48 Hours in the Penalty Box

When Evan gets home from work Friday night, he’ll have 30 minutes to prepare himself.
He knows the drill far too well by now – shower and shave, hair removal from the neck down, a strong laxative to clear out his bowels. If he’s smart, he’ll have taken it easy and followed the liquid-only diet that I recommended to him when I decided that this is how he’s going to spend his weekend. If not, then that’s his problem, not mine…
Once he’s good and clean, both inside and out, he’ll proceed downstairs into the basement. Call it our playroom, call it our dungeon … for the next 48-hours, he’ll call it his prison. More specifically, he’ll call the large, leather-lined coffin in the center of the room his prison, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.
Same as it always when he chronically misbehaves, Evan will find draped over the coffin waiting for him his black latex catsuit. This particular catsuit is very special in that it’s lined from head-to-toe with some very nasty electrodes that we were able to get our hands on. Not only focused on the genitals and nipples, although they certainly have their share, we had our seamstress embed them nearly everywhere in the latex suit – all controlled by a very fancy computer program, they open up pretty much the entire body to all sorts of exquisite tortures once the wearer is locked into the catsuit.
He knows.
The suit, he can put on by himself – his feet and legs being a prime reminder of why he’s expected to be hairless for this step. When he gets to his groin, he’s faced with a number of options – namely, a sizable butt plug that’s built directly into the suit, along with a special sheath to cradle his cock and balls that has what I’m told is a particularly uncomfortable catheter built into it. I don’t make him go into chastity – there’s really no point when at the end of it all, his entire bondage becomes one big statement of chastity.
The remainder of the catsuit zips up fairly uneventfully, culminating with a thin, latex hood that bears an opening for his mouth and breathing tubes for his nose. His sight, however, becomes the first of his senses to disappear, though as he clicks the first tiny, disc-shaped hasp on the zipper at his neck closed, he knows that it won’t be long now before I come and take the rest away, and then we can begin…
I arrive fresh from the office myself, sparing no time to bother changing before putting him into his place for the weekend. I’ll take a bubble bath afterwards, and have some wine, and catch-up on my favorite shows … so, so many things, but he’ll only be doing one.
My heels click against the cold, basement floor as I approach. He doesn’t say a word – he knows better by now, and at this point there’s nothing he could say to apologize anyways … better just to accept his punishment like a man and move forward. His hooded eyes drop to the ground instinctively, though they’re already blindfolded and can’t see me anyways. But he knows that on nights like this, he’s not permitted to look at me – that’s something we went over many times before finally just buying the new hood – so at least it’s nice to see that he’s learning now…
Straight and to the point, I pick up the leather discipline hood that I laid out earlier – the leather slides very nicely over the latex already encasing his head, and it takes little effort to cinch it down until the second layer hugs his head like a vice. His lips are welded around the large, hollowed out gag that is forced into his mouth, while extensions are added to the breathing tubes in his nostrils that he already had inserted before I arrived.
Once his bondage is complete, these two sets of tubes will be his only connection to the outside world for the entire duration.
After locking the hood into place with another locking hasp, I then guide him over to his final resting place … temporarily speaking, this time, anyways. Opening the lid of the casket reveals the rich smell of fine leather with its interior thickly padded in a wonderful quilted leather lining. Down the middle and the sides are found a myriad of heavy, leather straps used to hold the occupant firmly in place from head to toe, all bearing the same locking hasps found on the catsuit and bondage hood. Only two keys exist for those locks – one is safely stowed away in my jewelry box upstairs, and the other is in a safe deposit box at the bank.
The bank won’t be open again until Monday, not that I have any desire to make use of the other, anyways.
Guiding him up over the edge and into his new home away from home, I make little work cinching down each of the leather straps – first around each of his ankles individually, then up his legs and thighs, around his waist and chest, his shoulders, elbows, and wrists, and finally around his neck and forehead. The neck strap is somewhat special – shaped like a large posture collar, forcing the wearer’s chin up high and head back, with the forehead strap reducing any final movement of the head down to zero.
Truth be told, when the lid of the coffin is lowered into place, wiggle room is practically non-existent anyways, due to a padded overlay shaped to roughly the size of a person that serves as sort of a plug to eliminate empty space inside. Completely surrounded on all sides by padded leather, you really couldn’t ask for a more secure bondage experience.
As long as you’re not claustrophobic…
Before closing the lid, to only be opened once again Sunday evening, I’m careful to guide the three hoses protruding from his bondage out through their respective guides in the box. MOUTH and NOSE go to a pair of life support nozzles which are primarily set to dispense nutrient-rich fluids and a steady flow of air, respectively, whereas PENIS connects to a nearby waste nozzle that can also be diverted to MOUTH, should the need arise.
The final moment of truth – I place my palm gently over the center of his chest for ten seconds, then lower the lid and latch it into place on all four corners.
Inside, so I’m told, the sensory deprivation is sudden and overwhelming. Twelve hours of complete blackout will pass before his first punishment stimuli program through the electrodes is initiated, and until then he’ll be forced to contend with the absolute nothingness that surrounds him unconditionally. His sight – non-existent, his taste – only that of his rubber gag, his touch and smell – that of his leather tomb, and his hearing – nothing but white noise, pumped in to tiny headphones in the hood designed to block out the sounds even of his own struggles.
Imagine being deafened even to the sounds of the leather straps holding you forever inside your leather prison, being deafened even to the moan of your own voice as you gasp out at your complete and forever unyielding helplessness.
When you’re encased in this penalty box, not even you can hear yourself scream…
And while the next 12 hours are bound to be an excruciating mindfuck of deprivation, the next 36 hours to follow are destined to be much, much worse…
Electrical impulses that are capable of anything from a light tease to an exhilarating milking sensation to even just pure, unadulterated torture.
Headphones that can not only provide a filter of white noise, but also a soundtrack of hypnosis or even a humiliating loop of a woman twisting the knife deeper with every word.
Complete control of his very breathing air through a simple tube, thus resulting in some of the most intense breath control games a person in bondage can experience.
He goes in at Hour 0, and he won’t be released until Hour 48 has come and gone.
Let’s see if he learns anything this time…