The Transport Plane

The prison truck pulled up as scheduled, at the airstrip. My operatives were waiting with the plane and the handover from the authorities went smoothly. All of the prisoners were confirmed and had been handled to my exacting specifications. Within a few minutes, the doors to the truck opened and the four men were escorted out onto the tarmac.

All wore the prison regulation orange jumpsuits and were shackled at their waists, wrists and ankles with chain. An onlooker would have thought that this was simply a routine transfer between prisons. Had that onlooker focused in more closely they would have seen that all the men wore ball gags and were sweating profusely, their uniforms stained with perspiration. An onlooker also wouldn’t necessarily notice that all the men were fiercely erect under their baggy overalls. The men themselves assumed that it was only their own dick that was overreacting and the prison guards were blissfully unaware of the discomfort of their charges.

My service is one of pedigree and distinction. The men who enter my centres are the worst of society – people who cannot even be effectively sustained in traditional prisons – and my service offers these men the chance to grow and develop into more respectful citizens. My success rate is 100% – therefore no one questions my methods. I take these men and I break them down until they are almost functioning at the level of an infant. I then allow them to slowly rebuild their personas, with an element of discipline, that ensures they do not follow the same paths again.

The men on the tarmac were on their way to one of my centres but their dismantling had already begun earlier in the day when one of my operatives visited them as they were being prepared for transfer. As a consequence, all of the men were suffering from drug-induced priapism over which they had no control. All four were also dressed in only tidy-whiteys under their orange suits. All had also been given an injection of a bulking agent earlier which by now would have generated an immense heavy bowel movement that would make its effects felt within the next hour or so. All of the men had been transported in a truck with the thermostat set very high, and with no water, and all were sweating and dehydrated. All of the men had committed murder and were known for their violence and aggression.

The handover completed, my operatives ferried the men, individually, onto the plane and commenced the processing of the prisoners. One by one their chains were removed and they were asked to strip out of their overalls and to take a shower in a small cubicle that was set into the side of the cabin. The men were only too glad to get out of the hot overalls but I’m sure my operatives were smiling as the men tried to hide their erections while they changed and washed. When a man was cleaned up, he was given back his underwear and a fresh orange jumpsuit. The new jumpsuits were specifically a couple of sizes too small for the men and their muscles bulged under the cotton fabric.

The men were escorted to their seats as they finished changing and their gags were removed for a brief drink of water. This water contained a laxative that would ensure that they would not be able to hold any bowel movement they might have. Then they were strapped into the seats with thick leather restraints at their necks, chests, shoulders, elbows, wrists, thighs and ankles. Any movement was impossible and their erect predicament was immediately apparent to the team as they worked with the men, so tight was the orange fabric on their bulging crotches.

In order to break a man down to remake him, you have to take away his strength and dignity. Only then can you begin to reprogram him. Acts of violence against these four men would only harden them; violence was a currency to these people and there is a pride in being able to take pain. Our methods avoid the use of pain where possible and focus on removing a man’s sense of identity through having his manhood eroded by systematic humiliations and indignities – once a man loses confidence in his own manhood, he can be effectively reprogrammed.

Observing the first of the men to be processed and strapped in, I could see that he was clearly discomforted by the look in his eyes. He was used to being in conflict with other prisoners and guards and so he wouldn’t register the impact of any violence against him. Whereas his current predicament was clearly upsetting him more than any fight or beating he might receive. He tried to squirm to a more comfortable position in his bonds but no movement was possible. He attempted to look furtively down at himself but his neck restraints meant he couldn’t see above his own thighs as they stretched the orange fabric to capacity. His tightly packed groin was clearly displayed to my team and his erection was defined by the tightness of the material for all to see.

One by one the men were processed and, individually, they realised the very private hell that they were each in. At this juncture they still all assumed that they were the only person suffering from an unwanted hard-on; there was no comfort to be gained from their fellow prisoners’ predicaments.

My operatives are very skilled and deftly locked the men into place in their seats, ensuring that they occasionally brushed across the crotches of their charges. I watched as one of the operatives did just this while securing the thigh straps of a Texan bear of a man called Rodriguez and the man groaned behind his gag with his unwanted need for release.

Once all four men were seated securely, the operatives assumed their stations for take-off. The men were seated in such a way that they could not see one another and, as the plane picked up speed in its rumble towards the runway, the operatives initiated the next phase of the humiliating experience for their captives. At the flick of a switch, small motors started turning under the seats of the prisoners. The effect of the motors was to cause a low-level vibration in the seats directly below the prisoners’ buttocks and scrotum. The motors were linked to the plane’s speed so that the men were unaware this was a special torment for them specifically and assumed it was a bumpy ride. The vibrations were perfectly pitched to ensure that even if a prisoner did not have an erection, he would soon develop one so the impact on the men was swift and horribly embarrassing for them.

One of the men, a bleached blonde thug with bad acne scarring, named Howes, groaned behind his gag to try and attract the attention of an operative. Another man, Ivan, let out a groan also but this was more of a moan of anguish. Ivan had only one eye, the other presumable lost during his criminal career. Across the way, Rodriguez strained desperately against his bonds, a small damp spot appearing on his tight crotch at the tip of his engorged penis.

As the plane moved along the slipway the sounds the men were making became more and more agitated but the engine noise prevented them from hearing each other’s protestations. The operatives were now wearing headphones to give the appearance that they were unaware of the men’s predicament (in fact each operative was listening to his or her specific charge to establish where their prisoner was on his journey towards the humiliation of orgasming in his pants).

Most of the men were leaking precum by now as the plane taxied onto the runway for take-off, small wet patches appearing on crotches that were so tight one could see their dicks throbbing against the cotton. Each man still thought that he was alone in this state so the sense of humiliation was heightened as he strained against his bonds, futilely trying to gain some way to get his hands to his dick. Groans for attention mingled with groans of ecstasy as the pinioned men climbed slowly to the point of no return.

Howes, the bleached blonde thug, closed his eyes in a mixture of shame and lust as he became the first prisoner to ejaculate into the confines of his briefs. He cried out against his gag as he came, sweat running freely down his brow, his nostrils dilating frantically to get air in as he erupted, jetting geyser after geyser of hot salty sperm that flooded the front of his briefs and immediately glistened darkly on the groin of his snug orange jumpsuit

Seconds after the blonde thug slumped, spent, into his bonds, the next prisoner, by the name of Ratherson, whimpered against his gag as he too lost control and came violently in his pants. Ratherson’s face, as he came, was a mask of controlled defiance as if he was willing himself not to ejaculate even as his body betrayed him and each spurt from his engorged dick caused a look of pained discomfort to flash across his eyes. As his dick visibly jerked and spasmed under the darkening fabric, his insolent expression could no longer be maintained and his eyes openly reflected the ecstasy and release he was experiencing. He slowly exhaled and leaned back into the seat as the sticky white fluid seeped through to the crotch of the jumpsuit and began a slow trickle down towards his balls.

The third man to ejaculate was Ivan; the one-eyed arms dealer. The look of anguish and relief on his face as his fists clenched on the armrests and his hips bucked against their restraints was most satisfying. In front of Ivan, Rodriguez groaned and cried out against his gag as he too lost the battle to maintain control of his throbbing shaft and semen dripped with exquisite slowness down the orange fabric.

The whole process was over by the time the plane took off from the runway. All four men were now destined to spend the next part of their journey sweating uncomfortably in their skin-tight jumpsuits as the jism in their briefs cooled and congealed stickily, reminding them of their own failure to control themselves, and the stains on the crotch of their outfits darkened and dried. Howes and Ivan were looking horribly awkward and their sense of shame was easily visible. Rodriguez and Ratherson were looking murderously at the operatives who had left them in this state and it was apparent that these two would be harder to break. That however was not a problem as the process of removing their manhood and dignity had only just begun and would shortly be moving on to a new and even more upsetting phase for the helpless captives.

About half an hour later and with another three hours to go until the plane reached our centre, the arms dealer started to show the first signs that he was experiencing a whole new set of discomfort. His muscle-bound body left the material of his jumpsuit straining at the seams and the dark stain on the bulge of his package had now dried, giving anyone who looked a clear indication of his previous predicament. His one remaining eye blazed as he realised that he needed to use the bathroom and that he was going to be forced to draw attention to himself in his already soiled state in order to get an operative to release him so that he could relieve himself.

He attempted to resist the urge even as it grew – but our knowledge of pharmaceuticals is vast and I knew that by this point his bowels would be feeling incredibly heavy. Ten minutes later and fresh sweat had broken out on his brow. Five minutes after that and his discomfort was clearly apparent from the strained look on his face. Ivan grunted out loudly from behind his gag, trying to catch the attention of an operative, all concerns about the appearance of his groin forgotten as the pressure on his sphincter steadily grew.

The operatives maintained their positions for another five minutes, as per the program, by which point the prisoner was sweating profusely and his face was contorted with the effort of holding back the enormous bowel movement he so desperately needed to expel. His cries for attention were punctuated with groans as his guts spasmed and the relentless weight of shit bore down on his arsehole. My operatives discretely activated the overhead air conditioning to remove the smell of flatulence that would inevitably start to accumulate around the hapless prisoners.

An operative went over to Ivan and pretended to notice the stain on his groin for the first time, hunkering down for a good look. Ivan no longer cared and he writhed in his restraints, his biceps and thighs bulging as his fight for control combined with his struggle to get free and relieve himself. The operative was asking him what he was making a fuss for as the monocular thug yelled out his muffled plea, drool dripping off his chin. His face, by now, was a picture of anguish and his one eye reflected only his burning need to shit, coupled with the humiliation of knowing that he might not make it to the john. The operative requested that he keep the noise down and Ivan’s head thrashed helplessly showering beads of sweat from a beetroot red brow.

His grunts of effort suddenly changed in pitch, his eyes closed in despair and he let out a distressed groan as he obviously lost the battle and began shitting in his pants. The groan went on for several seconds and managed to convey both the relief he was feeling at letting go with the disgust he felt at loading his underwear with hot heavy shit. Pushed tight against the seat, Ivan’s load had nowhere to go but where the tight fabric forced it. The sweating man tried to raise himself off the seat a little to gain some comfort as his shit began to bulge. Any height he may have gained was soon to turn on him as his weakened muscles could not support his weight such was the effort that had gone into the struggle to maintain control and he groaned again in disgust as he slumped back down – his full briefs squashing the heavy stool up and around his dick and balls and up his butt crack.

The arms dealer was spent from his ordeal and his reddened face hung forward as far as the neck-straps would allow. His eye burned with rage and shame but my operative pretended not to notice the menacing stare or the pungent aroma in the immediate vicinity of the prisoner and moved back to his station.

Rodriguez was the next inmate to lose the battle against his overfull bowels. His straining against the bonds that secured him grew more and more frenzied as he fought for freedom and control. Eventually, his eyes widened in horror as a lengthy fart resounded from under him and grew gradually more muffled as he loaded up his tidy whiteys. He squirmed in his chair to try and ease the discomfort caused by the faeces as it filled out his outfit but could gain no relief.

Howes groaned like a bull when he finally lost control and Ratherson’s shame was apparent as a tear trickled down his sweating cheek. Within fifteen minutes all of the four helpless men had soiled themselves and were reduced to sitting in their own filth.

Another fifteen minutes passed and the faces of the men changed as further spasms commenced in their stuffed colons. This time however the process was even more effective.

Unlike the first, embarrassing, instances of incontinence – this time round the men had to actually force themselves to soil in their pants. The closeness of the seat and the tightness of the uniforms, already loaded to capacity by their previous ordeal, meant that in order to gain relief they had to actively defecate into their own underwear. Howes was the first to show obvious signs of distress – he was groaning behind his spit-soaked gag and it was clear that he was in some pain. His belly was distended under the leather belt that bound his chest firmly to the chair and he was squirming in his seat – the dark stain of his previous loss of control visible up to his balls. Eventually, he began to huff and puff and then he groaned in agony and strained hard to shit himself. It was clearly no easy task – there was nowhere for the excrement to go and he was effectively compressing it in his jumpsuit. Sweating with effort, he again laboured and pushed; his hands clenching into fists as he forced his turds into the tight confines of his briefs. He cried out in pain, rage and frustration as he fought to void his aching bowel. Red-faced and struggling, he finally managed to gain some relief and slumped back with a moan into his bonds. Unseen by the blonde thug, Ratherson, locked into the seat next to him was also experiencing the rich dilemma of needing to defecate desperately but not being able to just relax into the process. He grunted and sweated as he too forced himself to soil his pants.

Rodriguez was purple in the face with effort as he tried to void his bowels but was apparently unable to push the massive stool created by our medications into the cramped confines of his briefs and jumpsuit. The operative assigned to the hulking man inspected his briefing notes around Rodriguez and took a clinical decision based upon the Texan’s medically recorded likelihood of experiencing cardiac damage as a result of his exertions. He approached the captive and undid his bonds, explaining that he would take the sweaty and soiled man to the toilet.

As soon as Rodriguez was pulled up to a standing position his bowels were free to evacuate their heavy load as the soiled orange jumpsuit was loosened by his change of stance. The rear of his suit bulged out suddenly with the weight of the released excrement as he shat heavily and uncontrollably into his briefs. The Texan grunted in disgusted relief as he loaded up his suit, and dragged by the operative, he waddled uncomfortably forward to the next chamber of the plane where his hopes for release and the opportunity to clean up were to be dashed utterly.