This story is entirely fictional and is intended as a fantasy in the world of female domination and male submission. It involves tease and denial with the use of a male chastity device, cuckoldry and corporal punishment. No part of this story is written to suggest such lifestyles were realistic or believable. The characters, named and unnamed, are not based on any living or deceased persons. All locations, whether named or otherwise, in this story, including the nation of Siskovia Province, are also fictitious and any similarities to any that exist anywhere, are coincidental. If you are not interested in fiction in which males, whether willingly or forced, submit to dominant females, or find such subjects objectionable and in opposition to your own preferences, I would strongly suggest you exercise your right not to read any further.
Chapter 7
Day 11 -- Tuesday August 11th 2015
I was trying to count the days I was in this hell hole, but you would be surprised just how difficult such a simple thing was. I reckoned I'd reached the eleventh day but I wasn't absolutely sure. It was the only thing I had to do to make my brain work; count the days, but remembering each morning what number I was up to was harder than I imagined. I had been given a second day of hard labour just two days earlier, exactly the same as the first time, carrying one hundred bricks, one at a time, from one end of the yard to the other to build a new stack. Then take them all back, one at a time returning them to where they'd been originally.
It was thoroughly exhausting and caused me to ache all over by the time I'd finished, and I was sure what they were making me do was illegal, but I could do nothing about it. It looked as though I was going to endure many more days like this during my stay. At least, if I was to do that every five days, it was enabling me to keep better count of which day I was up to. First time was on my fourth day, second on the ninth, I realised I could keep track that way, which was why I reasoned I was on my eleventh day.
My frustrations had been growing, caused by the despair and hopelessness of my situation, but I was also having some moments of lustful pleasure. These periods of arousal were sometimes focussed on Madam Popescu who I'd seen only once in my cell since my incarceration began. I kept imagining her, dressed immaculately in a short skirt and jacket holding a long cane before her. In my mind, I would see her place the cane down on a table while she took off her jacket and roll up the sleeves of her blouse. Then she would pick up her cane and swish it hard through the air before taking up her position beside a poor unfortunate naked man fastened down to a whipping bench. I imagined that man being me, with Becky watching from somewhere in the room. Why I would have those dreams, I don't know. I hated the pain from the canings I'd had from Gina, and it was made clear to me, Madam Popescu caned much harder than she did. But something inside me was tempting my curiosity, and the reaction of my penis was an indicator that curiosity was growing.
I hated being here for an undisclosed time, but there was the slightest spark in my mind that had I come here voluntarily for just a few days, it would have been erotically exciting, but that would have been on my terms. A true prison experience was being locked away for as long as you're told, and to be treated worse than you like. That was the regime I was living under, and I knew it would be making Becky very happy.
But this day became the first of many desperately low days I was to have. Breakfast had come; the usual two pieces of overdone dry toast and a cup of lukewarm tea, after which, I'd been left to lay on my bed, bored stiff. When lunch came, Gabriela was not in a good mood, although she didn't speak much. I was in perfect position as she walked in, but she informed me I was late getting down. She ordered me to lay face down on the bed before giving me three hard strokes of her leather strap on my bare buttocks. It was the hardest and most painful I'd had from her, especially with little pause between strokes. I couldn't help but cry out for the third, which earned an extra punishment. She took my thin sandwich which consisted of a thin slice of ham on two rounds of thin sliced bread and threw it on the floor. She trod in it and smeared it across the stone floor before emptying the tea all over it.
"That is for crying like a baby when I punished you. Clean the floor perfectly or I will do the same to your dinner later." She stormed out of the cell and left me in a state of shock.
I was starving already, but not starving enough to eat the remains of the sandwich, smeared across the floor. I was so angry with her for doing such a thing; my backside was stinging from the strap, my stomach ached with hunger, and I felt so frustrated that I'd have to put up with this for months. I ran towards the cell door and hammered on it with frustration.
"Madam Gabriela!" I shouted angrily. "Madam Gabriela!" I shouted again. She must be able to hear me. I tried again: "Madam Gabriela, Madam Gabriela, Madam Gabrielaaaaaa."
I looked up at the camera. "Madam Gabriela ... Anybody ... Please help me. I hate it here, please get Madam Gabriela or Madam Izabela." My voice was yelling at such a volume they must have heard me outside the building.
My frustration was getting worse and I continued shouting as loud as I could. "Get Madam Popescu," I yelled. "Right now, I want to see her, now, right now. I demand to see her; I demand to see Madam Popescu. Get her, now." I was throwing my pointed finger at the camera in anger and frustration. If they could see me, they were doing nothing about it. And they continued to do nothing about it until I ended up lying face down on my thin mattress fighting to hold back tears of frustration. My heart was pounding and the sense of despair I felt was all consuming, I did everything I could to try and calm myself down. For once I didn't have a problem with an aching erection, this was far beyond that, and everything I tried to think of to pacify myself came to nothing. I was on day eleven of at least ninety days, and that was if my sentence was three months.
I couldn't get my head around just how cruel Becky had been, suggesting to Madam Popescu that I should not be told how long my sentence was. My wife would have fitted in here perfectly as a guard, although she only seemed to be aroused by my suffering. She would have preferred to give pleasure to other men while I watched, not torture them as she loved to do to me. The words of Dr Petran still rang in my ears about Becky's perverse ideas of being a loving wife, but I already knew, she had only confirmed them.
With those thoughts, I fell into a disturbed sleep until I was suddenly dragged into full consciousness by loud bangs on the cell door. I jumped off the bed and threw myself onto the floor as the padlocks were released.
Madam Gabriela strode in; I recognised the sound of her boots. "Stand up! I have brought your dinner."
I quickly stood to my feet with my hands at my sides, penis hanging limp. I looked straight ahead at her forehead taking care not to catch her eyes.
"What is wrong with you?" she demanded.
"I'm sorry, Madam Gabriela, I don't understand what you mean."
"Your eyes, they are red."
I didn't speak.
"Have you been crying like a baby?"
"No, Madam Gabriela."
"Do not lie to me or you will get punished severely. I will give you one more chance, I ask again; have you been crying like a baby?"
I didn't want to admit it to her, but I had little choice as she would surely have strapped me again. "Yes, Madam Gabriela."
"Why?" There was no compassion in her question.
"I am so frustrated being here, I just want to go home."
She smiled. "Don't you think every prisoner wants to go home. It is punishment to be in prison. The punishment is living here in bad conditions with guards that make life harder for you."
