Wheels of Sisyphus by Hayden, Illustrated by Manflesh – Book 2a (Complete)

Chapter 11 – Cyclops

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“Thank you, Sir.. Bye,” I say as I hang up the phone and let out a sigh of relief. Damn, I hate long calls, which require so much concentration on so many important details. But such are the requirements of the job as Assistant Chief Warden at Sisyphus Penitentiary.

I get out of my office chair and walk to the spotless glass panels behind me and gaze out into the desert landscape, calm and barren, the yellow hue of the sand stretching as far as the eye can see. And I have an excellent view, considering my office located on the third and highest floor in the main building of this prison. Of course, this means the third of three floors above ground, since the facility extends another three floors underground, where the “Servitor Units” are located, in operation 16 hours a day, every day, the engine and motors that keep this facility humming. To each Servitor Unit is assigned a convict to act as the power source. Its upper body immobilized by the heavy yoke of the Penitent’s Collar, it is chained up and made to pull the massive granite Wheel around in never-ending circles. Through the toil and the taxing of its muscles does the convict serve its sentence.

Deep down below, the prison cells are connected via corridors dark and gloomy, resembling sewage tunnels. Metal doors bar the entrance to the convicts’ cells, securing them in their miserable existence of solitary confinement. Unlike the cells which are brightly lit during State Time, the time assigned for toil and labour, the corridors remain dark. Actually, I’d prefer if the lighting were better downstairs though, since I’m often down below, but I can understand the reason why this isn’t so. Electricity and other utilities are expensive out here in the desert, and what little we gain must be conserved for the sake of the company’s profit margins.

At least the offices above ground are pleasant enough. Air-conditioning keeps the facility above ground at a nice temperature, and the 300 or so days of sunshine a year does lighten the mood when working.

Damn, work! I look at my table and let out a moan. A huge pile of to-dos and two large stacks of general and administrative paperwork sit on my desk, taking up pretty much my entire table, a flimsy piece of furniture courtesy of a cheap furniture store.

“Wheels of Sisyphus” – by Hayden, Book 2b, Chapter 20b (FINAL for Book 2}

Chapter 20b – … The price of failure

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I wake up to the sound of a loud siren ringing throughout the facility. I stay in bed a little while longer, wondering whether this is really happening or merely a dream. I must have been asleep for no more than 3 or 4 hours.

Suddenly, I hear a loud banging on my door. But without waiting for a response, Warden Fessel, barges into my room, out of breath.

“What’s with the fucking racket?” I ask groggily.

“Sir, it’s your convict. 33 is attempting to escape!”

“What?!” I yell angrily. “Wardens Wolf and Sanchez can’t get anything right!”

“Howcha know, Sir? 33 jumped on them as they were escorting it back to its cell.”

Feigning ignorance, I jump out of bed and head downstairs, wearing nothing but my boxers and carrying the remote control of 33’s Punishment Unit in hand. All around, the whole facility is alive with activity. Some wardens, woken up by the noise, look out from their rooms, wondering what is going on. Others, on duty for the morning shift, rush toward me, trying to explain the situation, which I am all too aware of already.

I head downstairs to the cell. A whole group of wardens follow behind.

“Which floor?” I ask.

“1st” Fessel responds promptly.

We head down there and are confronted by our security system. The stairway has been made narrow! Indeed, a rubbery airbag has been inflated, obstructing the way down. But this is intended. As a security measure, the airbag inflates to ensure no convict, if they ever escape, can use the stairs. They’d be too big for it. That is why convicts are dragged up and down on harnesses when required.

“Get this thing down!” I demand. And Mendoza, ever on duty at Main Control, quickly overrides the security protocol and deflates the airbag. We continue downward and reach the 1st underground floor.

In the corridor, right at the door frame to the Pit, lie the young inexperienced wardens Wolf and Sanchez, unconscious. Up ahead along the dark alley, we hear screaming and the banging of fists on metal.

“HEY!!! HELP!!!!” cries the desperate voice of 33, as the realisation slowly dawns on it that there is no escape from Sisyphus Penitentiary. We hear the voice grow louder, as the convict doubles back, as it bangs on the prison door of every convict on this floor. Having failed to gain access up the stairs, 33 had headed backwards to the end of the corridor, hoping to find some other way out. But the grates in the storeroom at end of this corridor, from which we had hauled it up for the party yesterday, were locked and shut. It retraced its steps and saw in horror that I, along with several well armed guards, were standing there in the dark, a few meters ahead, waiting for it and blocking the entrance to the stairway.

“No sudden moves, 33.” I say firmly, my finger on the trigger of the remote control of its Punishment Unit, dialed up to Level 10.

“Please, Torque” it says. “Let me go. I’ll do anything. I can’t take anymore of this torture!”

“You’ll do anything? Then serve your sentence, like the convict you are,” I reply cooly. “Then you can go.”

“Torque, you were a convict once, you know what it’s like. Each day just pain and mind-numbing exhaustion. Please, no man can take this.”

“No man, but a convict can,” I say. “You have yet to learn this.”

I look 33 in the eye for a split second before I let loose a Level 10 – the highest and most dangerous level that the warden can apply to his convict. 33 falls backwards hitting the floor with a loud thud, screaming.

Now immobilized from the pain, we approach the convict.

“I take it you were quite surprised by our little security measure – simple and effective. Your years of convict labor have broadened you to such an extent, that you cannot walk up the narrow stairway except by squeezing on along the rough walls. The airbag in place made sure this is impossible.”

I deliver a second Level 10 shock, as the convict shakes uncontrollably, and starts frothing in the mouth.

“Having the most inexperienced wardens escort you back to your cell, after a fresh victory at the Pit and the warm feeling of victory and rewards all around….almost made you think we were friends, didn’t it?”

33 tries to speak, but can only make choking sounds.

“But ours is not a friendship, 33. I am a warden and you are a convict. Your purpose is to serve, and my purpose is to make you serve. It seems, 33, despite serving in the Pit as our entertainment, and serving as a convict under me for 4 years now, you have somehow failed to understand your purpose and place at SisPen. Well, it is time for you to learn. It is time for your E.D.U.C.A.T.I.O.N..”

A final Level 10 shock to its balls makes its pupils dilate, as its fidgeting intensifies and finally stops, the convict mercifully slipping into unconsciousness.

 

To be continued in Book 3  

 

“Wheels of Sisyphus” – by Hayden, Book 2b, Chapter 20a

Chapter 20a – The prize of success…

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The crowd, gathered in a circle, hollers and cheers as they watch the scene unfold before them. At the centre of the wide ring, two large men, glistening with sweat and oil, are intertwined with one another, knotted and strung together, slippery muscles, arms and legs, squirming, grinding against one another like in the throes of rough sex.

Yet this is no pleasurable activity, for these hunks are Convicts 32 and 33, engaged yet again in a struggle for male supremacy in the battle arena of the Pit. Oiled up and shackled at their ankles to the ground with the same short chain, the convicts are forced to wrestle each other in an attempt to immobilize the other. Then, they must stroke the other’s cock till it cums. Simple rules, difficult strategy. And it is all to play for. My and Jimenez’s convict have each won a game and this is the riveting tie-breaker.

33 is now a staple of our New Year’s parties, this now being its third time in a row at the Pit. Since its first failure, I was determined that it be given another chance to prove itself. After all, 33 is to be my model convict. And it’s also my reputation on the line, dammit! Saying all along that convicts made the best wardens was a brave statement to make and since we lost, it was absolutely necessary that 33 not fuck up again.

So it was that I started 33’s training regime 8 months in advance. 33 was provided yet more of the experimental supplements as well as an extra portion of convict gruel during the evening feeding. As such, 33 bulked up and grew stronger. Unfortunately, Jimenez, having not got my memo on this, cried foul and refused a rematch claiming it wasn’t fair that I got a head start, since wardens usually begin training of convicts for the Pit at the same time. Thus, after discussing with the doctor, and in the interest of creating a true rematch of the ages, the match was postponed. However, we were allowed to begin the use of the performance-enhancing drug one year in advance.

Instead, on the second occasion, 33 was challenged by convict 92, a broad-shouldered, smooth-skinned black convict serving 2 million for illegal gambling. In charge of 92 is Warden Fessel, one of the newest wardens serving at SisPen, but one with much experience in the prison system.

“Wheels of Sisyphus” – by Hayden, Book 2b, Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Revelation

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I finally leave my office at 6pm. Yet another long day with just so much to do. I had spent the day trying to arrange tomorrow’s intake of new inmates, as well as having to read the status reports of other wardens on the convicts they were in charged of. The same old stories of permanent heavy injuries, or worse, death from over exhaustion. It fucking annoys me – the incompetence of these inexperienced wardens. It’s true that many are new. Ever since the private prison industry took off the job of prison warden has become a lucrative career option. Some are in it to fulfill some fantasy of theirs to dominate other men, muscled brutes forced into subservience. Others are just in it for the good pay and benefits. They have no proper understanding of the convict, no ability to handle them. They haven’t a clue how to properly discipline convicts with harsh brutality, and then to tantalize them with promises of freedom and reprieve, all the while goading them with both threats and hope to new feats of superhuman strength. And this facility certainly needs the able bodies of its convicts alive and willing to serve if it wishes to remain operational.

I gather the documents and put them in the drawer under lock and key. I turn the TV off, last showing Convict 33 labouring as usual. Unlike me, its workday will go on for another 4 hours. I leave my office, and head downstairs to the first floor, where my quarters are located. As Assistant Chief Warden, I have a private room. It’s nothing fancy but at least I have my privacy from the other wardens. Many of the wardens do 2 or 3 week shifts here and live in shared rooms, since there aren’t any local towns nearby. But for me and a few others, we live on-site. Ever since I took the job I’ve been living out here, rarely leaving the compound. Fresh food gets sent here by truck every third day and we can make requests for other supplies when needed. Being so far away from civilisation, the wardens have access to really good facilities here, like a media room, a good library and a gym. I’ve never been one with many needs though. And ever since entering SisPen as a convict, there’s nothing for me outside the prison compound.

Back in my room, I drop my office stuff and grab my duffel bag. I mix a protein shake at the simple stove/kitchen table I have in my room and swallow it in a few gulps before heading out again. Everyday, I spend at least 2 hours after work exercising and I could really use it today to destress from the hard work I’ve put in. The wardens have a well-equipped gym here; weights and bars and machines of various difficulty and complexity were to be found. I usually spend every other day here.

“Wheels of Sisyphus” – by Hayden, Book 2b, Chapter 18

Chapter 18 – The Pit – Part 3: Submission

Revolutions: 814792 (the 1 revolution at the Pit does not count towards the convict’s sentence)

We bring the convicts back to the X-frames. Here, their legs are placed in the heavy shackles. Their arms are cuffed, and a short chain is threaded between the cuffs and the legs and bolted to the floor, inhibiting any large movement, and preventing them from trying to stand up from the kneeling position they now find ourselves in. Side by side, they face the crowd, who look down on them with merciless faces and sinister grins.

Jimenez speaks.

“And now, for the last challenge today. We will test our convicts if they truly are penitent. Do they accept that they are here to pay for the crimes they committed, and that until that debt is repaid, until every last turn of the Wheel is made by those tough, strong bodies, as prescribed by their sentences, that they have but one overarching command: to serve?”

Claps and whistling from the crowd.

“Convicts,you will now prove your submission to this facility and its staff. You have half an hour to make as many wardens as possible cum.

The looks on the convicts’ faces is one of horror. Shock in disbelief at the words they have just heard. 32 looks at me, then Jimenez with its piercing blue eyes before lifting his head high, as if to welcome this final ordeal.

Meanwhile, 33 curses.

“Fuck you all! What is this?!?! You can’t do this! You all can go get fucked!!!”

“Actually,” I reply calmly, “We are just about to do the fucking.”

The wardens begin to strip completely, going buck naked like the convicts, their cocks bulging and erect in excitement. They form a line behind Jimenez and me, with both of us in front having first dibs. I tower over 33, a mass of muscle before it, my large cock a horizontal plank of wood mere inches from its face, dripping with precum. It stares back with eyes of hate.

“Jimenez and I get first dibs on our convicts,” I announce. “But then its first come first serve, boys.” I set my stopwatch to 30 minutes and announce, “Begin!”

“Wheels of Sisyphus” – by Hayden, Book 2b, Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – The Pit – Part 2: Strength

Revolutions: 814792 (the 100 revolutions at the Pit do not count towards the convict’s sentence)

Convict 33 is unchained from the Wheel that it had just turned 100 times. Four wardens grab it by the arms and drag it to the other Wheel where 32 is chained to. 33 is made to stand on the opposite side of the pole from 32. There, its Penitent’s Collar and harness are connected to the pole with the metal chains. Now, both convicts are chained to the same Wheel, backs facing each other.

I explain the next challenge.

“Alright boys, the first game goes to 33 and me. This next one is all about pure muscle. My brute of a convict, 33, is going to make mincemeat out of this paperweight 32. This, here, is a test of strength. 32 pulls clockwise, 33 counterclockwise. The first to make one full revolution wins.

The crowd cheers as they hurdle closer to the centre. 32’s face is downcast, and it struggles to get off the ground, wheezing from exhaustion. I see its bleeding back, raw and red, with new welts inflicted by Warden Jimenez. Its torso expands and contracts as it pants loudly while it draws in the warm air into its exploding lungs. Slowly, it gets up and stands at attention. It spits on the floor, a mix of blood and saliva, screwing up its face as it readies itself up for the next event, like a battle-weary gladiator. Some of the wardens, the ones that placed their bets on it, cheer it on.

“Now, convicts,” I order. “When you are ready, report for duty.”

The convicts obey.

“32, reporting for duty!”

“33, reporting for duty!”

Jimenez gives the signal.

“READY, SET, BEGIN!”

“Wheels of Sisyphus” – by Hayden, Book 2b, Chapter 16

Chapter 16 – The Pit – Part 1: Endurance

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While I greet the wardens, the convicts try to exchange a few words behind my back.

“So, they made you take the drugs too?” whispers 32 in a rather high-pitched but gentle voice.

“Yeah. Fuckers. Turned us into muscled monsters,” replies 33 in its low raspy voice.

“Nah, you don’t look too bad 33. You look like an ox, man. They must be putting you through some hell.”

“No more than what they make you do. Ain’t no one that would mess with a body like yours. And please, don’t use the numbers, my name is -”

“32!”

At once, 32 faces forward, blue eyes staring ahead. It straightens itself up, flexing its thighs and biceps. Its large pecs it heaves forward, its empty gut sucked in.

“Sir!” it shouts, loud and clear.

33 stops speaking, bewildered by this shocking display of discipline and control. I, on the other hand, find Jimenez’s methods flamboyant and unnecessary.

“There will be no fraternizing with the enemy, 32” says the former drill sergeant turned warden, walking away from the crowd and toward the convicts. The ex-army man stands nearly a foot shorter than his ward yet it obeys him unwaveringly. “Let me remind you that it is still State-Time which requires you to be on duty. You may speak to 33 when we are done here, depending on your performance tonight. Remember why you have been chosen?”

“Yessir, I will prove that soldiers make the best wardens, Sir!”

So the trash talk has already begun. “Bullshit,” I say, turning around to face the convicts and Jimenez. “Convicts make the best wardens! Your warden Jimenez is a drill sergeant, knows how to dish out commands but has no clue how to actually get work done. A convict has been through hell, has done its time, has the experience. And experience beats everything else when dealing with a convict”

“”We’ll see, Torque” says Jimenez smiling and slapping me on the back.

I take a nice long look at Jimenez’s convict. 32 looks like some Greek hero, Hercules or Adonis or whatever their names are. Its cropped blond hair only further highlights those piercing focused eyes and sharp jaw. Its youthful face certainly has been affected by the stresses of its incarceration. Grime and sweat sticks on the little stubble on its upper lip and chin. A fully developed Adam’s apple sits in the middle of its thick neck.

Wheels of Sisyphus, Book 1, now available as a free e-book!

Hi Guys.

One of our members has generously taken the time (and has the know-how!) to convert Book 1 of Hayden’s work, together with the sensational artwork of Manflesh, into a very readable e-book format.

WordPress doesn’t allow us to post e-books on the site, so he has made it available for download by clicking on this URL:

https://mega.nz/#!PMtkzDSa!xhN_hI2PGVDiNDUF2Jq0xXhz98Uqzul7t8yIxG9IaCM

To read it on your devise, you will need an appropriate app for e-books.

I want to thank him from all of us!

Sharing the fantasy,

Aquadude

Announcement: Book 2 of “Wheels of Sisyphus” by Hayden Starts on Sunday!

Hi Guys,

I am especially pleased to announce Hayden is continuing his excellent and very unusual story, starting tomorrow.  Book 2A, Chapters 11-15, and Book 2B, Chapters 16-20.

If you like to review Book One,

GO TO: Bunker Content/Literature/Authors/Hayden

Or, Click this URL:

https://aquadude2001.wordpress.com/2017/07/30/wheels-of-sisyphus-by-hayden-illustrated-by-manflesh-book-one-complete/

Thank you, Hayden! We all look forward to it.

Aquadude

 

Wheels of Sisyphus by Hayden, Illustrated by Manflesh – Book One (Complete)

Chapter 1 – Minos

Approaching the middle of the 21st century, the uncertainty of the economy, and the ever increasing gap between the rich and the poor, resulted in a pandemic of social ills. Unemployment was high and crime was rampant. The criminal justice system had reached breaking point: Prisons were overcrowded and law enforcement utterly helpless or too corrupt to enforce discipline within these facilities, and order on the streets.

A government task-force was assembled desperately to find a solution to the overcrowding of prisons. Private prisons, run by corporations for profit, were also invited to join the discussions held. At the very beginning, it was determined that crimes should continue to be punished with severity. After all, the law of the land, surely, was not at fault? Just because the number of felons had increased, did not mean that the country should cater to these scum? No, the punishment must continue to fit the crime.

Instead, an idea was brought forth during those discussions. A way could be found to reduce the length of a criminal’s sentence. Turnover could be quicker, thereby freeing up more space for new inmates.

A trial run was conducted at a private prison out in the desert, far away from any major population centres. It was a resounding success! Prisoner turnaround was increased, which increased the private contractor’s profits and reputation, and showed the plan could be used to solve the chronic problem of prison overcrowding. Reincarceration rates dropped in the nearby towns as well due to new rehabilitation techniques discovered during this trial run. The program was extended to 500 prisons across the country. The task force was applauded for finding an innovative way to solve a crippling problem that had plagued the country for decades.