Enhanced Prison - Part Four
(Click Here for Part One) (Click Here for Part Two) (Click Here for Part Three)
Throwing himself into the role of “clearly inferior” wasn’t all that hard. As Ben looked up at Galveston, who smirked disarmingly as he glanced down at his combat boots, Ben had never felt more inferior to anyone else in his life. He wouldn’t have done this for the Warden. The man scared him, creeped him out. But Galveston? He wasn’t a friend. He was something better than a friend, although Ben didn’t have the word for it. What Ben did know was that he would lick this man’s boots and be glad to do it.
“Get these fuckers clean,” Galveston said. “It’s about time you did something useful around here.”
Ben paused. The leather on the boots didn’t taste that unpleasant, but the boots really were dirty, and he had to resist the urge to spit out the grime. “I’ve not been in a position to do anything productive recently.”
Galveston laughed. “Lick, you sonofabitch. Fuck you look great down there. Keep licking, fuck face. I’m going to talk to you. Keep licking,” he said, pushing Ben’s face down onto the boot. “I need you to remember something. I told you before I wouldn’t damage you. I still mean that. But in the next couple of weeks I’m going to hurt you a whole, whole lot. And I’m going to like it. But I really am doing it to help you. Stop licking and look at me.”
Ben looked up. Galveston grabbed Ben gently under the chin. “I want you to know that I like you a lot. I’m not bullshitting you. When this is all over, on the other side of it, when you’re back in the real world and you’re finally free, I hope we can be friends. But the way you get to be free, the reason there is an ‘other side,’ is because for the next 30 days I am going to put you through hell. I am going to be a complete dick. You’re going to be miserable and you might not forgive me for what happens next. But I’m going to do it regardless. First, it’s my job. But also, and maybe more importantly – you need this. And you deserve it.”
Ben nodded. “If it means anything to you,” he said, “I’m really … grateful? I’m going to get out of here in a month. That – that’s fucking awesome. I thought I’d spend half my life here. And if it takes a couple of weeks of absolute pure hell, well, that’s just what it takes.”
Galveston let go of Ben’s chin, smirking.
“Also.” Ben hesitated. “Again, I don’t know if this means anything to you. But I’m really glad it’s going to be you. I don’t think for a second that you’ll make it any easier or less painful than anyone else would. But knowing it’s you – makes it better.”
Galveston frowned. “Why is that?”
“Because I think as fucking terrible is this will be for me? I think you’re going to enjoy it a lot. So I’m glad it’s not some rando getting off on flogging me and shit.”
“No,” Galveston said. “Not some rando. So pretty soon,” he said, pulling out a severe-looking blindfold, one that was heavy on the eyes and locked in the back, “you’ll be wearing this almost all the time. Not literally all the time, but maybe 20, 22 hours a day. So today, while you can still see, you have a homework assignment.”
Galveston produced a pencil and a yellow notepad. “Yes. Write 1-30 on this paper, and on each line, write one thing you’re going to do when you get out of here.”
“Because I told you to?” Galveston said. “When you’re done, put the list on the bench and put your muzzle and hood back on. Lock them on, too. Take as much time as you want, but when I come in here tomorrow I want you muzzled and hooded.”
“After I leave this cell today, you will not speak a single word to me until this is over. Do you understand?”
“I’m serious. Not one word. You don’t talk to me at all. You can scream, and you probably will, if you can’t hold it in, but I don’t want to hear a single thing that sounds like a human word. If you try, even once, I’m getting one of those shocking dog collars for you. I don’t care how much pain you’re in, how hungry you are, how uncomfortable you are. I need you to trust me that you’ll get everything you need.”
Galveston nodded. “I’m going,” he said. “Is there anything else you need to say before I leave?”
“No,” Ben said. “Well, yes. Just – thanks. It’s weird, but … thanks!”
“No problem!” Galveston said. “I look forward to torturing you.”
Galveston laughed, shook his head, and, nodding in parting, left the cell, closing the door behind him.
Ben took his “homework” seriously. He had never imagined a life outside of the prison ever again. But he could have one now, after a month of the worst experience of his life. He numbered the paper 1-30. He worked around it, thinking of things he wanted to eat. An ice cream sundae. Pizza. Oranges. A giant steak. Food only got him so far. He looked around himself and thought of smaller things. Running. Taking a bath. Playing Call of Duty. Laying down in a bed. He got through the entire list, all the way down to #30.
He stared at it for a long time. He wrote down finally, “getting to masturbate,” but he frowned. It wasn’t right. He crossed it out. He wrote “getting to cum,” and that wasn’t right either. Another scratch through.
He smiled. He knew what he wanted #30 to be. He wrote it down, set the list on top of the cage, and finished out the instructions of hooding and muzzling himself.
Ben woke up to a kick in his side. He grunted, but he was careful not to say anything, even in the muzzle. He got out of the cage.
Today was when it started.
Roughly, Galveston pulled him onto his feet, dragging him to the middle of the room. Ben needed to piss, but somehow he didn’t think he would get the opportunity. Further, he couldn’t ask – he couldn’t ask for anything. In just a few seconds, Ben was strung up in the middle of the cell.
Galveston took off the hood and muzzle. For just a few seconds, Ben got to see the physical changes that had come over the guard. He no longer wore a uniform. The man was dressed head to toe in leather – boots, pants, shirt, biker jacket, gloves, police hat.
“Good morning,” Galveston said. “Are you ready to get started?”
Conscious of his instruction not to say anything, Ben nodded.
“Good.” Galveston put the blindfold on Ben’s eyes, fastening and locking it in the back.
“I’m going to stick this gag in your mouth,” Galveston said. “I think it will be easier for you not to talk that way.”
Ben nodded again. He felt a gag go into his mouth, which Galveston buckled in the back.
He felt Galveston’s heat near his ear.
“Today,” Galveston whispered, “think about that ice cream sundae you’re going to eat. It’ll be covered in chocolate, strawberries, whipped cream. Think about how delicious it will be.”
Then the whip ate into Ben’s back, and he screamed into the gag.
Galveston didn’t talk to Ben during the torture. He only told him what was about to happen next. “I am flogging you for ten minutes.” “I am getting ready to put these clamps on your nipples.” “I’m about to smack your testicles with a paddle.” “I am shocking the soles of your feet.” Ben tried not to scream, but so often it was more than he could deal with. He wanted to yell for it to stop, that he’d changed his mind, that he’d rather just go to prison for 30 years than endure what was happening. But he was certain that it wouldn’t matter. There was nothing to do except accept what was going on.
At the end of the session – it lasted a solid six hours – Ben was finally taken down. Some slop was thrown on the floor for him to lick off. He was finally allowed to use the toilet, even though he stayed blindfolded and gagged. He was told to brush his teeth so his mouth would be clean before he licked Galveston’s boots. While Ben licked the boots, Galveston used a flogger on a long handle to smack Ben’s testicles.
After this small respite, Ben went back into suspension for another three hours. More flogging – Ben felt blood running down his back. Punches in the gut. Shock. Screaming into the gag.
At the end of the second session, Ben’s blindfold was removed. Galveston was covered in sweat. He took a sponge to the sink and gently sponged Ben’s bruised and bleeding body, covering his back with alcohol. Before he left, Galveston stood behind Ben and pissed into a glass. He made sure Ben drank the entire thing.
“You’re staying strung up tonight,” Galveston said. “The muzzle and hood go on. The nipple clamps stay on. If you struggle and the nipple clamps fall off before I come back tomorrow, you will regret it. Nod if you understand me.”
The muzzle and hood went back on.
The next day, fresh pain shot through Ben’s nipples as the clamps were removed and blood flow resumed. After Galveston took off the hood and muzzle, he spoon-fed him some slop and made him drink a full glass of piss.
“Today,” Galveston said, “think about that run through the park. A warm day, sunny, you stretching your legs and running as far and as long as you want.” Then the blindfold and gag went back into place.
A new torture today: a plastic bag over the head. This nearly sent Ben into hysterics, but even as he started to panic, Galveston grabbed him gently on the shoulder.
He won’t hurt me, not really, Ben thought. I have to trust him. I don’t have any choice about it, anyway.
The next day, again after being suspended all night, the whisper came, “Think about sitting on your couch all day, a game controller in hand, owning some noobs on the Xbox.”
Every day before he really started, he reminded Ben of something on the list. Think about the first hot, cheesy bite of pizza. Think about the salt of the ocean as you dive in. Think about the warm bed you’ll sleep in. Think about that book you’ll read. But every day also brought a new, sometimes sinister torture: unbearable hot sauce under the tongue, smoke blown in his face, a hot flame under his arm pit, a small line of Galveston’s shit smeared under Ben’s nose.
Towards the end of the torture, Ben didn’t know if he would finally crack. He was in constant agony with almost no respite, because even when Galveston went home, Ben was still attached to electrodes, or he had athletic cream rubbed on his testicles, or one of Galveson’s rank socks was balled up and duct-taped into Ben’s mouth. He couldn’t keep track of days. He had no idea how long this had been going on.
But one morning, when Ben had spent the entire night locked in the cage and with a gas mask on, the end of the hose taped into one of Galveston’s rank-smelling combat boots, Galveston removed the muzzle and blindfold and showed Ben a small pile, neatly stacked, on the small bench. There were six bottles of water, nine granola bars, and a box of saltine crackers.
“This one may be the hardest yet,” Galveston said. “You see all that?”
“Be careful with it. It’s all you’re getting. But remember these things,” he said as he fastened the blindfold in place. “Watching the sunset over the Pacific Ocean, a glass of champagne at midnight on New Year’s Eve, a long walk through the forest in late October, and binge-watching The Office.”
That was it. No other torture, no other restraints. After days and days of nine or ten hours of active torture, followed by an entire night of passive torture, not having any torture at all was almost confusing.
But he was still blindfolded, and there was nothing at all to do. He felt like he had at the beginning of the experience, more bored than anything. But two things worried him. First, why hadn’t he been muzzled or gagged? And second, why had Galveston told him to keep four things in mind?
Because this is the torture, he realized. Four straight days of just being chained to the wall and blindfolded.
It wasn’t a physical torture: it was a psychological one. Complete isolation. No one to talk to or to be near him. And he would have to measure out the granola bars to make sure he had enough food to last – was it four days? How could he possibly tell?
He couldn’t tell. He had no idea how much time had gone by. He paced a lot. He started doing some mild exercises, finally working out some muscles that he had barely used in a long time. But he was still manacled and shackled and naked, his cock was still trapped in its device.
At least he could brush his teeth. He also took a pretty long shower, finally getting himself clean in a way that the sponge-baths Galveston had given him had never really accomplished. But as the hours – the days? – passed, Ben realized that he wished Galveston was there torturing him. He just wanted him in the room with him, even if it meant being treated like shit.
And that was the cumulative, awful nature of Galveston’s tortures. He had spent nine months getting Ben to want him to torture him, only to remove his attention and make the isolation seem so much worse.
“Hey,” said a familiar voice.
Ben opened his eyes. The blindfold was off. Eyes unused to light struggled to open, but Galveston stood nearby, dressed in his normal prison guard uniform.
Ben started to say hello, and caught himself at the last second.
“It’s okay,” Galveston said. “You can talk again.”
“It’s not a trick,” Galveston said. “You’re finished. Well, almost finished. This is over.”
Ben crawled out of the cage. “You’re – really?”
“Yeah, dude!” Galveston said, grinning. “You fucking did it!”
Ben sat on the floor. “So what happens now?”
“Well,” Galveston said. “I’d say you should get cleaned up, but you’ve been showering for like two hours a day, so I think you’re solid there. But we’ve gotta get these chains off and get you some clothes.”
The chains were coming off. Ben looked down at his manacled wrists. They had been on so long that his wrists and ankles were badly calloused. He would probably be scarred by them for the rest of his life.
“But before we can do any of that,” Galveston said, “there’s a happy thought here I want to address.”
Galveston pulled out Ben’s list, the one he’d written on the yellow legal pad. “You have an interesting thing down here, something you want to do when you get out. Well,” he said, “would you rather do it now?”
Ben laughed. “Yes!” he said. “I really would.”
“But look what you scratched out,” Galveston said. “You scratched it out twice. You want this more than you want to cum?”
“Yeah,” Ben countered – all of the free-and-easy nature of their peculiar relationship had returned. “I really do.”
“Okay,” Galveston said. “If you’re sure. Benjamin Howard, my full name is Benjamin Galveston.”
Ben stared at him. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Not even a little,” New Ben said. “It’s been my first name all along. It’s about half of why I picked you. I’m amazed that it’s not come up before.”
With the work of a hacksaw, Ben Howard’s manacles and shackles soon fell away to the floor. Prisoner Ben put on an orange prisoner hoodie and striped pants, just like he’d worn on the first day at the prison, and Guard Ben brought him a decent breakfast of eggs and toast and orange juice.
Sometime before noon, as Ben and Ben chatted, the Warden arrived.
He still had no neck. He still wore those absurd reflective glasses inside. But he brought the bolt cutters.
“Mr Howard, congratulations on completing the Enhanced Prison program,” he said as he cut the lock from the wall. “Galveston can cut through your collar now. We’ll need about three days, or maybe a week, to get everything processed, but you should be a free man shortly. In the meantime, I’ll have someone bring a cot in so you have some sort of bed. Unless you’d rather join the General Population for a couple of days?”
“No thank you, Sir,” Prisoner Ben. “I’ve heard that things can go wrong in the places where the cameras don’t reach.”
The Warden laughed. It seemed forced and perfunctory. Even now, the man was a humorless dick.
“Well, I’ve enjoyed watching you,” the Warden said. He nodded and left.
“Well,” Guard Ben said, “let’s see about getting this collar off of you.”
There was no mention, strangely enough, from either of them, about taking off the cock cage.
* * *
(Click Here for Epilogue)
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