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Fred had the best job. The pay could have been better, and the hours were nuts, but very few lines of work could scratch that special itch.

He arrived before sunrise as he always did. The locker room was sparse of people. Everyone was either already on their shift or coming in a few minutes before. The wolf's locker clanged open. Inside was his standard uniform already cleaned from the internal laundromat. Black leather gloves and matching boots, a peaked cap, and an ensemble of dark khakis and a matching shirt fit for a prison guard. He took a deep breath, tasting the scent of leather and rubber on his tongue. It made his pants tight.

“Morning, Stiff," Cackled Roxanne. Fred didn't turn to face the hyena, having a mirror to see her reflection. Like most spotted hyenas she was imposing, half a foot taller and with enough muscle to move almost anyone with enough effort. He didn't slack in that department either, half the job was looking intimidating. Roxanne just liked to flaunt it in the co-ed locker rooms. In her defense, few people could show her up.

“Morning Rox," Fred addressed her reflection as he pulled up his pants to hide the bulge in his boxers. “You hit the gym already?"

“Nah. I just prefer to shower when I wake up."

He turned to her, perplexed. “Did you sleep here?" He wasn't aware that was allowed.

The hyena pulled over her sports bra and cackled. “Nah. I moved. Now I'm just a block away." She caught him looking and winked back. “See something you like, Stiff?"

Again with the nickname. The wolf turned to hide his blush. Roxanne's reflection raised to her tippy toes to see. “It was one time, Rox," he lied.

“Right," the hyena said with open sarcasm. She pulled up her pants and tightened her boots, “Do you know our shift positions today?"

“Aren't you my commanding officer?" He teased. Roxanne liked to pull seniority on him when she only had two years of experience over him. Out on the floor, he let her if only to keep up appearances for the 'guests'. Better to get rid of the urge to banter before the shift starts. “You should know."

“I do," He knew Roxanne was bullshitting but she spoke with such confidence that he'd forgive himself for believing her. “But I'm asking you if you know. Pop quiz, Stiff."

Shift schedules were decided every week and emailed the prior weekend. Fred, being a studious wolf who loved his job, studied his daily tasks while brushing his teeth. He used to print them out to tape to his locker, but eventually, he grew tired of the sticky feeling on his fingertips.

“We're on offload duty for the morning. Afternoon we've got stimulation duty. Pretty standard day."

She breathed a sigh of relief and buttoned up her shirt, “I was worried we'd get stuck with hygiene duty again."

“That's next week."

“Fuck."

“Yep." No one liked hygiene duty. There was talk about pushing for a pay bump for hours spent during it, but management quelled that fast. Fred saw it as a worthwhile sacrifice for the rest of his job. He enjoyed working here too much to quit.

Each gave the other one last uniform check before heading out. “No smiling," she reminded him. He rolled his eyes in response while she straightened his shirt.

“No friendly smiles," he corrected, tucking her shirt in, “We can still have an aggressive grin."

“Management wants to keep that to a minimum."

“What?" He blinked, “But Lin smiles all the time during her inspections. And they're barely aggressive."

“Yeah well, she's the doctor, not a guard. She's allowed to look friendly."

Their booted footsteps echoed off the tiled floors and concrete walls, mixing with the metal latches of each door they passed. The facility by design was meant to let noises carry, letting the inhabitants stew with the upcoming idea of what was to come. They arrived with several other uniformed guards, most on their second shift if Fred guessed, at a long narrow hallway with small cell doors lining the walls. The holding cells for new arrivals.

Processing was a simple task. Guards were assigned in pairs. One would enter the cell to get the 'inmate' dressed in their latex suit, muzzle, and collar before dragging them out for the other to lock on the rest of the restraints which included cuffs for their wrists and ankles, and a chastity device, before latching them to a growing chain gang. Next to each door hung a clipboard detailing what the inmate's owner had allowed for their submissive during their stay and a freshly printed latex suit. Modern tech made the suit printing take an hour at best, but the subs and lifestyle slaves were left naked in their cells for one night to help condition them for the stay.

Fred grew a little stiff before reading the first clipboard. Names were blacked out, both to help depersonalize the client and for privacy. He'd heard rumors of a few celebrities using the facility as a vacation place but hadn't seen it happen himself. The treatment limit was marked for yellow so he could get decently physical. No free-use approval. Few inmates ever had that box checked.

The holding cell door had a slit to peer inside. Through it, he saw his first inmate of the day; a lithe mouse guy who looked to have just woken up by the slide of the eye slit. Fred took three deep breaths before putting on his game face, then slid the door open with a rebounding slam.

“Get up. Face the wall with your hands flat against it."

Either because of fear, excitement, grogginess of waking up, or all three, the mouse froze atop his bedroll. Fred made an effort to ignore the inmate's cock growing in response, one of the hard parts of the job. “Now," he raised his voice at the demand but didn't shout. Like a father who was about to grill his son for something he shouldn't have done. The mouse scampered to his feet and faced the wall, spine hunched and tail curling around his leg in anticipation of what was to come.

If the treatment scale was lower Fred would have demanded the mouse free his leg. Instead, he took the chance to feel the quivering pink appendage against his latex gloves. He carefully but firmly untied it from the mouse's leg, one hand clamped tight on the mouse's skull to keep him still.

With that taken care of, Fred unfurled the new inmate's latex suit. In his first month on the job, this was the hardest part. Latex looked good and technology had come a long way to make it resistant to wear and tear, but it was a bitch to get on in most cases. With enough practice, something Fred and every guard in the prison had oodles of, it was second nature.

He stretched it out from the neck hole and ordered the prisoner to step inside it. With heart amounts of lube and careful tugging, Fred pulled the suit up like a body condom. There were seven holes in the suit, two for hands and feet, one for the head, one for the ass, and one for their genitalia. The mouse's rod was practically pulsating as the wolf thinned out creases along the shiny black material. He could relate, feeling his pants grow less roomy through the process. Something about how the latex left nothing to the imagination for the mouse's lithe body. He wondered how tight it must have been. How every breath, each rise and fall of his chest, the mouse felt the constraint of his uniform.

“Keep facing the wall," His voice nearly cracked at the command. The mouse obeyed, hiding the bright red blush over his white fur. Fred fitted a thick steel collar around the mouse's neck, checking twice to ensure it wasn't pinching before locking the padlock in place. Last came the muzzle gag. Owners and their subs were made aware that no words were to be uttered during the stay. They weren't people anymore, just inmates under the thumb of authority. The mouse's breathing quickened as the leather sheath pulled over his maw and snapped it shut.

Fred's cock strained against his pants as he latched the muzzle tight. So tight the mouse could do nothing but whimper. So tight that he didn't realize his mouth mirrored the clamped nature until he pulled the mouse outside, handing him off to Roxanne.

She spared no second in getting him in line. Thick steel cuffs matching his collar were locked onto his wrists and ankles before attaching to the main chain with a metallic click. All that was left was the chastity. Excitement from inmates was natural but erections weren't allowed during their stay. There was a shared box of ice packs nearby to help soften the new meat. Some didn't appreciate the sudden chill over their privates, but that wasn't anything a firm hold from Fred wouldn't solve.

Once softened, Roxanne would use a healthy dose of lube to pull the inmate's cock and balls through a thick metal ring, then push a hollow tube attached to a cage into their urethra before locking it together. It took him two minutes to lock the cage in place, while Roxanne could finish in thirty seconds. Lastly was the buttplug, which was optional for owners when signing their submissive up. Not everyone enjoyed it up there after all. By the mouse's moan, they were not one of those people.

Fifty new inmates were waiting and only six pairs of guards for the lineup. He and Roxanne rotated every two cells. In his first mont,h he insisted on only working on male prisoners and her women for their comfort, but the hyena made it clear that the experience meant a little discomfort. Besides, if they had a demand for a type it'd be on their clipboard.

Whenever he locked the cuffs in place Fred couldn't help but wonder how they must weigh on others. A gnawing sensation crawled up his spine each time he locked the chains together. He couldn't quite put it into words. No, he knew the right word but didn't want to share it with anyone, especially himself.

“Hey, Fred! Need some backup," Roxanne called from a cell, snapping the wolf out of his thoughts as he locked an ankle cuff down. Inside the cell he found Roxanne standing over a fox with her boot on her head, directing him to lick up small puddles on the floor. Fred held his comment. Because of the strict faculty-only requirements and the waiting period, submissives normally kept in chastity for long to semi-permanent periods found themselves free for a night. Enough of them had the restraint to make the cage unnecessary. The few that didn't, well, Roxanne enjoyed rubbing their nose in it.

“Get a heavy hood will ya? This one's being a bit of a brat."

Hoods were standard after processing. Something about stripping away one's identity by hiding them behind thick leather pushed the right buttons for a lot of people. Before processing they were used as a punitive measure. Plenty of guards didn't like this as it meant they had to help guide a blind inmate forward along the chain gang. More work for them. Fred was not one of those guards. Neither was Roxanne but for different reasons.

Hoods were housed in a supply closet, one of many in the facility. Fred had the fox's clipboard on hand to make sure he found the right size. He grabbed one and, for a moment, just stared at it. The craftsmanship despite being mass-produced, with locking pins and leather straps all over the mask. He pulled a glove off to feel the cool leather against his fingertips, wondering how it must feel pressed against his face.

Roxanne had the fox fully kitted out by Fred's return save for the muzzle and chastity cage. “Was there a line or something?" She asked, hand on the inmate's maw to keep him quiet.

“Yeah," Fred lied, “Lots of problem inmates today. Keep him steady." No matter how willing an inmate was there was a struggle to pull the hood on. The in-built mouth panel gag was the culprit, and the thick dildo slipped down and locked in was the accomplice. Each hood came with blindfold straps to keep them in the dark. Even their ears were covered by leather mitts, thick enough to muffle smaller noises but not conversations. His hands shivered while tightening the laces in the back of the hood. His pants must have been as tight as the hood when he finished.

As with everything, Roxanne had the fox caged quickly despite his gagged fussing. If Fred stopped to think about it she seemed to do better with the struggling. Something about getting a firm grip on the inmate's balls put a smile on her face.

“Hold his head down," she ordered. At least that's how he registered it when Fred complied. Roxanne held the tiny chastity cage key up to the fox's ear and took out a small pair of pliers from her belt.

“You hear that?" Roxanne whispered, snapping the key in two, “That's your last chance of freedom. Gone."

It wasn't. Company policy made it so every lock on an inmate could be opened with the same key. But the prisoner didn't know that, and for a quick second, her performance made Fred forget it. In any case, the fox shuddered and moaned as Fred got him to stand in line, already leaking pre-cum from his tight cage.

“Having fun, Stiff?" Roxanne asked quietly.

Fred didn't dignify her taunt with a glance to his, albeit tight, crotch. “Just get to the next cell. We've got a schedule."

A faculty nurse checked each prisoner before Fred and Roxanne could move on to their next shift. The raccoon took their time, unlatching and relatching each set of cuffs to ensure nothing was too tight or too loose. Their dyed neon pink headfur bobbed as they nodded to let the chain gang move on. The rattle of chains dragged along the floor was evocative. Like music from a chorus, he longed to join.

Processing came next, and unfortunately for Fred and Roxanne, they had to fill at the last second. No one enjoyed the role because of how tedious it was. Prisoners would line up in batches from a chain gang, have their hands cuffed behind them, and be forced to face the wall where they'd be chained to. Then they'd take one from the line and push them through to the mugshot team, which would go through the actual processing procedure like posing for identification photos and assigning a number.

On his first day, Fred asked why they hadn't just formed a line from the chain gang already instead of this extra bondage process. Roxanne explained that it wasn't about efficiency, it was about atmosphere. Prisoners needed to realize that they had no control anymore. Not just with their limbs, urges, and voice, but their time as well. It was like being stuck for an hour in a waiting room for a twenty-minute doctor's visit.

The reason why no one liked working in this section was that it wasted their time too. Inmate processing took at least ten minutes. Ten minutes Fred and Roxanne spent eyeing the backs of prisoners. They had to keep their conversations low so as not to let the prisoners think they weren't being watched.

“Play anything good lately?" she asked, balancing on the back of the chair legs while resting her legs on a nearby desk. It was full of extra restraints and keys. Not hoods though, that was still in the supply closet.

“New hero shooter," Fred didn't take his eye off the prisoners. There were horses, mice, badgers, a hooded fox, a gray would like him, two hyenas, and a doe. A mix of predator and prey, men, women, and whatever in between, all made equal by their bindings and the latex hugging their bodies. His chest tightened, imagining what the sensation must be like.

“It is that one with the super…oh for fucks sake," Roxanne turned to the wall. Fred followed, meeting the gaze of one of the horses glancing back at them. The hyena's voice boomed across the bare room, “Keep your face on the wall!"

The stallion turned around. They looked back a few minutes later, or at least Fred caught them by then. “God these impatient fuckers," she muttered, “Stiff, go get a hood from the supply closet."

Another order. He didn't bother arguing, preferring to swiftly turn around and walk with a slight hunch so his namesake was less noticeable. He kept his head down just to avoid catching the gaze of any other coworker.

It was never this bad. He'd always been caught with an erection on the job, usually by her, but never multiple times so frequently. So why today? What about today made today all the more frustrating? It didn't hit him until the wolf noticed a prisoner being escorted through the back halls. Their body was encased in latex, their arms bound behind them and their legs locked together into a manageable hobble while a guard pushed them forward. The hood hid their entire face, hid their personhood. They'd become a thing, an object.

And he envied it.

There had been more than a few nights he spent looking at the company website with his mouse hovering over the links to apply for a night. Fred held himself back not out of fear of going too far, but of everyone else knowing. None would let him live it down if they caught him in the lineup. They'd make it too personal, too intimate, and torment him long after.

His cock throbbed when he entered the storage closet. His breath shuddered. He reached for a hood in the stallion's size but pulled down one in his. In the moment the wolf held it in his hands like it was something new, something he didn't understand. But he knew it too well and not well enough. He ran a fingertip along the leatherwork, tracing the stitching and the metal sewn in for bindings. He wanted it on his face. He needed it over him.

He needed a clear head.

Fred unzipped his pants. The scent of his arousal seeped forward with his red cock flopping free. He wrapped one hand around the shaft, slowly pumping it with his back against the wall for support and the hood pressed against his face. Just a quick wank and he'd be back out with a clear head. No one needed to know.

Seconds turned to minutes. Fred wasn't a quick shot but he never had trouble getting off when he needed to. Maybe it was the lack of lube, or maybe it was his heart slamming against his ribcage, whatever the case his cock refused to spew the pleasure building inside. He thought about the inmates, the demands, the manhandling, the restraints, and the form-fitting suits. He huffed haggard breaths, aching for release.

The door creaked open. Roxanne's voice slipped through, catching herself from asking what took him so long. He froze, spine ramrod stiff like his cock at the saucer gaze staring back at him.

He was fucked.

A million excuses overloaded his brain. Terror held him in place, leaving his cock standing and twitching instead of back in his pants like any sensible person. Fuck, he muttered mentally, screaming that he was about to lose his job on top of any respect he may have had left.

The door closed. A lock clicked. Roxanne was still in the room, smiling.

“The hood, give it," she commanded, holding out her hand. With hesitation, he handed it over. The hyena checked it once, twice, then a third time to ensure he hadn't done anything unsavory. She didn't say that specifically, but the glance she shot him was loud and clear.

“When I leave, lock the door behind me. When I come back I'll give three quick knocks as the signal for letting me in. Face the corner while you wait." She pointed to the farthest corner. Without nodding he moved toward it. Roxanne caught him pulling his pants up. “No, no. As is. Wait."

As is? Whether that meant to drop his pants or let gravity do the work for him, she didn't say. He locked the door behind her, huddled into the nearest corner, and silently panicked. The questions were more precise now but they were all variances on what would happen next. Or why she hadn't reported him. Maybe she was and this was to make it look worse. No, she didn't need him to lock the door behind her. He wasn't sure why she'd do that unless…unless she didn't want anyone else to see.

The wolf's tail swayed against his will. This couldn't be happening but he couldn't fathom anything else. His cock stayed stiff. Painfully throbbing. He ignored it in favor of waiting.

He wasn't sure if five minutes or an hour had passed when he heard the three quick knocks. Fred's ankles caught around the pants gravity pulled down, leaving him to stumble to the door. For a second he wondered if it was someone else and cracked it open just a smidge. Roxanne pushed it in without resistance, locking it behind her after dropping off a few items on the floor. The metallic clink of cuffs caught his attention as they bounced. His eyes widened at the folded latex suit, freshly printed. The ice pack and chastity cage sealed his suspicions.

“Your shirt, take it off."

He did, along with his boots and anything else he had on until the wolf stood naked before her. Roxanne looked at him with the same kind of energy she brought to inmates, a dismissive 'couldn't care less' sort of attitude to hammer in the basics of their cruelty for each guest. It rippled through his skin like goosebumps except he enjoyed it. She could spit in his mouth and he'd thank her for it.

Fred realized with hindsight that he needed to stop bottling his desires.

“Face the wall." He twisted around and planted two hands against the wall. Her legs kicked out his feet until they were shoulder-length apart. The hyena searched every crevice of his naked form, fur slipping through her fingers with every squeeze and prod. He wasn't carrying contraband, and he knew she knew that. Not that he'd say it. He didn't want the invasive massage to end.

She unsealed the freshly printed latex suit and stretched the neck out. One foot after another he stepped in per her order. With lube, she pulled it over his fur. It compressed against his breathing. Each breath was constrained but not endangering. His new skin, the first of his personal prison.

He thought she skipped protocol when the hood came next. Leather pushed against his scalp. The eye holes were blocked by an inbuilt blindfold pulled in before she tightened the laces. It wasn't until the dildo gag that he realized he was being punished for playing with himself before his handler arrived.

His handler. He still couldn't believe what was happening. Even as the cuffs were latched to his wrists and ankles, then chained together.

The ice pack made him wince. She held him steady with a firm grip around his neck until his erection softened against his will. With lube-lathered hands, she pulled his cock and sack through a cold metal ring, then trapped his burgeoning cock in a cage that kept it small.

Last was the clicks. Not just the sound of his padlock sealing his cock, but the lock on his hood and the final sound of the heavy collar around his neck. Blind, cold, and mute, Fred stood waiting for an outside force to direct him. Waiting for Roxanne's mercy.

Her whisper was a spark, “One day," she said. Chains rattled as she pulled him forward. He heard the door swing open, the chains under his feet scraping along the floor, and the subtle squeaks of rubber made with every movement he made following her. Walking with shackles took time to get used to. Roxanne caught him whenever he tripped.

Soon enough he heard the familiar sounds of the…his fellow prisoners. One guard, Todd if he remembered the voice correctly, spoke up. “Hey, Rox. Who is this?"

“The inmate's owner's card declined earlier. Had to take it into the office to get stuff sorted," She pushed him off. For sweet empty seconds, he was nowhere. Then heavy hands grabbed him and forced him forward. “They requested to stay hooded for their stay. Give me their serial number once you have it. Their owner seems flaky."

“Too many are," Todd laughed, “I swear some think this is a place to abandon their partners as if we trade them. Fantasy freaks."

Todd took extra effort to shove Fred along to his spot in line. He protested on reflex, trying to explain that this was a mistake and Roxanne was lying. But when the chain gang moved, he forgot about it. He had to keep up the tempo. Roxanne would see him in a day. If she didn't flak.

He hoped she might.

***

Roxanne loved her job.

The same could be said for almost everyone on staff. Sure there were complaints about compensation as rent climbed faster than bonuses no matter where one lived. But no one found themselves hating the time spent here. Sure hygiene wasn't anyone's cup of tea but no job was perfect.

Whenever she thought about why she loved it, the answer was simple. Roxanne was a bully. The trouble was that she had this nasty thing called empathy, which made working as a cop or real prison guard as unhealthy. Having clients who wanted to be bullied, who demanded to be tied down, humiliated, and dehumanized, was a dream come true.

But, as with all fantasies, it had its limits. The rush of dopamine from putting a prisoner in their place was still present, but smaller. It had become too impersonal for her. It was supposed to be as the owners keeping their subs in cells wanted them to be treated as objects. There was no special treatment. Yet a small part of her wanted more.

Then Stiff came into her life. The rookie couldn't have been more obvious with his desires if he went out and said it. He spent his first day staring with erotic fascination at everything. Most of her coworkers took it off as first-timer bliss as everyone got aroused by the act at first. Roxanne knew better. She could tell he lied on his resume about his preferences. Or he was lying to himself.

So she kept close in case her hunch was right. Acting as his guide and his friend in the years he worked with her. And while the friendship became real, the underlying motive never truly vanished. Seeing him jack off in the supply closet was the culmination of everything she worked for.

Once he was sealed into the line Roxanne made some calls. She told his neighbor to tell his landlord he'd be on vacation for a week, told her friend in employee resources that he might be using a few vacation days, and pulled enough strings with the camera crew to avoid notice of her when she walked into his cell by the end of the day. They'd pushed him into a leather bondage sleeve hung by two straps to keep the wolf suspended a foot off the ground. The covered ears twitched at the sound of the cell door.

“Hey, Stiff," Roxanne grabbed his sides to pull him close as she whispered, “Enjoying yourself?" He took some time to nod. Isolated prisoners in heavy bondage tended to be slow. “Good," she said, forgetting he couldn't see her smile,

“I called in a few favors," She petted his scalp as his head jerked up, “Ah, ah, don't worry. No one knows who you are. I aim to keep it that way. Meanwhile, Fred will be using his vacation days for the week. I'd use your sick days but, well, I figured this was more fitting. What do you say?"

He tried to speak. She cackled and pushed him, catching him on the return swing, “I can't promise I'll be seeing to your needs every day, but I'll visit when my schedule allows. And when we're done, you owe me. Is that clear?"

At his nod, she smiled. “Good boy." With one final push, she let the bound wolf swing like a pendulum as she made her leave. She couldn't wait to get home and clear out her closet.

Roxanne loved her job.