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Thursday started a lot like Tuesday, with birds singing in the distance, some light coming through the blacked-out window, Bob moving around upstairs. The lights came on abruptly, the stairs creaked as Bob brings down two stainless steel bowls, one with Cheerios and the other with water. I am standing at parade rest as he comes in and picked up the brick and the key. He wants to know where the brick came from. I tell him it was on top of the wall dividing the cell I am in and the one to the south. I ask him to get back into "maximum security mode". I know I prefer it. That request gets my hands cuffed behind my back for breakfast. Two related sayings: I got what I wanted.

Later that morning I got my second and last "punishment" whipping, bare back, spread-eagle against the cell bars. This time it was a different whip, heavier than the first one. It seemed as if Bob got more intense as the flogging progressed, but I wouldn't have called it a warm up. It was pretty heavy from the start. Near the end two things happened that I found interesting.

First, he started counting down the last five strokes. I know Bob can count. It seemed that some of the counts and strokes were missing.

Second, there was a visual effect. In the center of my vision I saw a white spot. It didn't glare, but it was pure white for an area of 3 to 5 degrees. It seemed to expand from the center. The white spot was still there as I am taken down and placed back into the cell, though it quickly faded to gray and disappeared altogether. The spot lasted about three minutes. Back in my cell, my arms tingled a bit. I expected this because of my position. I don't handle spread-eagle positions very well. I don't think the tingling in my arms was related to the visual spot. I thought the spot was a short migraine attack initiated by the whipping. Other than its duration, it was similar to visual effects I have had before. My eye doctor thinks it was a vasoconstrictor effect. Apparently nothing to worry about.

I don't know what whip he used, but I could feel tingling in my back for about ten days. It wasn't a bad feeling - a mild tingling if I thought about it. Once home, I had my wife look at my back to see if there were any marks. She couldn't find any at all!

Later, Bob came down to check on me before going out to get additional materials for the addition. Being alone in the house, locked in the cell, never did bother me. Today there was additional anticipation. Harold had promised that "serious harassment" would start on Thursday. This was Thursday.

I don't know how I figured out it wasn't Bob upstairs. I seemed to sense it long before Harold cam down to the basement. He didn't turn the lights on, he came in with a flashlight instead. When the light from Harold's flashlight reached the cell my nose was in a masonry joint in the back wall of the cell. I don't think I ever said "Sir" to Bob, with Harold (most of the time) this seemed the only way to respond.

His first command was "Backup! And put your arms through the bars". Double click, the handcuffs went on. Then a tight, eyeless, mouthless, leather hood was snuggly laced on my head. I was told to breathe deeply to get enough oxygen. A zipper was pulled down the back of the hood then a padlock was locked on. I was then informed that the hood, was going to be part of me for a long time. That got my erection harder.

After the hood was in place, my hands were re-cuffed inside the cell, still behind my back. A strap was added just above my elbows and clinched tight. The cell door and leg irons were unlocked. I was then directed (pushed) upstairs (reminded to duck prior to the third step) and directed into the puppy cage.

Off came the arm strap (thanks). Then, contrary to my expectations, Harold took off the hood! It was a nice hood, but it certainly had yet to "become a part of me". It had only been on fifteen minutes, at the most. I guess that Harold hadn't seen my face. I certainly hadn't seen his. I expect he was curious about who had ended up under his control. After the hood was off he tousled my hair, and said I looked "shaggy". I quickly restated my wife's request not to get my hair cut, and that, yes, I really had been looking forward to getting my hair all cut off. Harold offered a buzz cut. I made it clear that she wanted it left alone. She didn't want a reminder of my adventure all summer. (I found out later that short would have been all right.)

We chatted informally for a while. (A lot less "Sirs".) The conversation was about what I liked, what Bob had done and what Harold liked. The conversation turned to cattle prods and stun-guns. Prior to this trip, I had never had one used on me, though the idea was certainly in my fantasies enough. I had used both of them on myself. Harold said, "just tying someone up doesn't interest me very much, but tying them up an hurting them, that is different, that is interesting." It was also a bit unsettling to me. It was clear then and there, that what I had thought about for quite a while, was shortly going to happen. ("Be careful what you ask for...")

I told him that I didn't think a stun-gun would slow someone down very much, and it certainly wouldn't incapacitate anyone for thirty seconds. (I still feel that way.) I am sure that I don't "like" getting cattle-prodded, but it sure does focus my attention.

We talked about sleep sacks, my height, and that I was too tall to really fit in most of them. He was more than willing to try theirs on me. He set up two saw-horses and placed his "most popular" bondage board across it. This bondage board was made up of about 5 parallel 1 inch by 4 inches by 7 feet boards spaced a small distance apart. The gaps can be used for straps or rope. The five boards were connected together with several one by fours at right angles. On top of the bondage board he laid out the black leather sleep sack.

Harold always treated transitions from one tied-up position to another seriously. Before he let me out of the cage, he locked one end of a chain to the cage and locked the other end to a steel collar around my neck. Once the keys to the locks were well out of reach, he fetched the keys to the cage and unlocked the cage door. While I had the collar on, he positioned me in the sleep sack, arms down the internal sleeves, and then tightened the many straps. Only after I was totally helpless in the sleep sack strapped down to the bondage board did Harold unlock and remove the steel collar.

Over the next two and one half hours, Harold kept me well tied up. First he put a different hood on me, one that was lighter and not quite as tight. He tightened straps and loosened them. Twice I asked him to loosen the strap that went across the top of my fingers. The second time when he was loosening straps to help out my fingers, he started loosening a strap two straps further up my body. When he finally did get to the right strap, he said that I had a "simian frame". He occasionally played with my cock and balls, sometimes with his hands, sometimes with a vibrator. Other times he would stun-gun my upper thighs. Three weeks after my arrival at MCF, I still had stun-gun bite marks on my legs.

Looking back on this experience, it doesn't seem that I was in the black leather sleep sack for very long. But I have recollection of conversations between Bob and Harold that indicated it was 2.5 hours. It was a warm day and I was quite hot and sweaty when I got out. (Harold set the sleep sack out to dry.) I know that I would rather play hot and sweaty than cool or cold.

The first thing I wanted when the hood came off was some water, and this was promptly provided from a drinking glass with a flexible straw. Next, the collar chained to the cage went back on. Once the collar was on, straps were undone and zippers were un-zipped. With help, I slipped my arms out of the wet internal sleeves -- and stretched. I was carefully transferred back to the cage -- with the collar still on. Once I was back in the cage, the collar was removed. I was then handcuffed naked to the cage, one pair of handcuffs for each hand. On opposite sides of the cage, my hands and arms were placed through the cage bars bent forward, and then the "spare" half of the cuff was snapped onto a bar closer to the front of the cage.

Some time later, Harold un-cuffed me from the cage and had me dress in the international orange MCF uniform. Once dressed, he handcuffed me behind my back, placed the pinion strap on my arms, unlocked the cage, and then escorted me back down the stairs to my cell. In the cell I was again wearing the leg irons. I wasn't going anywhere.

Dinner was again better than expected; but then, I was expecting a cold watery puree with some unidentifiable vegetables, starch and protein. Tonight's meal was peas and tuna served at a pleasant temperature, with a spoon, in the ever-present stainless steel bowl. Bob even made a trip down to ask me if I wanted any more before he finished off the last of it.

After dinner it was lights out, with instructions to sleep well -- there was work to be done tomorrow.

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