Long Weekend

Preparation

Another long weekend all to himself, and the time to indulge in his favorite hobby, if that term applied. Three days to enjoy the benefits of enforced leisure, without a care in the world. Best of all there would be no interruptions while he decompressed from months of built-up stress.

His capacity for patience wasn’t high, which would normally be a complication when attempting to calm the soul with some introspective meditation. That might be difficult for others, but he had found a way to guarantee his focus would not stray. Thanks to both modern and centuries old technology he had developed a solution that was infallible.

Bondage was a private but surprisingly common practice in the modern age. The choice of equipment was varied, suitable to a variety of tastes. He’d checked the adult websites but never found precisely what he needed. Fortunately, his day job as a mechanical engineer, plus the modest but sophisticated machine shop in his roomy basement, were more than sufficient for his “do it yourself” projects.

The moment he arrived home the ritual began with a long, hot shower. Refreshed, he headed downstairs to his “meditation” room in a corner of the basement. His clothes were left behind, since he preferred the au naturelle look of bare skin.

In a corner niche the months of hard work required to construct the prison cell were now repaid in the imposing assembly of concrete walls and steel bars. It was the real deal, or as close as possible given his resources.

The sides and rear were reinforced concrete block, built to last a hundred years or more. The front, floor and top were closely spaced steel bars with stout metal braces holding them apart, all welded together and embedded in the concrete. Being pragmatic, the bars on the floor were covered by concrete, with a layer of bathroom tiles to give the cell that austere look. The entrance was a sliding gate that automatically locked into a slot when closed. Either a key or a computer could open that door. Neither method was accessible from the inside.

An outer wall surrounded the cell, cutting off light from the rest of the basement. The windows were frosted to provide privacy but let in natural light when he was working. They also functioned as a crude clock, which in turn meant they had to be concealed from the cell.

Safety first, making sure the door would open at the right time. He set the computer timer for three minutes before pulling the gate closed. The locking bolts noisily slid into place, held closed by powered magnets. If power failed the springs on the bolts would release the door immediately.

At two minutes he killed the power to the door. With a loud clunk the bolts retracted. He checked the gate to ensure it moved easily. Next, he reset the computer for a two-minute release and shut the gate again. When the time lock expired, the bolts smoothly retracted, freeing the cell gate. Finally, he checked the charge on the battery supply. If the computer failed the battery would run down and unlock the door. The battery meter showed enough charge for four days, which should cover the worst-case scenario.

His accommodations for the weekend were ready. It was time to apply the restrictions needed to focus on the mental rather than the distractions of the physical.

Dressed for the Occasion

He went over to where his hydraulic press was set up in the machine shop portion of the basement. Next to the press was the box with his special “garment”, along with the small rods of aluminum. The body shackles were the crowning achievement of his bondage equipment. It was a five-point system: ankles, wrists and neck, all connected with short lengths of heavy towing chain. The oval cuffs were overengineered, thick and wide, machined to fit close around his neck, wrists and ankles. Each cuff was all steel, with a welded hinge, the attachment link for the connecting chain, and most important, the lock. The inside was lined with a thin padding of medical foam, to minimize chafing.

Trial and error had taught him to start with his feet. After powering up the press he reached down to wrap a shackle around his left ankle. When completely closed the ends fitted together, with two parallel holes running from top to bottom. He dropped in the soft aluminum pins, already flattened on one side, into the locking holes. He inserted the edge of the cuff into the press and activated it.

The soft aluminum quickly flattened out into rivets, securely fastening the shackle in the closed position. The other ankle, followed by his wrists and finally the collar around his neck. The rivets, being aluminum, could easily be punched out after cutting off a rivet head with a chisel. Rivets were more time-consuming than mechanical locks but had that added illusion of permanence. Handcuffs only required a key or a lock pick. Riveted manacles required bulky tools and some physical strength.

He stood up to test the results. No pinching, nothing too tight. When he tried to take a step forward the connecting chain between his ankles, a short five links of heavy chain, quickly put a halt to his stride. His wrists were separated by a single chain link, forcing his hands close together.

The body shackles were not designed for the prisoner’s comfort. One final length of that tow chain ran from the collar, to the link between his wrists, and on down to the center of the chain between his ankles. When he tried to stand his hands were pulled down to his knees, plus he had to hunch over at the waist until his neck was below his shoulders.

It would be a significant physical challenge to endure three days in the shackles. He’d done it before, so he wasn’t too concerned. What did give him pause was the prospect of trying out his latest idea.

Sitting on the floor next to the press was a steel ball, with another length of the ubiquitous tow chain fastened to a single ankle shackle. It was a classic heavy ball and chain, weighing in at 20kg, or about 45 pounds. Like the other ankle shackles it used the same rivet-based fastener. Once it was in place he’d be committed to dragging it around. Drag was the operative word; he’d deliberately made the connecting chain too short for the ball to be picked up and carried in his hands.

I could debate with myself all night, or just do it. He closed the cuff around his left ankle, above the one already locked on, dropped in two more aluminum rivets and sealed it shut with the press. I hope I can still walk, otherwise I’m reduced to crawling on the floor.

The first, tentative step was like wading through thick mud. He was able to drag the ball forward, with some effort. A prolonged walk would leave him exhausted in minutes. Heavy balls like this one were intended to be punitive, rather than reducing mobility. Hopefully he’d be able to make it to the cell before his leg gave out.

Everything was ready now. There were three days’ worth of those retort food packs for hikers, no cooking required. Water he could get from the sink in the one-piece jail toilet. He took one last look around before starting out for the cell entrance.

Staycation

Before he crossed the threshold he set the time lock for sixty hours, two and a half days. After that there were no more excuses to delay the inevitable. Upon entering his home for the weekend, he awkwardly leaned over to pull the gate closed. The sound of the looking bolts dropping into place had a sense of finality to them. That’s what the Point of No Return sounds like, he told himself. There was no clock to tell the time, no hint of day versus night to hazard a guess as to how long he had before the gate opened again. The overhead lights shone with unvarying intensity, day and night. Nor were there any entertainment options other than in his head. No smartphone, no computer, no television, no radio, not even a book to read; he was cut off from the rest of society.

Supposedly the ascetic life of a monk was conducive to meditation. Pursuing that route involved a massive commitment of faith and a lifetime of work. The equally austere life of a dungeon prisoner required no great effort, especially in the commitment area. The separate question of the alternative’s effectiveness had yet to be answered, though he was even now pursuing enlightenment in that direction.

He decided to settle into his favorite corner and take stock of his situation. In hindsight he should have tried out the ball and chain beforehand. The body shackles were a major hindrance, but one that he could now manage as long as he moved very slowly.

The way he was forced to bend over at the waist in order to stand left him off balance. It wouldn’t take much for him to tip over and wind up planting his face on the floor. True, he had deliberately made the connecting chain between collar and ankles too short, in an attempt to discourage standing upright. That particular design goal was met and exceeded many times over.

He wasn’t going to get much exercise pacing around his cell either. Aside from the ball and chain the few links between his ankles limited him to a tiny shuffling gait. If he were attempting an escape his jailers could have a leisurely dinner, watch a movie and then catch up to him in about five minutes.

The ball and chain made it nearly impossible to get anywhere on foot. One short step on his right foot, and then drag the ball forward. Even if he could reach that steel ball with his hands it wouldn’t do any good. In his infinite wisdom the connecting chain was the same five links of chain, too short to pick it up and carry it.

Trying to carry the drag weight was purely theoretical anyway. His hands were cuffed close together. If he tried to stand, the lower connecting chain prevented him from reaching above his knees. And if he tried to extend his arms down to his feet the upper chain connected to the collar around his neck put a halt to the effort. It had taken weeks to find just the right combination of lengths to produce the maximum amount of frustration.

In his present state a small child could literally run rings around him with impunity. There was the very real prospect, for the first time, he would have to crawl on the floor rather than rely on his highly abbreviated walk.

With great care he sat down in his corner, with his back to the rear wall. The immediate benefit was being able to straighten up his back, as long as he kept his knees up under his chin. He wrapped his arms round his lower legs and stared at the bars of his cage. On the other side was freedom; on his side were chains and incarceration, where free will was a foreign concept.

Until the cell door unlocked, he had no control over his future. He was in the hands of soulless machines who felt no emotion, nor was there any compassion for his plight. If some unforeseen failure trapped him in the cell indefinitely those same machines would happily keep on working, blindly following the path he had laid out for them.

It was a vanishingly small but non-zero probability. In his estimation the risks were adequately covered. If he were wrong then he might well starve to death unless someone came looking for him. He might also be struck by a meteorite; life was full of those one-in-a-million flukes no one ever expected.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could possibly do to alter his predicament. And since there was nothing he could do, there was also nothing he had to do. His three-day vacation had officially launched.