Tazina Lake High Security Corrections Facility - Chapter 7

Author: BuiltHard
Title: Tazina Lake High Security Corrections Facility – Chapter 7
Date: 13 August 2010

My Level 2 Sentence Begins

By Built Hard

Not long after the Warden’s voice had clicked off in my ear piece, Henry and John returned to move me to my permanent cell. It was quite a bit different from the testing cell or even the punishment witnessing cell. As the slid me inside it was not much wider or deeper than a coffin yet it had a very tall ceiling.

“We are going to adjust your neck brace so you can focus on the two bags that are on the elevated rack above. As you can see it is on a track so it can be lowered for the guards to refill the bags, and raised to whatever height necessary to assure there will be enough gravity flow to cause a flow from the bags to enter you,” John said.

“You will see we have added an additional feeding bag, but this is for our convenience,” John said. “The feeding and other flows are automatic and you will be left alone most of the time to contemplate the crime for which you have been sentenced. I will be hooking your urine catheter to your feeding tube as piss recycling is required to preserve your male hormones.”

“Your come will be sucked away after each ejaculation into cold storage for later scientific study at the Universities. You will get a random 8 hour sleep period which will include your enema drain, flush and shower. At all other times you will be alone to contemplate your status and watch the bags slowly empty into your stretched body,” Henry said.

“The piss recycling will be triggered by your need to piss,” John said. “The baseline need-to-piss-point will, of course, the amount of fluids in your bladder at release during your test session. The only difference will be that the piss will be recycled and you will be quite surprised at the pressure your pent up piss will cause in your feeder gag.”

“If your body metrics as measured by the testing equipment embedded in the suit you are wearing will tell us when your body gets used to a certain level of discomfort,” Henry said. “Since the law requires that your discomfort increase over time, there may be adjustments to the amount of fluid put into the bags, the length of time between piss releases and other treatments our program planners are working on developing.”

“As you heard from the Warden you will from now on only be known by a number,” John said with a stencil and spray paint can in hand. “This is the number I am now putting on your head. Memorize it. It is F78229 Say still, if the paint sprays on your eye lenses, you will just have to suffer the distortion in your vision for the rest of your life.”

Even before the pair of guards left my cell the cut off the sound to my ear plugs went dead. I could feel the telltale vibration of the fluids beginning to flow into my ass. They seemed to be trying how much they could add to my capacity. As I focused on the bag above, I could see the first 6 or 8 ounces went in rather fast and the pain increased exponentially, then it seemed to slow. I tried to close my eyes to ignore the evidence of what I could feel was happening, but every few minutes, I had to take a peek at the bag. The result was always the same a few more ounces had entered my ass. I could feel my bladder was starting to become critically full as well.

The electrodes in my ass, on my balls, and along the length of my dick fired in a regular pattern to bring me near a climax, then just occasionally fire to keep me on an agonizing edge. Although I did not realize it at first, the computer program within the device must have figured when I was really ripe for a thunderous ejaculation.

As it started to build I knew I was going to go over the edge, and the pain that I was suffering from the fluids in by gut and bladder seemed to make it feel more intense. As I exploded I could feel a pump somewhere click in and suck my dick dry. Every drop, as the Warden had intimated, was taken for study by the scientific community.

At first the relief from the tremendous horniness that had built up in me over the last few days seemed like a good thing, but as I felt the electrodes again start firing in their deliberate programmed pattern designed to bring me to another climax, I knew it was going to milk me so much I would soon be suffering the painful dry ejaculations that would set my dick on fire with the most horrible of pain.

About what I would judge to have been about six hours after the Level 2 punishment had started, I began to taste a foul liquid entering my thought and backing up into my mouth. It was my salty piss and the flow rate was nothing like I would ever have expected. My over stretched bladder relieved itself into my mouth and throat and I could not catch up with the flow until the valve must have abruptly shut off. My bladder still felt like I needed to piss, but it was no longer in the screaming pain it had been before. Apparently I was never to have the pleasure of totally emptying my bladder again.

As I estimated that the butt bag was about half empty, I felt the feeding solution start to enter my body. It seemed to taste even worse than it had the day before. Maybe it was the seasoning of my piss I mused or perhaps the mixture was specifically formulated to have certain effects on my body. In any case, by the time I had taken the full feed I was full of fluids from the top to the bottom of my midsection and I pressed hard against the waist level restraint on the prison frame that held my body near motionless.

I suffered for several hours then there was a small tone in my ear. I looked at the butt bag and it was empty and as I watched the bag was drawn up to what seemed like a dumb waiter like door at the top of my cell. As the doors opened, I could see hands carefully replace the bags with new bags of equal or greater sizes. Once the bags were refilled the doors closed and the bags returned to their previous level. The telltale vibration in my ass told me the fluid was again being allowed to flow into my ass.

The milking of my dick was increasingly painful, but the timing was apparently designed to at least draw a measurable amount of spunk from me each time. Suddenly after one particularly strong and painful milking, the lights went out and I could no longer see the bags above. This must be the ‘rest period’ of which the Warden spoke. I could not imagine that he had any idea of how much pain I was in when he alluded to this being something that made the punishment something less than ‘cruel and unusual’.

To be continued… If there is enough interest. Send your comments to me here, so I will know if you want to see the remainder of the story.