackles. Again, he couldn't muster up even the
slightest bit of resistance as they turned him bodily
and sat him in the chair.
One by one the heavy leather straps that were bolted
to the thick chair were placed over him and buckled
tightly. When they finished and stepped away he
couldn't move in the slightest.
The heavy leather pulled and pinched at his bare arms,
but he didn't really notice. The whole thing seemed
too surreal to comprehend. Almost like a movie and he
keep chanting to himself, "This can't be happening...I
didn't do it...they 'must' know that...I didn't do
it...."
But it didn't change the fact that he now sat there,
strapped immovably into the hard seat of the chair.
Something strange happened then. He'd known from the
beginning he was going to die in the gas chamber,
instead of by lethal injection, and now he waited for
the inevitable to begin. For the guards to clear out
of the tiny chamber, but they didn't move.
They merely stepped away from his strapped up form,
crossed their arms over their beefy looking chests,
and waited silently. For what he didn't know, but
there was nothing he could do about it.
The far door opened then, and he heard the click of a
heeled shoe coming across the tiled room beyond the
chamber. They came closer and he craned his head as
far as the straps would allow him to and waited for
the owner to come into view.
His eyes widened in pure fear as a woman ducked and
stepped into the small interior. He lifted his head
dejectedly and stared at her for a long moment, then
let his head fall again. At least until she spoke
softly from beside him.
"I can make this all stop...I can make it go away...."
she said in the most melodious voice he'd ever heard
before.
Again his head lifted slowly and he took her in from
head to toe. She wore a simple, gray pinstripe suit
that 'reeked' of money. Blue blood money if he
guessed right. Her long, shapely legs molded the
material of the skirt as she moved again, shifting her
weight from one foot to the other in her expense
Gucci heels. She didn't wear pantyhose, and the
soft, tanned skin of her well-muscled legs rippled
in response.
She reached out a hand then and ran her slim fingers
through his closely shaven brown hair. Bending
slightly, giving him a full view of her cleavage
beneath her glossy white blouse she spoke softly into
his ear. "Only I have the power to save your life
Trent Kraft.... This is your only chance...but you'll
have to agree to a few things first...."
He gulped back a swallow of air, for the first time
coming 'out' of the blanketing depression that had
consumed him in the last hours. For a split second he
felt the brief flare of hope in his massive heart.
"What...what kinds of things...." he whispered
softly.
She stood up then, with a soft chuckle and looked to
the burly guards behind the chair. Giving them a nod,
they bent and began releasing the heavy straps again.
Once done, they pulled him up from the chair and
reattached his ever-present shackles and escorted him
out of the chamber once more.
They sat him in one of the chairs and walked a short
distance away again. She came forward then, out of
the chamber herself and moved to stand over him.
"First off," she said without preamble, "You
will die."
She held a finger to his lips when he looked to
protest and silenced him. "Only on paper. Secondly,
you will be taken to my home where you'll be trained
and eventually sold at auction."
"Thirdly, you'll willingly enter into a contractual
agreement for the rest of your life once sold at
auction."
Max's mind was having trouble comprehending what she
was saying, so he fixated on one word. "Trained?
Trained as what?"
The female chuckled then. "As a slave of course..."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The next hours passed in a blur. His choice was
obvious and he snatched at it almost without
hesitation. But something about the word 'slave' had
caused him a brief moment of fleeting pause. But
what 'choice' did he really have. It was 'her'
option, or die.
And 'she' knew it. From the moment he'd given his
verbal consent she'd changed. Gone was the calm, cool
individual that had first spoken. In its place was a
cold, calculating woman.
Almost as soon as his weakly croaked agreement had
passed his lips it was the last 'sound' he made for
awhile. From a bag she grabbed off the floor, she
produced a hard rubber ball, which she unceremoniously
shoved between his teeth. Pulling the straps to his
cheeks tightly she buckled them behind his head, which
pulled the ball further into his wide opened mouth.
Within the first few moments his jaw, being
unaccustomed to being this wide began to hurt. But
compared to what 'could' have been the discomfort was
mild.
She quickly produced another item from her bag on the
floor by the door and a moment later he felt the heavy
steel of a collar locking shut around his thick neck.
It reminded him of an old slave's collar that might
have been used back in the 19th century it was so
heavy. There was a difference though in that the
inside was padded, which would make it easier to wear
for long periods, despite its heaviness.
He flexed the muscles of his neck and while it was a
tight fit, it wasn't uncomfortable. She bent back to
the bag once it was in place and pulled out three long
pieces of chain with heavy looking cuffs dangling from
the ends that matched the collar around his neck.
She nodded once to the guards, who then came forward
and pulled him to his feet. One of them produced a
knife and cut his prison uniform off his body without
a word and despite his now muffled protests. Once he
was 'almost' completely naked, save for his standard
issue boxer shorts, she strode forward slowly.
In that moment she reminded him of a large jungle cat
stalking it's prey on silent paws. Her feet didn't
make a sound as she strode forward and then behind
him. He felt her pulling gently at the back of his
collar then heard something snap into place at the
base of his skull. Another tug followed, this one a
bit stronger as if she was ensuring the lock was
secure, and then the guards stepped forward again.
They released his right wrist from its handcuff then
twisted it behind him without a word. Pulling it up
hard toward the middle of his back, he felt cold heavy
steel encircle his wrist a moment later and clank into
place. His left wrist followed the first and when
they stepped away his arms wouldn't budge in the
slightest from the middle of his back.
He gave them an experimental tug and felt the front of
the collar choke against his windpipe in reaction.
Coughing slightly around the ball in his mouth, he
shifted his hands up as high as they would go again to
ease the pressure.
The guards released the chain at his waist as she
stepped around him again without a word. She held up
another set of shackles in her slim fingered hands and
locked one to his right arm just above the elbow. She
did the same with the left, and then pulled the two ends
of chain together almost dead center on his chest. He
jumped reflexively as the cold metal touched his skin.
She pulled them viciously tight and locked the two
ends together with a padlock, leaving the ends to
dangle against his flat washboard of a stomach.
He's spent his ten years in prison well, keeping in
shape with daily muscle building exercises until he
was nothing 'but' pure muscles. Almost every inch of
him. After all, what else did he have to do.
He shifted slightly, trying to pull back on his arms
again, but the two cuffs above his elbows and the
chain across his wide chest now ensured his arms were
helpless members of his body. Held tightly immobile
by the heavy metal.
He didn't like that feeling one bit and began to make
muffled, earnest protests behind the hard rubber
filling his mouth. He twisted and turned as he stood
there helpless, and his green eyes pleaded with her
for a moment as she stood there watching his vain
efforts to escape.
When he'd settled, she took the knife from the guard
and cut off his boxers exposing his currently limp
shaft. She 'hmmmm'd' for a moment and spoke her first
words.
"That will never do...," she said with a soft,
thoughtful looking frown. She reached down and took
his shaft in her hand and gave it a stroke despite his
effort to step away. For his effort she gave it a
hard jerk, which immediately stilled him on the spot.
"NEVER pull away from me again...," she hissed out
very softly, giving his manhood a second hard jerk as
she did so.
He gave a muffled scream in return as she turned away
and bent back to her bag on the floor. She rummaged
for a moment and came up with an odd looking cage in
her hands. It was about four inches long or so, with
a smallish looking ring at its base. The 'cage' part
of it looked exactly like a limp penis, only it was
curved downward. Inside the cages bands of wire were
tiny little spikes about the size of his pinky nail.
He tried to step away again, but got as far as the
short chain of the prison shackles still on his feet
would allow. She came to a stop in front of him then
and flipped out her other hand, which contained a
second item he hadn't seen yet. A small leather whip
cracked across his naked thigh then and he jumped in
reaction to its sting.
Another muffled protest worked its way past the gag,
but she didn't respond as she began to fit the ring at
the base of the cage over his flaccid manhood. She
worked the ring over his ball sac with a couple of
gentle tugs and finally it came to rest at the base of
his balls and shaft. Almost immediately he felt it's
constrictive presence and tried again to pull his arms
forward grunting behind the gag.
But she was unmindful of these things save for
flicking the hard leather of the small whip across his
thigh again. Again he jerked in reaction to the sting
and felt the red welt rising across his skin. She
began to work his rapidly blood filling manhood into
the cage then and within a few moments had it locked
tightly to the ring around his balls.
The tiny spikes pressed into his shaft then and he
squirmed uncomfortably in reaction to it, again trying
to pull his hands forward. This only earned him
another smack with the tiny whip then another until he
stilled completely.
One of the guards snickered behind him and she bent to
the side slightly to send him a stern look. He
quieted immediately, and she came back to him to work
again without another word. His thighs began to sting
viciously and he realized he was beginning to sweat.
A fine sheen was covering his entire body, but whether
it was out of fear, or something entirely different it
was hard to tell.
She lifted her hands to his chest then and pulled the
ends of the chains that dangled there downward
tightly. He realized soon enough that she was forcing
him to bend slightly at the waist in order for them to
reach, which further increased his sense of
helplessness.
The ends of the chain were secured to the cage in
short order via two more padlocks and she was back at
the bag again.
~What more could she add? ~ His mind wondered, but he
soon found out.
She disappeared behind him again and he craned his
neck backwards to try and see what she was about. She
reached out and smacked him 'hard' on the behind and
spoke two words in a cold tone. "Eyes front."
When he didn't 'immediately' comply with her wishes,
she brought the small whip down even harder across the
right cheek of his ass then the left in quick
succession. He gave another muffled scream of protest
then turned his head away in fear.
She rubbed her hand over his naked buttocks and he
heard the smile in her voice when she spoke as she
gently spread the cheeks of his behind with one hand.
"Ah...nice....a virgin...good...that's unusual
in these circumstances."
She patted one cheek and he heard a slurping sound for
a moment, then she began to hum a soft tune beneath
her breath as she worked at something. A few moments
later, he felt her spread his cheeks again and the
point of something hard and smooth press into the
entrance of his anus.
He gave another muffled protest and began to step
away, but she was prepared for this and spoke two soft
words again, though there was 'no' missing the command
in her tone. "Hold him...."
Two of the guards stepped forward and each one grabbed
an arm as he began to struggle in earnest again,
screaming behind the ball in his mouth. But she was
undeterred and slowly, almost gently, worked the
long, hard object fully into his anus.
He felt himself expand slowly to the foreign object
being pressed there, and tried to resist it, but three
more hard swats to his bare ass and he relaxed long
enough for the ring of his anus to take the rest of it
and snap around the base of whatever it was.
He'd 'never' been intruded in such a fashion, and it
scared him at first. He'd been one of the lucky ones
on death row and while he'd 'admit' to his share of
hand jobs on his own for the last ten years, he'd
never been violated 'there' before. Once the act was
done, he struggled for a few more minutes, and then fully
relaxed in acceptance.
Once he had, he found a strange thing happening. He
actually 'liked' whatever it was...right where it was.
In a strange way it was filling and comforting all at
the same time. He visibly shook for a moment, trying
to shift a bit and expel the foreign object, but it
was firmly entrenched now no matter how much he pushed
at it.
She further aided its ability to stay a moment later
with a piece of rope. He felt her tie it to the rings
of the cuffs on his wrists then lace it through
something at the base of the object, then she came
around him again. Reaching unceremoniously between
his legs, she pulled the rope threw and deftly tied it
to the bottom of the cage holding his penis prisoner
at the moment.
She pulled it tight and he groaned loudly behind the
gag as the object sunk deeper into him. He felt his
manhood then, spring to life within the tiny cage and
press against the painful spikes. He struggled again,
once more trying to free himself, but his squirms
only served to pull the object deeper into his anus
and further arouse his manhood in it's cage.
Finally, he stilled again, his head drooping forward
with a sense of dejected acceptance. It was at this
point she spoke softly again, reaching out a hand to
raise his head and look him right in the eye.
"Very good Trent. You've accepted your decision
faster than most do. I'm pleased, and your primary
objective for the rest of your life will now be to
please me, or another Mistress once you're sold at
Auction."
She caressed his cheek softly then, around the heavy
leather strap of the ball in his mouth. "But who
knows, if you please me well enough I might keep you
for myself when your training is done."
His eyes pleaded with her for a moment, then he
dropped his head again, nodding in resignation as she
snapped a leash to the front ring of his collar and
led him away.
"See that he gets a proper burial." She threw over
her shoulder to one of the guards as they passed by.
"Yes Ma'am...enjoy..." the guard returned as one of
his companions bent to pick up the tattered remains of
his former prison uniform.
"Oh I will..." she shot back. "You were right though
Garron. He's worth every penny of the ten grand I
paid you boys for him." She added as they paused in
the doorway for a moment. "Hey, say hello to Stacy
and the kids for me would you?" She thought to add in
a friendly tone.
"Sure thing Chelsey.... You coming over for dinner and
the game on Sunday?" Garron asked then as the other
guards cleaned up the chamber in which Trent had
'almost' perished.
Chelsey eyed him for a moment, taking a long perusal
of his bent form before she spoke again. "I believe
I'll be too busy...but give Stacy a hug for me though
and tell her I'll make it up to her...." she said
with another look at him and a wiggle of her dark
eyebrows. "I promise...."
Garron nodded again as they stepped out into one of
the dimly lit hallways beyond the gas chambers ante
room and he locked it up behind his three companions.
"She'll like that..." Garron returned sending poor
Trent a knowing look. "She had her eye on this
one...but well," he gave a helpless shrug before he
continued. "What can I say, it would have been a
conflict of interest...ya now?"
Chelsey chuckled softly. "All the better for me old
friend...all the better for me..." she said as she
turned again and led him away without another word.