Sunday, October 12, 2014

The Object Wants Out?

It was daylight for the object. He was huddled on the floor in the corner of his cell. His wrist were still voluntarily held at his sides. He wrapped his ankles in the chain between the irons so that his feet appeared to be chained together. His neck was bent as far forward as the collar would allow. He appeared content and wide awake.

Content may be a wrong word, resigned to his imprisonment is a better way to describe.

It was feeding time. The boy stepped up to the peep hole in the door and took the funnel gag in his mouth and I began to slowly pour the green liquid. He grimaced as the liquid hit his taste buds. When he stepped back from the gag, he said "I wish I could smell you and your cigar smoke". I snickered and slammed the peep hole door in his face and locked it. His five minutes of fleeting sight of my face ended abruptly. The crazy kid is in isolation and all he wanted was to smell me and cigar smoke. It's a wonder what make him tick.

I whacked off with my right hand three times today. Thinking about keeping the fucker locked up in a hundred pounds of steel keeps me constantly on the edge.

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