The Rehab Center 1: Reception

Prologue:

“Sentence to commence immediately.  These proceedings are closed.”  The gavel rang down with a loud thwack. 

“All rise,” called the bailiff as the judge stood from his seat at the bench and went off to his chambers.

I stood there…lost for any words or thoughts.  The Public Defender stood there.  Finally he turned to me.

“We can appeal this.  I’ll get started on it straight away.”

“I don’t get it,” I mumbled.  “I didn’t do anything.  The charges of insurrection are so absurd.”

“You were tracked on the wrong Web Sites.  It’s enough these days.”

The jailers came to my side.  They cuffed my wrists and legs and marched me off.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the lawyer called after me.

The sentence…5 years in the Maximum Security Federal Rehabilitation Center.

Not being a criminal by design, I had no idea what the place was.  I knew the Feds had lots of different levels of penitentiaries around the country.  I heard of “maximum” security prisons but I never heard of this “Rehabilitation Center”.  Maybe the socialists who ran the country now used the term to soften its name. 

I was quickly loaded into a waiting bread truck.  There were no windows.  The back was isolated from the cab and it was hot.  They chained my arms to the bench.  I was the only occupant in the back.  It was real first class service they were giving me. 

I’d been branded a terrorist.  Odd that such a brand was fine for citizens looking for answers in the new republic but not fine for foreign people who plotted to blow things up.  The hard bench made me butt sore.  I couldn’t find relief from the wood biting into my haunches.  Soon I was aching in the small of my back as the chains held me erect.  Each bump and jolt from the rough road sent stabs of pain up my spine.  The orange prison garb was soaked through with sweat.  I wanted a drink.  I was hungry.  I ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth.  Once I reached this rehab center, I figured they owed me a meal.

Chapter 1: Reception

The truck slows to a stop.  I hear distance voices from the cab.  The truck lurches forward.  Soon the truck stops again, the gears grind and we lurch in reverse.  The beep, beep, beep of the back-up alert sounds.  The truck stops again.  The doors swing open.  Two uniformed guards unlock the chains from the bench and drag me out of the truck.  My back is stiff from the ride and I am sort of frog marched into a brightly lighted room.

“Toe the line!” barks a guard pointing his truncheon at the floor.

 I put my toes on the yellow line.  I look left and right, seeing no one else.

“Eyes straight ahead!”  The guard punches me, not too lightly, with the end of his weapon.  “Attention!”

I remember my military time and stand loosely at attention. 

The prod whacks me again.  “Attention means just that!”

I straighten myself as best I could.

I see a dark shadow of a person stride into the room.  The figure remains in the dark.  I can’t see any more than the shadow.

“This is the Maximum Security Rehabilitation Center, Ludlow.”  The harsh female voice surprises me.  “You are in my care.  It is my job to correct your subversive thoughts and beliefs so you can be restored to society at the end of your sentence.  Your behavior will be considered throughout the time of your stay here.  Your sentence can be reduced as reward for proper behavior.  Your sentence can be increased as punishment for bad behavior.  The choices will be yours to make.  I look forward to the time we will be together.  I doubt you will, though.  Do you have any questions?”

“How do I know when I am good or not being good?”

“The rules are simple.  Obey.”

“When do I eat?”

The guard thumps me again and I double over.

“You have no rights here.  Questions along those lines are prohibited.  Make a note…sentence increased six months.”

The shadowy figure turns and faded into the dark.

“The preparation room,” I am marched off toward a heavy steel door at the side of the room.

The room is all white and chrome.  The white is blinding in its uniformity…white tile, white floor, white ceiling, bright fluorescent lighting, even brighter spot lights over a large enamel basin/tub examination table and chair, and shower enclosure.  The shiny chrome of fixtures, rails and legs is the only relief.

Another door opens and two nurses…at least I think they are nurses…come into the room.  They are uniformly dressed in white uniforms with white aprons.  The aprons are rubber.  More surprising, the uniforms are shiny as well…rubber.  The nurses are in white rubber from head to toe.  Even the faces are behind rubber masks.  The red cross on their hats is the only color besides white.

I wonder at the clothing. 

“Strip,” orders one of the twins.  She unlocks my restraints.

I comply quickly.  One thing I know from my short tenure is immediate obeisance is the rule.  I soon stand in my underwear.

“Everything.”

I reluctantly pull off drawers, shirt and socks.  I stand naked before these two rubber nurses.  I am a bit red from being forced to be naked before these two women.

Nurse White 1 points to the shower area, “Into the shower for disinfection.”

I step over the sill into the enclosure.  The shower is actually pretty sophisticated for a prison.  It has six directional nozzles.  It is more like something from a luxury suite than a prison hospital examination room.

Nurse White…I call them both that…hands me a pair of goggles.  She says, “Put these on.”  Then she closes the door of the enclosure. 

The goggles are heavily tinted and I can barely see through them.  They must be the type recommended when observing a solar eclipse.  The reduction of the bright white is almost a relief.  The water blasts out of the nozzles.  I jump as it is cold.  I cannot move out of the stream and am dancing under the frigid cascades of water.  There is no escape as the water finally warms up some, then blasts out at an almost scalding hot.  A medicinal odor fills the stall as the water blasts away. My skin turns bright red and is burning as try to push the door open.  The stinging of the pelting flow focuses my attention.  What are they doing to me?  I fear to ask.  The flow shifts to a cooler but no less pelting beat.  A new smell assails my senses.  This one is a mix of iodine and alcohol or something else medicinal.  Everything seems to be medicinal.

I cannot really see what the shower is doing to me.  The antiseptic concoction must be part of the sanitary program for the institution.  It makes sense to have all inmates thoroughly clean before introduction into the population.

After another ten minutes, the water shifts back to the near freezing.  I dance again in the water.  This last only a few seconds before the water shuts down.  The door opens and Nurse White motions for me to exit.  I am dripping wet.

Nurse White points at two footprint marks on the floor.  “Toe the feet.”

I stand on the feet and hot air blasts over me.  I feel this air cloaking me in warmth.  I feel it blowing over my scalp and arms and legs like I’ve never felt the wind before.  The goggles still obscure my vision enough that I cannot discern what exactly is different.  I know something changed.  The tingling on the skin is still there from the shower treatment.  But there is something else in the back of my mind trying to push into my thoughts.

Nurse White…I still cannot tell them apart…points to the large low basin area.  I go there.  As I stand, the two nurses begin to fiddle with equipment stored in the adjacent cabinet.  They produce and enema bag, enema tubing and wand.  The bag is full of solution.

“Get in the basin and bend over the far edge,” says Nurse White.

I step over the low edge and bend over the curved far edge.

“Place your hands on the prints.”

I barely can tell the two hand marks on the floor under two one-inch wide metals straps.  I put them in place.  The pressure triggers a mechanism that tightens the straps around my wrists.  I feel one of the nurses cinching a strap around my waist.  I am locked into the position.  I feel my feet being pushed forward and two tight bands encircle my ankles.

I am secure and my butt is exposed.  It isn’t long before I feel slippery rubber fingers massaging my rectum.  The feeling is new to me and there is a certain sexual excitement that I cannot hide as the rubbery fingers slowly work the slippery lubrication into the hole.  My member betrays me and stiffens as the nurse continues to lubricate me.  She sticks her finger deep inside me and works it around the tight opening.  She withdraws and then pushes the enema wand inside.

She then opens the clamp on the tube and the stuff flows into my insides.  My erect member is definitely advertising my arousal.  Nurse White reaches between my legs and begins to fondle my balls and squeeze my rigid cock.  I groan in ecstasy as the enema fills me and she wanks me off.  The amazing turn of events has me firing off my load in seconds!  I groan loudly as I cum and now the enema is no longer exciting but intruding viciously in my innards as the passion subsides.  Nurse White, the Fondler, pulls the wand from my ass and I push the gunk out onto the floor of the basin.  I splatter waste everywhere.  Nurse gets it too.  Maybe that is why they wear all rubber although it doesn’t really explain the need for the tight rubber hoods.  Another bag is placed and after a short cleaning of the site and more lubrication, the wand is inside me again.  The process repeats four times.  Nurse White, the Other, takes her turn with my cock.  Surprisingly, I respond again and now they are both Nurse White, the Fondler, in my mind.

Nurse White, both of them, hose off the waste and me with another stinging disinfectant solution.  This time I want the stuff on me as I splashed my waste on my nakedness as well.  The binding straps loosen and I hear Nurse White say, “Over to the stool.”

I climb out of the basin and go to the stool.  Nurse White pulls a garment from a drawer near the stool.  This garment is black.

She offers it at my feet, “Step into the suit.”

The suit, as best I can tell, is some sort of wrestler suit.  As Nurse White pulls it up my legs, I realize it is rubber, like her uniform.  The inside of the suit is covered with a thin layer of slimy gel.  The cold clamminess of the material warms to my skin.  As it reaches my waist, she pulls my cock and balls through a narrow reinforced slit in the front.  The slit closes over the base of my scrotum, locking my manhood outside of the close-fitting latex.  She then pushes a slippery intruder into my rear.  This time I feel the large girth of the plug stretching me wide and painfully.  But my strained muscles quickly clamp over the narrow base of the thing and it draws deep inside of me.  Nurse White finishes pulling the suit up over my shoulders.

“Sit”, she commands.

As I sit on the stool, she works two stocking up my legs.  These too are black rubber and coated in the gel.  They roll over the legs of the wrestler suit.  Before rolling the stockings over each leg of the suit, she carefully applies solvent to the lower inch of leg.  As the stocking rolls into place, the solvent seems to weld the stockings to the suit in a continuous seamless seal.

She then pulls a black rubber shirt over my head and rolls it down my torso.  The shirt has short sleeves but it has a high tight collar that ends just under my chin.  Again solvent dissolves the two latex garments into one.  The shirt has two small reinforced holes that match my nipples.  My small nipples poke tentatively through the black skin as two pale points on a black landscape.  I wonder at the reason for the rubber clothing, though the novelty of the tight massaging feel is somewhat arousing.  The feel is so intense as well.  The rubber moves slips easily over my skin as sweat begins to mix with the gel lubricant inside the clothes.  The subtle massaging is not unpleasant.  On the contrary, it is just a bit arousing, especially in light of my recent encounter with the two Nurse Whites’ rubber gloves.

Nurse White pulls two long black rubber gloves onto my arms.  I feel the slippery gel again as the two long tubes slowly cover my arms.  My fingers slip into the individual fingers and again the solvent bonds the top of the gloves to the shirt sleeves.  All of this is done carefully and skillfully to avoid any wrinkles or unneeded bunching of the skin.  When finished, I am encased from neck to toe in rubber, except for my exposed genitals which are locked outside of the suit.

Nurse White places a mirror in front of me.  I see shiny black from neck down.  I dimly see the hairless skin of my head and am shocked.

She removes the goggles and spreads a gel on the remaining hair that was under the wide goggle band.  After a few moments, she uses a damp towel to remove the remaining band of hair.

“My hair…why did you remove it?” I ask.

The door opens and in walks a tall figure in a leather uniform.

“Funny you ask that.  Should we add another six months for the question?  I think not.”

I recognize the voice as the warden.

She steps to me and slowly strokes my skin with gloved hands.  I feel the leather-covered fingers through the rubber.

“I’m just checking on my nurse trustees.  I trust they are preparing you properly for your stay with us.  You can speak.”

“Ummmm, yes, I guess.  I’m a bit at a loss with the rubber suit.”

“It’s the uniform for residents.  Actually, this is the under suit.  There will be another suit for you to wear in general population once you are dressed completely in this one.  There are a few more steps to complete.”

“I see.  How about hygiene?”

“Good question.  You were completely disinfected and dilapidated before the dressing began.  You can wear the suit pretty much indefinitely.  We have been observing for latex reaction and finding none, you will be dressed in the standard issue suit.  Once a week, a solution can be passed into the suit for basic cleaning but for all practical purposes, the suit will not need removal once the suiting up is complete.”

“My basic bodily function needs…how is that handled since I assume my cock will be covered eventually?”

“You will be on a mostly high protein liquid diet.  Waste will pass through the tubing connectors to the plug in your backside.  Other things will be introduced to the plug later.  Your insides will be routinely flushed through that tube as well.  Your will have a sealed sheath that directs the other waste into the rectal cavity.  You will be giving yourself daily enemas between programmed flushing.  I understand it is an interesting experience…some residents find it quite erotic.”  The warden smiles as she finished that thought.

“I see,” I try to hide my doubt in that last statement.

“I think you will come to believe based on what I observed during the initial flushing.”

I feel the warmth of a blush as she said that.  How much else does she know about my experience so far?  Probably everything.  I wonder if the Nurse Whites would be punished; they must have known we are being observed.  I didn’t think so based on the warden’s initial reaction upon entering the room.

“It is time to add your jewelry,” the warden said cheerfully.  “I always enjoy the reactions to new residents as they discover the wonderful places that jewelry can reside in this age.”

Now Nurse White, the First (Fondler), points to the dental chair.  I know I must sit in it and go to it.  After seated, my arms are bound and a head strap immobilizes me against the headrest.  My legs are strapped to the stirrups at three points.  Waist and chest straps secure my torso.  I am tilted back and my legs raised and spread.

Apparently, Nurse White, the Second, can perform minor cosmetic surgery in the form of body piercing.  I discover the unpleasant introduction of piercings as I am locked to the chair.  First two rings are pushed through my nipples.  This is done after Nurse White, the First, teased them into hard swollen buttons of sensitive flesh.  The rings effectively lock my nipples outside of the tiny holes in the shirt/suit.  She carefully sponges off the residual blood.

Next she turns her attention to my genitals.  The pain shoots through me as she pushes some sort of adornment through the base of the head of my cock.  A second and third shot of pain happens as the base of the cock and then the scrotum are pierced.  Nurse White, the First, cleans the wounds and then she plays with the little barbell adornments. 

Nurse White, the First, then quite quickly and ruthlessly pries my mouth open and pulls my tongue out with a pair of rubber-sheathed tongs.  Nurse White, the Second, just as quickly and ruthlessly punches first one then another tongue piercing through the sensitive organ.  The shot of sudden pain hits hard as I flinch from the assault.

“Don’t worry.  In about two days you will love those additions,” the warden promises.

I think about these words but have my doubts.

Earplugs/hearing aids are pushed into each ear canal.  Outside sounds are immediately muffled and fuzzy.  I hear my heart beating heavily and rapidly.  Piercings are added to my ears.  My tragi and the cartilages of my ears are pierced. It hurt.  Nurse White, the Second, fits each of the new piercings with plain, stainless steel studs; sort of like long-posted thumb-tacks adorned with a small ring on their flat tops. These are pressed into the perforation in each tragus, through retaining loops on the hearing aids, and then out through the holes in the cartilages behind the shells of the ears. When the posts pass through the fittings on the external ends of the ear-plugs, they are pressed firmly and uncomfortably all the way into my pre-lubricated ear canals, deafening me until they might be turned on.

“Test.  Test.” I hear the warden’s voice crackle mechanically in my head.  “Do you hear me?”

I say, “Yes.”

“Proceed with the processing, Trustee 15732.”  The warden leaves the room.

Nurse White, the First, (Trustee 15732) solders the tips of all of the piercings.  The metal heats and I feel the hot searing metal under my flesh.  The work is done quickly and the heat isn’t completely unbearable.

Trustee 15732 releases my head from its restraining straps.  She pulls the goggles back over my head.  The darkened view returns.  Next she pulls a rubber helmet over my head.  The eye openings seem to mate perfectly with the goggles.  The nose and mouth openings are the only exposed parts on my body.  She fiddles with solvent around the eye area and the helmet eye edges meld with the goggles.  Little pads at the ears press the ear plug/hearing system deeper into my ear canal.

Nurse White, the Second (Trustee some number), pushes two tubes into the nose openings.  She carefully begins to fit the two resilient, tapered, latex tubes into my nostrils. I go into a paroxysm of shaking and twisting while she slowly pushes them further and further up into my nose.  She tilts my head up to straighten out the passage from the nasal sinus into the throat.  The tubes tickle my sinuses as they slowly slide deeper inside my head.  She has to cradle my shuddering head in the crook of her elbow to hold it steady while the tubes slowly insinuate themselves deep into my sinuses. Once in place, they seal themselves fully, slowly expanding from my body heat, their adhesive coatings bonding to the inner surfaces of my nostrils.

Once the nose tubing is in place, Trustee 15732 secures my head to the head rest again.  This time a white-garbed-in-rubber man comes in the room.

“He’s ready, Doctor,” says Nurse White, the Second.

The “doctor” takes up a slab of gray material and approaches me.

“Open wide.  We need an impression of your teeth and mouth for our records,” he says.

He pushes the gray stuff, clay I soon find out, inside my mouth.

“Bite, please.”

I close my mouth as best I can over the lump.  It molds to my teeth, mouth and tongue as it warms to body temperature.  The doc tracks a time by his watch. “Open.”  He pries the clay loose from my teeth and pulls it out.  He leaves the room as Trustee 15732 comes back in with a large pile of black rubber. 

“Time for your permanent secondary suit,” she says.

I’m smarting from the piercing and am happy to see something that at least looks to be fairly painless to do.  Trustee releases the bindings on the chair.  She stoops to my feet and begins to feed the much heavier rubber of this second suit onto my body.  The odor of this suit is not latex.  It is also very thick and not nearly as stretchy as the first layer.  It is shiny and smooth but more like a diving suit, though a little thinner and not the spongy neoprene.

“This suit is chemically resistant completely air tight.  It is made from manmade butyl rubber.  It’s not as stretchy as latex but it is much more durable,” Trustee says. 

I work the heavy material onto my legs.  As Trustee pointed out the stuff compresses my skin in its grip.  It has little give.  I put the second leg into the suit and work it down into the foot.  The slippery gel inside the suit eases the entry.  I stand once I get the feet planted and with Trustee’s help the suit slowly eases up my legs. 

My member slides into the heavy built-in sheath. 

Trustee explains how the system works.  It isn’t a normal catheter since this is a more permanent system.  The sheath is a double-wall device with thick foam sandwiched between the inner and outer walls.  The spongy foam inside sheath seals around my member.  The head slips through a ring located just behind the tip of the sheath and is locked in place.  A drain tube slips slightly into the tip of the cock.  This small tube directs flow of fluids from the urethra into the drain and out through the tubing curled under the shaft into the rear plug.  The nurse pulls the tube through my legs and seals it to the rear plug connection.  She finishes pulling the suit over my waist.  A second probe pushes into the rear opening.  Later I find this probe has a telescoping feature that shoves it in and out like a piston inside a cylinder.  This feature is unknown to me right now.  A tiny motor attached to the piston wall pushes and pulls the thing in a two inch cycle.  A thick, stiff rubbery wedge slips into the crack and spreads my cheeks uncomfortably.  The little motor for the piston is housed in the base of the wedge.  A very thick band slips over the hips and seals at the waist.  I am locked into the lower half of the suit.  My sheathed manhood points like an obscene black sausage made for lust in its permanent position.

Trustee fiddles with the rear of the suit, sealing it to the inner suit to prevent any liquid drips from the rear plug.  Once the umbilical drain system is attached, the thing is leak-proof to the outside.

The heavy and dense butyl is hot.  Nurse feeds my hands into the black openings for the arms.  It is relatively easy to slide my encased arms and fingers to the bottoms of the lubed sleeves; but I discover that it was quite difficult to wriggle my hands past the doubled thickness of the tight wrist-bands, even with Nurse holding them. Once through the restriction, my fingers slip immediately into the thick-skinned inner gloves at the sleeve's ends; these embedded within the foamed rubber filling of the thumb-less mitts. The so called mitts in reality resemble long, rigid, slightly flattened, and smooth catcher’s mitts, and once within their confines, my fingers and thumbs nestle unmoving, buried in the high-density foam fillings. I try to twitch them; but only a very slight flexing is permitted by the foam, despite how much I strive to move. My sense of loss of control is enhanced by the fact that my fingers and thumbs are kept slightly separated from each other. Adding to the businesslike appearance of the mitts, glittering rings embedded in their rounded tips flick back and forth with potent readiness whenever I try to bend my doubly entombed arms.

I shrug further into the suit.  The heavy rubber suit has anatomically correct nipples built into the chest area.  These nipples seem to lock over the two small barbells inserted through my nipples.  Nurse presses the two nipples against my skin and I feel a little pressure then release as if something internally snaps into place.  She pulls on the tips with a pair of needle-nose pliers and I feel resistance in my nipple as the little barbells are pulled slightly out.  I feel the pain and she sees my expression.

“Perfectly locked,” she says.

She now pulls the suit closed at my back.  The tight skin compresses my body with a vice-like grip.  I feel completely sealed into the rubber.  I notice the heavy lump of rubber at my chest…an attached hood arrangement is my guess.  I wonder why this isn’t pulled over my head yet.

She closes the short zipper that runs from the small of my back to just below the nape of my neck.  The compression on the body increases measurably.

“I won’t be doing much bending in this,” I say.

“Shhh,” Nurse admonishes.

“Six months additional time to sentence for speaking out of turn,” I hear inside my head courtesy of the ear piece.  “Not to fear.  You won’t be talking much in a few minutes even if you want.”

The donning of this suit has taken about one hour to reach this juncture in the process.  I sit and wait for what is next.  It is not a long wait.  The doctor returns carrying some sort of black appliance.

“Open,” he says.

I comply.  By now I am totally obeisant. 

He removes the two tongue piercings that were installed only a few hours ago.

I look with apprehension at the frightening rubber device where it lay in his hands, waiting to engulf me. Wide securing straps and their chromed locking-buckles dangle ominously off to the sides, waiting.

The doc lifts my face and carefully inserts the large custom-formed rubber plug into my opened mouth. The thing is still warm from its recent construction using the mold the doc made earlier.  I groan with discomfort and the effort of distending my jaws so widely when the slightly resilient pad is forced past my teeth.  For a moment I think my jaw will come unhinged as the oppressive thing continues to be pressed relentlessly inward.

He instructs me to push my tongue through the rubber slot formed just for it.  With one hand he picks up his needle nose pliers reaches in and grabs the tip of the tongue.

"Don't move I don't want to pinch you." 

I freeze.  The doc tugs on the flesh until the two piercings are visible.  With the other hand he inserts new larger barbells through the rubber then through my tongue.  Then he folds the tip of my tongue over and around the rubber and inserts the final one.  Once the two are in he let go with the pliers and threads the bottom balls on the barbells after placing a drop of super glue on the threads.  The gag was now one with my tongue.  He has effectively inserted it through the rubber and folded my tongue in half under itself pinning it in place.  I think this extreme and elaborate gagging process a bit much.

My teeth settle into their respective slots and I find that my mouth is slightly open but completely filled with the rubber appliance.  It actually doesn’t seem to cause my cheeks to puff out but it fills my mouth completely.  Its size alone ensures that I will bite down and continue to do so for as long as it is in place. This natural tendency ensures that the pad sucks itself into secure contact with my palate and the interstices of my upper and lower teeth and gums.  I cannot remove the thing even if I have use of my hands!

For a couple of moments he fiddles with a soft outer panel attached to the mouth-pad, ensuring that it nestles comfortably between my cheeks, teeth and gums along the sides, and between my lips and teeth at the front of my mouth. Two other soft yet insistent ridges on its bottom, slowly insinuate themselves along and under either side of my tongue, fully immobilizing it too. The Doc makes sure that the wide semi-rigid inner rubber flap at the front is spread evenly between the teeth and lips, and then carefully re-checks the entire fit. Satisfied, he pushes the chin-cup slowly up and into snug contact both under and around my lower face.

I panic, lunging against the straps holding me in place.  I fear this is too much.  For a thousandth time I wonder at what type of rehabilitation center this is. I want to spit this thing out but it is impossible.  My throat pulses with garbled protests inside its steel encasement; but he continues holding the mask firmly against my face.

My tongue shivers within its grove on the underside of the gag, but the soft rubber ridges that had slipped into position stop nearly all of its movements. Nevertheless I still try desperately to force the sucking rubber horror out of my mouth.

"Nnnyyynaagg! Nnn-mmmph!" I whine faintly, my mitted hands straining to reach the thing in my mouth despite the straps holding them in place.

“They always get terrified at this point.”  I hear the words in my head.  “You are all the same.  You don’t understand the depth of the situation you are in until it now just begins to dawn on you.  I would add more months to the sentence but that would be inhuman.”

The doc’s hand keeps the lower portion of the mask clamped tightly.  He pulls the heavy rubber helmet that is hanging from the mouth gag up over my head.  He fits the nostril holes over the two protruding tubes from my nose.  I feel the heavy press of this additional rubber layer squeezing my face.  I notice that the eye holes have attached extensions, little tunnels sticking out about an inch from the surface of the hood.  These little blinders seal over the outer rims of the goggles, reducing my view.  The confinement increases and claustrophobic panic sets in.  I try to squirm out of my predicament.

"Settle down resident!" he commands. "Close your eyes again and let me finish putting it on you. It has to fit perfectly."

I gradually cease my semi-strangled protesting, gasping through fear-flared nostrils inside the prickly surfaced thick rubber casing. My complaints are muffled to only faintly heard murmurs.  The heavy rubber clamps my entire head in its grip as the rear flaps are pulled together by a zipper.  The slippery gel inside the hood facilitates the adjustments to the mask.  I feel thick pads that must be attached inside the hood push into my outer ears.  Any remaining sounds from the outside are completely snuffed out by these devices.

"OK, resident. Bite down hard." he commands through the hearing system.

With automatic obedience, I find that my teeth slip even more deeply into their impressions in the pad. Although I try to bite through the tough rubber, I quickly discover that its dimensions won't permit me to close my jaw! To my horror, when I attempt to open my mouth the suction I'd unwittingly created holds my jaws securely together. I try frenziedly to twist my head inside the straps. My eyes snap open and I again attempt break my arms free, strangled protests vibrating my throat while I try to free my legs.  I have to break free of this developing terror of rubber confinement. Under the thick rubber of the oppressive mask I attempt to curl my lips back over the wide inner flap between them and my front teeth; but it is far too wide and firmly seated to allow me to manage without help. Where before my front teeth would normally be visible, now there is only a seamless black band with a gleaming, three quarter inch diameter stainless steel fitting at the center!

“He’s all yours,” I hear the Doc say.

Trustee 15732 steps into my tunnel-restricted view.  She holds a very business-like heavy chrome band.

“Lift your chin,” I hear her voice transformed into lifeless electronic clarity.

I lift my chin and she presses the collar against my rubberized throat.  This collar is cupped in front with a wide rest for my chin and flaring lower flanges sit directly on my shoulders to form a stable structure supported by my collar bone.  If it wasn’t for the severe angle it holds my head, the thing is almost comfortable.  The curve of the appliance makes any movement of my head impossible.  The thing snaps closed at the back and I feel the collar’s very tight vice grip totally immobilizing my head.  The tight press makes breathing difficult and swallowing next to impossible as the rigid presence holds my neck completely inside its grip.

Trustee pulls the upper neck of the suit over this steel appliance to conceal it under the shiny black rubber.  The suit shoulders are slightly thicker than the rest of the suit.  These form a rigid slot of thick rubber like a tongue and groove fitting used in carpentry.  When mated with the outer security hood, this will effectively lock the collar to the suit and to my body. 

Now she picks up a long, slippery looking snake and holds it in front of my tunnel view.  My eyes must fill with apprehension as I see this slimy gray thing.  I’m sure the Trustee knows how I feel, though I cannot transmit the feeling from inside my confinement.

"This is your feeding and watering system.  This end slides through the hole in your gag-pad, then it goes down your throat and into your stomach so that when it's time for you to be fed, or get a drink, you won't choke or breathe the stuff in. This means, of course, that you can remain inside this confinement almost indefinitely!"

I try to shake my head “no”…”No”!! In my confining throne I can do nothing but accept the inevitable intrusion of this thing into my body.  Trustee leans in close to insert the thin, slick looking, double-walled tube into the shiny ringed circle at the front of my rubber obscured face. It is no use to resist. In a second she's slipped the tube's steel-rimmed end into the fitting on the front of the black band concealing my teeth, between my parted lips. I desperately try to clamp my teeth on the slippery invader; but the wide inner sealing flap keeps them too far spread. A protesting whine hisses from my rubber-lined nose, and tears began to brim in my fearfully dilated eyes as she prepares to insert the thick tube.

"Now Resident," she says, “as soon as you feel it at the back of your throat, start swallowing! You'll find that it goes down quite easily after the first second or two. If you don't think about retching the sensation will go away. Are you ready?"

Wild, mute denial flares in my eyes.  If I weren’t so restrained I would surely twist and turn to avoid this oncoming snake.  The collar I wear lifts my head to an angle that slightly straightens my throat in readiness for the thing.  Trustee is all concentration as she slowly and steadily, despite my now openly tearful and desperate, if miniscule, attempts to escape the thing begins forcing the feeding and watering tube into the gag-pad. My whines and muffled sobbing of protest swells in my throat, and barely filter past the swollen nostril tubes.

Suddenly I feel the slippery thing at the back of my throat! I tremble and convulse in my bonds; but somehow manage to start swallowing almost immediately. In seconds the thick-walled tube is passing in slow inches down my esophagus. When the flange at the end comes up against the fitting on the black band concealing my front teeth, she gives it a half-twist and gentle push to lock it in place. The flange snaps home with a small click from the joining of the metal union. The tube's other end is now deep inside my stomach. Taking a small bladder-like pump in her hand, she presses it into the fitting, and then gives it a couple of quick squeezes. Inside my esophagus, the double-walled tube sprouts a series of expansion rings along its length, completely closing off my throat when they mushroomed outwards; seating it solidly and preventing me from being able to regurgitate! Far down inside my stomach, after three more quick squeezes, the end of the outer wall of the tube swells into a small ball, ensuring that any throat or stomach contractions cannot force the tube upwards. When this happens, I go into frenzy; twisting and thrashing as best I can from the sudden and completely unexpected discomfort.  Tears of fearful distress flood from my wildly staring, terror-filled eyes.

"There, resident!" trustee says as she ignores my gag-stifled sobs of discomfort. "That's the worst of it.  The body is quiet accommodating.  Soon you won’t even notice the thing is there.  It will be just an extension of your digestive system."

Somehow my breathing isn’t too restricted by the tube.  Inside my throat the little sealing rings only begin below the trachea so the breathing tubes are not obstructed.

Next Trustee feeds a small tube into a small hole at the base of the feeding tube receptacle.  She pushes it through a narrow tunnel built into the gag.  I feel its tip against the floor of my mouth.  It tickles slightly.

Trustee attaches a long rubber surgical tube to the tip of this new intruder.  Soon I feel the soft inner lining suck against the tube end.  I hear the gurgling of fluid inside my head as a dental vacuum draws out my saliva.

“The saliva is drawn off through this tube.”

Trustee pulls the loose side flaps of the hood to the back of my head and she laces the things together.  This additional layer squeezes my cheeks and presses my ears even closer against my head.  I feel the vice-grip tension and the additional restriction to any minor movement of my head.

Trustee brings over another dully-gleaming rubber appliance and begins the process of enclosing my quivering head within it. This helmet is basically just a thick rubber anatomic hood that snugly encases my head and neck, completely covering the under-helmets and all the fastening straps and locks of my Inner Mask. It is equipped with thick built-in eye-cup lenses whose edges mate into the deep channels on the outer surface of the rubber that already surrounded her eyes, and thus extends the blinder view and further increases the tunnel view I am experiencing. 

Each step further isolates me from the former world and seals me deeper inside this new cocooning rubber world of the suits.  The long collar is designed to go under the neck-piece of the still-opened suit, adding yet another layer to the restricting neck security system.  Its wide shoulder pads have the grooves that mate with the steel flange of the posture collar.  Its upper surface has the tongues that mate with the grooves of the suit.  She smoothes the shoulder extensions over the collar steel and underneath the suit shoulders and smears both surfaces liberally with quick-setting cement, and then rolls the still opened portion of the suit's body up and over the tacky surface, welding the inner helmet to the body portion. I realize that to turn my head now requires me to turn from the waist as my torso and neck are as effectively linked together as a body cast does.  For now the zipper remains open for any additional adjustments.  I am a prisoner within a very secure, reinforced rubber encasement.

I have to make a conscious effort to get each breath and the mouth-seal, hearing aids, the horrid tubes up my nose, together with the tightly-enclosing suit, soon reduces me to taking only short, panting gasps.

"Oh my God!" I wail to myself inside my rubber imprisonment while I try to twitch my fingers inside the mitts, "What have I done?" For the moment I forgot the length of the sentence.  I only wonder how long I am going to be in this suit.

I vaguely see Trustee’s arms reach over my shoulders and grab the suit-attached helmet, then she pulls it up over my face and head and I feel yet another layer of thick rubber clamp itself firmly around my skull when she pulls its heavy-duty zipper fully closed and locks the tab into the fitting at the nape of my neck. She spreads more of the adhesive onto a wide, full length flap on one side of the zipper, then still more into a slight depression on the other side, and presses the flap firmly down into the depression. The chemicals quickly dissolve the surfaces and weld the fastener out of sight.

At this point, Trustee releases my arms from the chair.  I raise my mitts to my head slowly and with some difficulty, only to find that they bump against a thick clear bubble, a full three inches away from my masked face! I tremble with renewed panic, fearfully realizing that I am utterly imprisoned by layers and layers of thick reinforced rubber, with no means of removing any of them by myself.

Trustee removes all of the confining straps and motions me to stand.  I am totally disoriented inside the suit and I wobble some as Trustee steadies me while helping me to step away from the chair.  I am a gleaming rubber being inside the heavy rubber layers.  My member stands erect inside the heavily foamed rubber appendage.

Trustee fits a single tube to the rear connection.  Now I have a tail to add to my humiliation! 

Trustee leads me out of the White Room into another room full of lockers.  Trustee opens one and pulls another heavy suit, this one bright orange, from inside.  This suit has attached boots.  It looks to be a basic HazMat suit without a helmet.  Trustee holds the suit open for me to step into.  I steady myself against the wall and place my left foot then my right foot into the legs opening.  The feet slide into the attached boots, very heavy industrial rubber boots.  Trustee pulls the tail through an opening in the rear and closes the suit up.  She wraps a neck seal over the high collar to secure it in place.

“Now you are descent for introduction into general population,” she says into my ear piece.  I look at the slightly loose fitting orange rubber garment.  It hides all of the tight rubber that is beneath.  I look sort of like an astronaut, or maybe a diver.

“The bright orange identifies you as a resident without privilege,” she explains.

Trustee hands me a small metal case and then attaches a dangling tube from the case to a fitting beneath the bubble shield in front of my face.  My breathing has been very difficult as each new layer of rubber and tubing and helmets restrict my ability to inflate my chest.  Now, my lungs are forcibly filled then allowed to exhaust themselves, thanks to the compression of the rubber layers suit, before being re-inflated. I am but the flesh surrounding an air exchange mechanism, almost a human robot, encased in rubber.  My eyes close in relief. At the regulator just below my chin, the breathing bag slowly inflates and deflates in cadence with each breath.

“This is your portable environmental system.  When you are not connected to the primary facility system, this eases your breathing.  You will find that it is a tremendous benefit to have this system during your training and behavior conformity sessions,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.

 

03.06.09