Note: Contains bondage, imprisonment, dubious consent, and male/male interaction.
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It was another day in the padded cell. Aside from a short, carefully-managed lunch and restroom break, I was once again confined to its small, plush interior, with my arms wrapped around my torso in the straitjacket, and the tether anchoring me to the bench, giving me just enough slack to stand up and step forward about three feet or so. And the heavy panel covering my mouth, secured via an array of head straps. Just like most every other day before, however many of them there had been up to this point.
I had expected another lengthy period of confinement with little to do but stare at the padded walls, trying to make out and re-make out the outline of the heavy door on the other side. Or count the squares of padding - there were exactly 215. I had verified that number multiple times. At least, they were sort of squarish. They actually consisted of heavy buttons or capped screws that secured the thick padding into the walls into these deep "dimples," the padding which puffed out in between them into these vaguely diamond-like shapes. Somewhat reminiscent of an argyle pattern, or the kind of arrangement you might see on a mattress. Were they squares, or diamonds, or neither, or both? It bugged me that I couldn't quite define them. They were diamonds relative to the bench and the door, that much was certain, but could be squares from the right perspective if you angled your head a certain way. I wondered if the other cells had the same number of them. This facility was kept pretty neat and organized, so they probably did.
The outline around the door neatly bisected the diamond-shapes, but did not interrupt their pattern, which made the heavy door seem to blend in with the rest of the walls. The only thing that did break the pattern was the large circular recessed light in the ceiling, which was indeed a very clean shape, and the brightness kept to a low, unobtrusive level, warm in tone, not harsh or grating like some office lighting. I was thankful for that, at least. I wondered how difficult it had been to cut the padding to fit around it so neatly. Come to think of it, I don't know why they felt a padded ceiling was even necessary. Maybe they wanted consistency. I would have preferred a different type of ceiling just to have a bit of contrast, maybe some kind of nice hardwood appearance. But no doubt the staff, in their infinite cruelty, would have considered it to be overstimulating.
See, in my prior life, before I was secured in this place - the "before-times," as I liked to privately refer to them - I had real hobbies that were actually interesting. They were out of reach now, supplanted by the intolerably dull and endless stretches of time trapped in the cell. These days I wasn't even thinking about them so much - anymore, my thoughts were fixed on the situation I was in now, in the present moment. And in spite of the cell's spartan interior, not to mention the dearth of anything in the way of entertainment, it was doing very well what it was designed to do. That is, keep me imprisoned inside. And that it did with a sort of cold, ruthless effectiveness. It was a soft, plush, padded embrace that I could never leave. Well, not on my own anyway. Overprotective, you could say, designed with the best intentions in mind, to keep me nice and safe.
And don't think I didn't try to leave. Oh I busied myself many, many times, fighting with my straitjacket, pulling and tugging at the sleeves, trying to stretch my arms out, sometimes while twisting my body, jerking left and right. Naturally my arms would end up neatly drawn back into place over my chest each time, which frustrated me. I may have jerked upwards as much as I could too, before the crotch strap running between my legs neatly stopped that effort short. Or I might have tried to make my way over to the padded door. I would have gotten about halfway across the room before the tether stopped me, and then started to lean forward, pulling and straining against it while my feet slid around on the smooth padding on the floor. Then back to more squirming and pulling, closer to the bench this time, with the tether dangling loosely from the back of my jacket between my legs.
Eventually, I would slump onto the padded bench, arms still crossed over my chest, catching my breath. I'd look around at the padded walls, and down at my garment, and at the outline of the door I couldn't reach. Then I would try again, pulling my arms this way and that and jerking my body around more. This would eventually escalate into frustrated, aggressive yanking, while uttering unintelligible, rambling curses into my mouth panel. I was like a bug stuck in a spider web, with my whole life reduced to this repetitive, futile struggle. The thought of the situation only got me even more worked up, leading to even more fervent twisting and pulling and straining, before I would collapse onto the bench again. And this could go on, and on, and on, over and over again.
Of all the problems I could have, why did I have to get stuck with this one! Needing to be trapped in this cocoon, barely able to move, and no hint on when I could ever get out. And not to mention, kept expertly under control by the staff, who seemed to delight in undoing any progress I seemed to be making. Retightening a strap here, or securing a buckle there, during their routine check-ups.
But I was determined. Any day I would break out of this thing. Just had to keep trying, keep persevering. Something would give eventually, and I could finally be free. At least that's what I kept telling myself. And once I got out and could get my hands on a computer, I would leave the most scathing review for this place online that I could muster, full of colorful adjectives. I spent much time contemplating exactly what I would put in it.
Normally, my desperate struggles were always met with the silence of the cell. To my surprise today, however, the silence was suddenly interrupted by a dull knock, before the heavy door opened and a youngish man entered. Maybe in his early thirties somewhere, it was hard to say exactly. He held a tablet and carried a small nurse's bag, like most of the staff, and was dressed in a teal and white uniform with a stethoscope draped around him.
"H-hi there," he said, and gave a brief wave and smile. He came across as shy and unsure of himself, which wasn't typical of the staff. Naturally, I couldn't return the wave, though I managed a muffled sound from behind the mouth panel I was wearing. He stepped over toward me, somewhat timidly. "Not to worry, aheh, I'm just a nurse, just checking on you. Now relax, I'm going to get your vitals..." He had a voice that was soft and gentle. He left the padded door open just a crack. Precisely why they had tethered me to the bench, so I couldn't bolt out when such an opportunity presented. Then he quickly shut it.
Looking at the nurse, I initially felt disappointed. Since the interruption was unusual, it led me to hope it was somebody coming with discharge orders and I could finally get out of this place. Clearly that wasn't the case today. However, I found myself pondering whether he was scared of me. I was in the maximum security wing after all, the floor reserved for the most difficult cases, which gave him every reason to be scared.
I considered posturing at him, puffing my chest out, and even lunging as far as the tether would allow while giving a muffled roar, just to frighten him. It might have been briefly entertaining and a nice respite from the boredom of the cell. He would have run away in terror, and this place would have had one less staff member, and I would have felt smugly victorious. It's nice to have little wins here and there in this place. Or, maybe just level a cold, sinister stare at him, like some kind of brooding movie villain. Though, my better angels prevailed, as that would have only led to a black mark in my file. So I sat still, as uncomfortable as that was to do.
Sitting still was one of the hardest things about this place, and despite my best efforts I would often wiggle and squirm, almost out of habit. They didn't like that, of course, as it wasn't very well-behaved of me. But I couldn't help it.
He sat down next to me on the padded bench. "So, how are we today?" he asked, as he took my pulse, checked my temperature and used the stethoscope to check my breathing.
I looked at him incredulously as I attempted a response. "Hmmh hmm mmh hmm mmhmmph!" My mouth worked profusely behind the thick panel gag as I struggled to produce a coherent answer. His mouth turned up into a smile at my attempts. I glared at him, and jerked my elbows slightly outward.
He reached up and slipped his hand behind my head, fingers brushing over the buckles. "Shall I remove this?" he asked, seemingly out loud to nobody in particular. I nodded quickly and whined, desperately wanting him to, though ultimately he had the final say. And there was nothing I could do about it.
He finally did though, undoing the buckles securing the panel to my mouth, pulling it off of my face, while leaving the rest of the head harness in place. I gasped and looked up at him.
"Well, you're an intrepid one," I remarked. "Must have figured out I don't bite." I opened and stretched my jaw, finding some relief at being able to speak freely.
He nodded. "Yes, it seems appropriate in this case." He set the panel mask down on the bench. "You've been pretty well-behaved the last few days, according to your file, and this will make it easier to communicate anyway. Consider it a bit of a reward."
