Review Day

Themes/tags: Heavy bondage, straitjacket, ball gag, abduction, capture, masturbation, male/male, dubious consent, bad ending, horror

___

"Well, it's good to see you," said the staff member. He sat behind his wooden desk in his white uniform, stethoscope draped around his neck, and glanced at his tablet from behind a pair of spectacles. This one had a bit more authority than the ones I normally interacted with. "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, uh. Likewise." What choice did I have but to come? Anyway, I shifted a bit in the chair on the other side of the desk, still wearing my canvas and leather straitjacket, although in a different way than I usually did. This time, the sleeves were unfastened, allowing my arms their full range of motion. Given that they were typically secured and pinned against my chest, trapped in the loop on the front of the jacket, this newfound freedom felt very strange. I wasn't quite used to it.

I reached up to scratch the back of my head, the long jacket sleeve covering my fingers as I did so. I simply hadn't bothered to pull it down past my wrist, though I easily could have if I had wanted to. At any rate, getting to scratch my head with my fingers instead of having to crudely rub it against the smooth padded walls of my cell was a small pleasure I supposed anyone could take for granted.

The office I was in was quite modest, yet elegant. A couple of diplomas hung on the wall behind the staff member's head, and a tall bookcase sat in the corner. Instead of squares of white padding, I got to look at the green color of the potted plants, which may or may not have been artificial, the wood grains of the desk and bookshelf, and the taupe color of the walls. And one of the walls had a window, offering me a rare, small glimpse outside the facility.

Well, this was it. I steeled myself for the questions that, hopefully, would ensure I wouldn't spend another second trapped within these walls. This was hardly the case in the past, where the lengthy bouts of incisive questioning tended to end in dashed hopes as my discharge was rejected, and I was simply led back to my small cell bundled up in my straitjacket. Then, instead of tasting freedom, I would be relegated to spending the bulk of my time, hours if not days, only able to helplessly squirm around in my restraints, unable to do the much more productive things I could have been doing. Until the next review day presented another opportunity, that is.

The whole thing always felt terribly arbitrary, and I could never quite figure out exactly what they wanted to hear from me. Maybe this time would be different though.

"Well as you know, today you're up for review," the staff member said, looking over his tablet from behind his large desk. "And remember, in order for this to go well, you have to answer everything honestly."

"Yes, I know." It felt strange being able to talk without the bulky ball gag stuffed into my mouth. Despite that I wasn't wearing it, it still retained a lingering phantom presence which I continuously, habitually mouthed around.

He smiled, reaching up to rub his beard. "So, you've been here for some time. How are you feeling?"

It was always the same kinds of questions. It felt almost rote. Though in fairness, this was always a tough one to answer. I felt a bit disoriented for one, mainly due to the change of environment. Besides, how were you supposed to feel after such a long time being restrained and imprisoned, with no idea when you would be released? The physical discomfort notwithstanding, it was challenging to deal with the uncertainty of it too.

Putting my more visceral feelings about it aside though, I settled on the best response I could think of. "Hopeful." I guess in an effort not to jinx my release, I opted for brevity. That, and being able to talk at all just felt strange. Maybe I had habituated to that ball gag.

"Hopeful! Well that's good. We like to see positivity."

"Heh. Yeah," I said.

He thumbed over his tablet. "So," he continued, "you've been quite a handful during your stay here. Kept us on our toes. Which, that's okay. It's not bad to be challenged every now and again."

I squirmed slightly in my seat. "...yeah, I know. I mean, you're not wrong about that."

"Uh huh." He leaned back in his large, plush chair and looked at me. "You seem quite the feisty and stubborn type. Frequently protesting and complaining, and being generally uncooperative much of the time."

I shivered a bit, a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Well, yeah," I replied, "that kind of goes without saying."

He peered at me. "Tell me about it. What do you mean?"

Thinking for a moment, I eventually let out a sigh. "I mean, what else do you expect? I'm restrained all the time, locked in a small padded cell for hours, and with that gag stuffing my mouth. It's incredibly stifling. Am I supposed to just sit still all the time? Of course I'm going to try to, well, busy myself. Especially if there's nothing else to do."

I shifted a bit in my seat uncomfortably. As my emotions started to rise as I thought about it, so too did my cock, stiffening slightly under the jacket canvas.

He smiled. "Yes, you seem to have this rebellious streak in you, coupled with a seeming inability to sit still. We've observed that you get a certain thrill out of it." Glancing over his tablet, he continued. "So based on your, well, tendencies, you seem to have benefited the most from strict supervision and control. Wouldn't you agree?"

I could feel my cheeks turning red, unable to suppress the blushing that was welling up. I also couldn't help but feel my cock jump as he put me on the spot like that. Trying to suppress the mild embarrassment I was feeling, I cleared my throat. "I think anyone in this situation would act the way I do! If they had to sit bound and gagged in a cell for hours, that is. I can't help it if you feel you need to keep me under control." A subtle admission, perhaps, that I

did

benefit from it. As I said that, I couldn't help but writhe in place a little bit more.

He calmly observed my responses, taking notes down on his tablet. "So, tell me. How has the treatment been helping?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Helping? In what way?" The nervous feeling in my stomach only intensified as I guessed where this was going.

He just peered back at me. "You know what way. Tell me the extent to which it's been helping you."

I hesitated, realizing I had to tell him the truth, despite being under no illusions about what the truth was. And what was that? Ooh, sure, I hated being trapped in that jacket, and had wasted countless hours trying over and over to get out. It was so frustrating.

"Well?" he pressed.

I huffed. Was that the whole truth? Was it all bad? "Well, you know how much it vexes me. I'm saying that in the interest of being honest. Still, I guess that when I'm... tightly bound up, it basically counteracts my tendency to fidget. It keeps me severely restricted in how much I'm able to move. Which, okay, is kind of soothing in its own way."

"Uh huh. Good." He jotted some notes down on his tablet. "So you see some benefit. You don't

hate

it as much as you keep claiming."

I tried not to groan. "Well of course it's stifling and aggravating! And you keep me stuck in it almost all the time. Do I hate it? Well... okay, maybe not 100 percent." I looked away indignantly, folding my arms.

"Uh huh. And what about your gag?"

"It's uncomfortable as all hell!" I bit my lip. Positivity. "I guess, if anything though, it forces me to accept the situation I'm in. I guess... if I'm not able to complain, then acceptance is my only alternative." Admittedly, that sounded vaguely philosophical.

"Mmhmm. And does that make you feel better?"

I squirmed again, laboring to think of the best way to answer that. See, this was the problem. I didn't want to let on too much that I liked this extreme, excessive level of "treatment" they had subjected me to. But if I lied, he would know.

"Come on," he added, looking at me sternly. "This will go better if you're honest with us."

God. I wanted to get out of here. If they understood that I liked this though, that would only encourage them. How to thread that needle.

"I mean... okay, it does," I finally said. "It does help. All the restraints and the confinement, and being trapped. It's, well, as much as I want out, I guess it's a bit therapeutic. There."

He smiled broadly. That was the word he was looking for. I felt a bit of relief.

"Is that all?" he asked.

I sighed, continuing. "Okay, I admit it. I have a bit of a bondage fetish, alright? You knew that about me when I came here. And I should thank you for, well, having helped me indulge in it a bit." I huffed again. "But look at how much time I've spent here. Maybe I didn't expect I would be trapped in here this long."

"Mmhmm, yes. Well, your needs are what they are, and we only treat you based on a careful, extensive review of your file."

I snorted. "Look, I was fine before I came here and subjected myself to this," I said. "I need to do other things with my time now. This is getting a bit ridiculous."

He leaned back in his chair and smiled. "We are certainly happy to help you with your condition for as long as we need to." He paused. "So, how have things been with the caretaker assigned to you? Has he looked after you well?"

"My caretaker?" I paused and thought, remembering his teasing as he watched me squirm in my restraints, but also his eagerness to give me some relief whenever my frequent arousal got to be too much. He titillated me, I thought. I liked him and hated him at the same time.

"Yes, he has been nice," I said tersely. "Very, well, helpful. No complaints. Five stars."

"Helpful how?"

I bit my lip. "Just... the way he makes sure I get what I need."

"And?"

I shivered. "And the way he'll stroke me off when he can tell I need it." I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat.

The staff member grinned at my admission, continuing to take notes. "You find that helpful?"

"I... I do, okay? Yeah. It feels very nice. I mean, I can't reach down there myself with my arms trapped, so I kind of

need

the help. Okay?" My face was probably beet-red at this point. Surprisingly however, I noticed that it felt good to actually admit that. I had never said as much in any previous review hearings.

Having said everything I wanted to, I slowly stopped squirming. However, it was difficult to hide my impatience for much longer. I had been at their mercy for some time and was yearning for any hope of being released.

"So, that's it," I continued. "You've made your point. Your treatment, while strange, barbaric, and over-the-top, has been helpful in some small way. If it helps, I'll admit that maybe I needed it. So what do I need to do to get out of this place now?"

He hummed quietly, looking back down at his tablet. "Well, we just want to make sure we have been able to adequately help you with your condition. I think you've been quite forthcoming and transparent here. And yes, we are well aware that you have expressed a desire to leave, numerous times, and often quite vociferously. Just know that when you're under our care, we have to make tough decisions about next steps."

Here it goes. "Well look, I think I'll be okay to leave now. I was fine before this little excursion and will be fine again."

"Mm," he responded. "Do you think if we release you, you'll think about your experience here from time to time?"

I paused, thinking about it. "Uh..." I mean, of course I was going to. Probably every night, if I had to guess. How could I ever forget. "Yeah. Probably."

He glanced down again at his tablet, nodding. "Well then, if you feel this has been helpful and your condition has improved, then this may be an opportune time to discharge you."

I blinked, unable to believe what I was hearing. "Really? That's it? You're letting me go?"

"Mmhmm," he replied. "As you know, the exit is down the hall and to your right. As soon as you walk outside of the facility, you will no longer be under our care."

"Really." I was having a hard time processing it. "I'm, well, speechless. I don't know what to say." I reached up to scratch the back of my head again. So many conflicting emotions. Grateful, on the one hand, though how could you feel gratitude towards a captor? A bit of Stockholm syndrome, perhaps.

"Uh, don't you want your straitjacket back?" I eventually squeaked out.

He paused for a moment in thought, pressing his stylus against his lip. Then he looked at me and smiled. "Why don't you keep it. As a souvenir."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Then I looked down at the long sleeves, which had a habit of falling down over my hands, the straps dangling from their ends. Yeah sure, I would definitely want to remember this experience.

Well, at least I wasn't strapped in the thing. I had no idea what I would do with it. Tear it off at the first opportunity, right? Light it on fire. Be free of it for good. Well, let me just get out of this place, I thought. I'll take the jacket off and figure out what to do once I'm outside.

"So, here's wishing you the best of luck," he said. "And if you feel you need any further treatment, remember you can always come back."

"Uh, yeah. I'll remember that. Thanks, I guess."

I stood up and stepped outside the office door into the hall. Once outside of his office, I walked down the long hallway, unrestricted, toward the exit. This felt very strange. I was typically never in these halls without being restrained and led around on a leash by a staff member.

Once I reached the lobby, the large double doors leading outside came into view. One of them was slightly open, with sunlight streaming through the threshold. The doors were flanked by a pair of staff members in teal uniforms, who smiled at me as I approached.

There was a certain unreality about this change of circumstance. Having been held in this facility for so long and exhausted every possible avenue to try to get out, I never expected to see those doors that led outside into the open air, with the freedom to actually walk through them. They almost resembled the gates of Heaven. One could have imagined a choir outside, singing some kind of angelic tune. The sunlight streamed through them, illuminating a large spot on the checkered tile floor.

I guess in a way, being able to admit what I did felt good, up to and including the more embarrassing aspects of it. Despite my hesitation about telling them my feelings, I got to get everything off my chest, for the most part. And maybe they felt good about it too, which I suppose was nice to think about. After all, as they repeatedly said, they only wanted to help.

Suddenly, I stopped. Maybe I should take it slow, I thought. After being locked away in here for so long, going outside might be disorienting. I decided to look around at the walls, noticing the various paintings, the potted plants, the decorations, and so on. The ceiling was tall, much more so than that of the padded cell I had spent most of my time in.

It was kind of inviting, really. Or might be to anyone not being dragged in here kicking and screaming, at least. Anyway, did I have to be in such a hurry to leave?

I looked again toward the exit. Mere feet from the large doors leading to my long-awaited freedom, I suddenly heard a voice behind me. It was the staff member who had evaluated me during my review.

"Oh, there is one more thing," he said. I turned to look at him. He was smiling and holding his tablet.

"What's that?"

"Remember, I said you could leave

if

your condition has improved. And just know that until you do, we still have the obligation to you to make sure you are well-cared-for. It's all part of the forms you signed when you arrived." He grinned broadly.

I narrowed my eyes at him, suddenly feeling a sense of unease. Shaking my head, I slowly turned back toward the large doors to make my way outside. I gave a slight nod to the staff members on either side as I did so.

As I approached the large doors, one of them, a rather large and tall man, reached toward me and hooked a finger through one of the rings in the back of my jacket. I blinked as a pang of fear suddenly shot through my stomach. Trying to walk forward toward the large doors, I found myself stopped short by his grip.

"Hey... what are you doing. Let go," I insisted, continuing to pull at his hand.

He firmly pulled back on the ring, tugging it with his finger. "Sorry. We can't discharge you. You're not allowed to leave."

"What? What do you mean?" I demanded. "They said I could go."

He just shook his head in response, holding me in place as the other one moved in toward me. She was assisted by a third one, a smaller man, who seemingly came from out of nowhere. Their hands extended out as they reached out towards me.

"You agreed to what you did," the taller male staff member said coolly. "So we can't let you go. Rules are rules."

The other two grabbed my straitjacket sleeves and started to thread them through the front loop. Once they got my sleeves through it, they pulled on the straps by their ends, forcing my arms across the front of my chest.

"Let go of me!" I insisted, my arms fumbling in the sleeves. "Get the fuck off me!" As I struggled against them, I leaned my body forward and vigorously pulled against their hold and toward the large double doors, just feet away from me. I had to get outside! If I could just get through those doors, I could be free and they wouldn't be able to control me anymore.

Their hands gripped me through the heavy canvas of my straitjacket. As I fought with them, I could feel my cock rapidly swell up under the fabric as they roughly held and manhandled me, keeping me from slipping outside of the enticing doors and toward freedom.

I lurched about in their grip as they pulled the sleeves behind my back. Frustrated, I frantically pulled against the sleeves, jerking my elbows side to side in an attempt to defeat their efforts. Then I tossed my body left and right, trying to rip myself out of their grip.

My feet slid against the tile floor as I desperately, vainly tried to escape their hold. My stomach sank as I could feel them secure my jacket sleeves behind my back, binding me inside of it once again. And along with that, as much as I hated it and wanted out of this place in the worst way, I could feel my cock twitch, strangely, yet predictably, excited from the struggle.

Fuckers. They knew this turned me on.

The large double doors beckoned to me, the sunlight spilling through them over my body. I wasn't about to let the arousal I was feeling deter me from trying to escape. I had to break their grip on me and get out. Out! This was my only chance and they weren't going to take that away from me.

The staff members jerked me about, one of them reaching below my legs to secure the crotch strap, preventing me from lifting the jacket over my head. At this point, I twisted and thrashed about with my arms now pinned to my chest.

"Get... get off me! Get me out of this fucking thing!" It was becoming harder to ignore the raging erection under my jacket as I squirmed and fought with them. In fact, it was downright distracting.

Once the straps were secure, I could feel one of them clip a leash to a ring on the front of my jacket. Then the three of them gripped me roughly and began pulling me away from the doors, back into the bowels of the facility. I screamed in defiance as I watched the large double doors, my only hope of freedom, begin to slip further and further away and out of view.

"God damn it," I yelled, "let me go!"

"Don't worry," one of them cooed, "we're going to take good care of you."

"I don't fucking need that!" I shot back.

Being dragged down the hall, I stumbled after them, cursing at them and jerking about in my restraints. They eventually brought me to a familiar sight, the first cell I stayed in when I arrived here. I could feel fear in the pit of my stomach as I caught sight of the heavy metal door with the little square hatch built into the front.