Monday, February 7, 2011

The Prisoner and the Nurse

A short story, but hopefully to be enjoyed. The full story is now available at


The Prisoner and the Nurse

Copyright 2011

By Chris Bellows

The guard unlocks a thick solid steel door. In swinging it open the gleaming bars of a second barrier flash, the invading light causing the darkness of the opposing concrete chamber to partially dissipate. Nurse Hopkins patiently waits while the barred barrier is in turn unlocked. Then the hinges squeak... offering access into an unnatural cave.

She wordlessly smiles, pushing her cart to enter. A light switch brings added illumination, but the chamber returns to gloom as the doors behind are closed, the single bulb above offering little to staunch otherwise total darkness.

Peering down at her charge, the pleasant smile transforms to one of Schadenfreude. Thoroughly bound, totally helpless, hooded, deafened, cruelly gagged, there is little which separates the existence of the supine form from that of a shrub, the mental comparison so often coming to Nurse Hopkins’ imagination. Yet shrubs are offered the glory of beneficent sunlight. Perhaps the subsistence is better compared with that of a mushroom.

An evil giggle is stifled as Nurse Hopkins notes the condition of the male organ. The inmate is erect, a mammoth phallus pointing straight upwards. Yes, a shrub, or better, perhaps the seedling of a promising oak, futilely struggling to escape the deep shade of the forest in nature’s battle for photo genesis.

Yet it will not bask... ever bask. Permanent solitary confinement... to be bestowed on those not only convicted of the most heinous crimes but those who have violently brought mayhem to guards and prison staff as well. For reckless violation of prison rules, the form is relegated to nothingness.

So, Nurse Hopkins envisions herself as a gardener, her inmates mere plants... to be watered... and to be pruned, such a thought coming to mind in preparing the contents of her cart.

The nameless beast lying below her on a low table stirs, the limbs pull against the restraints. He is dreaming... more likely hallucinating she has come to conclude whenever observing the common strain of the bound. They all test the steel cables... for the first few months. Then in failing to bring anything more than frustration... the fruitless battle stops.

Yes, capitulation ensues... physical... mental... emotional... total.

It has come to amuse.

A degree of fortitude for this one remains. Thus she will have fun observing it crumble. And then will come the begging... the pleading... the pitiful whelps... and with it the joy of offering continuing intransigence.

Her role is to assure long lasting health... relative well being for he to be tormented... at least physical well being. The mental... the emotional? Not her obligation.

Nurse Hopkins stoops to reach under the low platform, the unpleasant task of removing the soiled bedpan to be undertaken first. A sizable opening in the horizontal platform of hard and harsh lumber collects the evacuation of the bowels and for the neat inmate who takes the effort to learn, the excretions of the bladder as well... should he endeavor to properly align his penis.

Most miss, rendering themselves to lie in the smelly irritation of their own making.

The basin exchanged, a hand lowers to press a button. Nurse Hopkins speaks, the words booming to ear plugs snugly held in place by a thick cloth hood, the constant din of white noise momentarily ending as she commands.

"Changing time. You know the rules."

The mostly naked form lurches with the interruption of the endless oblivion. But then Nurse Hopkins is pleased to note it otherwise remains motionless. Brought from its stupor, a conscious ‘shrub’ knows to obey in stillness.

Most days, the inmate is watered and spoon fed in silence. But once per week, the length of interval not possibly discerned by the sensory deprived, there comes relief... relative relief... limited relief.

Nurse Hopkins releases the simple clasp connecting the steel cable to the arm cast at the right wrist, the length making the limb one with the concrete wall. She notes the short spring, mercifully offering a modicum of resistance, tension for those choosing to pull and exercise the muscles. Yes, the inmate is to be kept in physical condition, the torment so much more wickedly cruel for the fit.

Though freed of its restraint, the inmate knows to remain motionless, abiding docilely. The cast, such a clever but barbarous form of bondage, is to be removed, Nurse Hopkins tugging energetically, the inmate welcoming her tendance.

Inside, the stretchy nylon material clings to the flesh, making the limb and the thick contraption one, entrapping the body heat in never ending prickliness. Outside, coarse canvass covers layers and layers of padding, ensconcing both hands and fingers, transforming a potentially harmful... perhaps lethal... limb into an extended pillow.

Yes, wrathful inmates succumbing to the temptations of violence are transformed to comical and ineffective masses of foam, every limb covered, the hands and arms up to the shoulders, the feet and legs to the hips.

A colleague nurse refers to her charges as ‘doe boys’. Should resistance become possible, perhaps the oversight of a loose cable clasp, the tending nurse would be threatened with the equivalence of a fluffy pillow... and one rendered notably stiff by the unyielding encapsulating canvas.

Yes, the joints are found to be superfluous, neither elbow nor knee to be bent, all limbs held in tedious unyielding fetter.

New comers to the drudgery of solitary confinement are given to resist, at first angrily flailing about with a sole temporarily freed limb. The springs of the bound limbs will somewhat yield, offering a degree of hope. But eventually futility ensues. Sightless, three of four limbs rendered useless, the resistance serves ill, the experienced nurse merely stepping away, a stunning electrical probe at the ready should calm not prevail.

In time the inmate comes to realize that release, though ephemeral, brings welcomed relief.... massage... cleansing... overdue mobility brought to muscles and joints slowly introduced to excruciating cramping... slow and building.

It wears... both body and mind.

So Nurse Hopkins the gardener begins her ministrations. The uncovered arm is lathered. A straight edged razor honed to incredible sharpness scythes over the pasty flesh of the sun deprived inmate. Pediculosis is not to be. Not a follicle permitted to sprout.

Next the arm is washed and rinsed, offering momentary comfort, the inmate knowing to remain remarkably docile. Then massage, glorious, most welcomed, the tormented ‘shrub’ offering meek and indiscernible words of thanks, the gag filled mouth denying the simplest of attempts to communicate.

"Good boy," Nurse Hopkins compliments, pressing the button to extend speech to ears otherwise plugged.

"Regular lotion for you."

For inmates failing to comply there is lotion which burns and itches. Thus when Nurse Hopkins introduces the arm to a fresh cast... clean, well laundered... but returning the limb to ineluctable bondage, the obedient inmate will sense the joy of fresh covering rather than hours of burning itch.

Yes, obey your nurse... earn the desired lotion... a lesson well learned.

Right arm completed then left, the left leg is next, a slight roll of the hips allowing partial access to the buttocks. Next, the right leg and when finished, one by one there has been shaving, cleansing, massage, the hood absorbing the tears of joy, the gag stifling humble words of gratitude. But a new cast has been slipped on and each limb facilely returned to the strict bonds of the steel cables. And with the renewed restraint there begins the irony... overall the merciful ministrations serving to merely reset the clock.... beginning another slow unending journey into unbearable sightless, soundless, cramp building solitude.

The cable securing the hood is removed. The inmate knows to let caring hands assist in sitting upright. The shoulders and back receive equivalent treatment... the razor, soothing cleansing, a degree of massage.

‘Alive!’ the inmate’s heart pounds, the cockles are warmed.

"Keep your eyes closed," the inmate is forewarned as the hood is rolled away.

An easy command with which to comply. Even the dim single lightbulb of the unnatural cave brings unwarranted painful radiance. A soft feminine hand assists, offering covering as the free hand shaves the head. Cleansing, massage, then a fresh garment is rolled over the head, more welcomed cleanliness, the inmate has yet to steal a glimpse of she who both comforts and ironically brings renewed torment.

Cranium returned to its covering, large hole aligned for mouth and nose, cable reattached, the inmate once again lies in five point restraint... arms, legs, head. Nurse Hopkins notes there is no motion other than that under her direction. This inmate is close to being completely broken... indeed a shrub... a mushroom?

The chest needs attention, Nurse Hopkins always enjoying a tantalizing tweak of nipples brought to extreme sensitivity through neglect and abundant hormones. As the razor glides she chuckles in watching the penis twitch, the dream interrupted, consciousness having brought a degree of flaccidity. Lastly comes the pubes, where, for the male, a woman’s governance is deeply felt.

As deft fingers unfurl the scrotal sac. Nurse Hopkins feels the rush of power, subjecting the precious male glands to the whim of sharp steel. The razor smooths over the thin pink nesting the male eggs. Her touch causes the penis to complete its rise to returned stiffness, a chagrined inmate becoming aware that his organ is fully exhibited and humbly pleasing.

Yes, the touch is knowing and commanding, tending to stimulate in its control. Yet not done with any intent to tease. The once proud member will never be touched with the intent to arouse... only to frustrate. It is part of the process of breaking the incorrigible male... and he will be broken.

"No talking unless directed," another command... another warning.

Pleased with the truckling reaction to her weekly care, Nurse Hopkins stows razor, shaving cream and lotion. Then the buckle of the gag is released. Slowly the voluminous lump of rubber is extruded. Through the middle there is a large opening for the ingestion of water, leading directly to the back of the throat. Otherwise the custom molded apparatus completely fills the mouth, the inmates requiring many days to acclimate to the invading mass.

Mouth opened to maximum, lips strained, there comes a final ‘plop’ and the sound of gulps, the jaw moving gingerly, the throat celebrating its freedom.

Feeding time.

The ritual is performed daily, normally not preceded by the weekly shaving, cleansing massage. The sustenance is foul tasting but stocked with nutrition. As stated, a long life of torment is to be extracted. A death of malnutrition would bring mercy not to be proffered.

A spoon greets the lips. The inmate partakes. The nurse smiles. Feeding an infant... one of complete obeisance.

"You’re acclimating well, 613. A very good boy," Nurse Hopkins coos as if addressing a child.

Yes, the experienced nurse knows that with the intensity of the isolation the mind dulls, so little input received. Darkness, the unending hiss of static, only the feel of the hard wooden platform beneath... and should he choose, the tension of the spring loaded cables when there comes the urge to tug arm or leg. Such an urge dissipates over time... the slow march towards the status of mushroom... the death of cerebral activity.

It all brings a giddiness... and a matronly smile... as the mush is unnecessarily masticated then swallowed.

Cleansing massage and feeding brings an overwhelming rush of sensory input for 613, the nurse greatly amused as a numbed mind, now addled, seems to inordinately mull. There is the search for words, the desire to eventually reply, but with the prohibition of speech, silence is ingrained.


"And your penis is standing nicely. It appreciates the attention and performs for me," Nurse Hopkins pressing the button for the microphone.

Another spoonful.

"You’re a big boy. I like having big boys stand for me. It shows respect."

A glowing nurse pauses, inmate 10032613, referenced in the diminutive as 613, swallows again, the food, however distasteful, bringing a temporary halt to the monotony.

It is rare that 613 hears so many words... a treat. Normally feeding is done in relative silence, furthering the torment... enduring the irony of a person finally entering the tomb yet having the hiss of the ear plugs continue, the offering of each morsel signaled by way of a spoon touching the lips.

But for cleaning and changing the casts there is touch, sound, human interaction... communication!

These are great moments for Nurse Hopkins as well. A virile male under her absolute governance, and one of considerable size... yet so nicely tamed... the prized organ standing but not to be used... not even to be touched... unless of course she desires to add an element of teasing frustration. For certain women such excites. And Nurse Hopkins is one.

It requires a special psyche to abet the process of breaking a man... and do so with such glee.

"When is the last time your touched your penis? You may speak," the microphone turned to hold, the constant hiss disrupted.

The heart leaps with joy. Speech! Glop is hurriedly swallowed. There is struggle to clear the throat. Lips move yet initially there is no discernible word. The nurse smiles, knowing that the ungainly effort evidences the process, another indication, another step toward becoming human vegetation.

Finally a sound, somewhat gurgling, passing through a throat not cleared in days, a voice box unused.

"When I was a trusty," the five halting words uttered in a raspiness.

A polite smile. He both remembers and is able to form a coherent reply. This brings a degree of disappointment. A modicum of cerebral activity remains. Yet there is comfort in knowing that mentally they all eventually capitulate, the deprivation slowly strangling, depriving the mind of input... akin to suffocation for the lungs. In time the brain of 613 will be solely utilized to regulate the involuntary muscles... breathing... swallowing... moving the bowels. But in time even that, along with urination will become uncontrolled, the mind learning that continence is not required and in further capitulation adapting accordingly.

Yet, the penis of 613 will continue to stand for her. That she will assure... as well as thorough chastity.

The final spoonful is offered. Nurse Hopkins retrieves the gagging mass of rubber, smiling as inmate 10032613 so compliantly opens to accept his return to silence, lifting hooded head just enough to buckle the horrid apparatus in place. Then she steps to the cart. There she retrieves the daily pill.

"Time for your special medication. When next time I change you, I want you to tell me about your penis... and of course you’ll put on a nice stand for me."

Placed at the hole in the gag, with a slight push the pill slides down the hollow center. An offering of water assures ingestion. The shrub is medicated and hydrated.

The microphone is turned off. The static hiss returns inmate 10032613 to oblivion. He moves not, speaks not, in time will think not.

Yes, such obedience. Indeed, a mushroom, Nurse Hopkins thinks to herself, admiring the tumescent reaction to her presence and her ministrations.

In knocking to signal the guard, she notes a slight motion, futile, of the padded hands and arms, fighting the spring loaded cables in attempting to manipulate, to stroke the upstanding phallus.

Such frustration, she nods to herself in understanding. It can drive a man crazy. She knows. Her smile broadens.


Complete story available from Lulu as noted above. 


Suzanne said...

Welcome back Chris! Nice to enjoy the diversity of your work once again.

watson said...

I enjoy your work so much Chris. I loved the slow, inexorable reduction. I hope you add to this story.

despair said...

Wonderfully sadistic ! Becoming a « mushroom », « human vegetation ».Dear Chris, dehumanization and body transformation are your two best BDSM subjects. Inmate 613 would really become a mushroom? Probably a big mushroom? What’s the ministrations of Nurse/Gardener Hopkins? To shrink completely the inmate, but to grow his upstanding phallus? Would 613 become just a marvelous heavy phallus, an incredible mushroom or a new beautiful flower, growing in a box (a pot!)? A pot of flower standing on the living room of Nurse Hopkins? Or to be bought by eccentric women as an exotic plant in a very special prison shop? Violent inmates would become harmless plants and profitable business. A very, very exciting beginning and Nurse Hopkins is great. (Despair)

Anonymous said...

please keep writing.

Chris Bellows said...

Thank you all for the comments. I will add to the story over time.

Despair you may find interest in 'Penance Corporation of America' from Pink Flamingo.