This is a long story about a man serving a jail sentence in a new kind of prison that is only run by AI and fembots. The AI has authority inside the jailhouse, and uses it in… specific ways. This first chapter is not erotic, but the second chapter, that I will post very soon is directly erotic. For the main character (“you”) it is a long slide down into submission, through mind control and brainwashing.
Comments and constructive criticism is more than welcome!
# Short term detention facility
**Chapter one: the sentence**
You were wrong to do that. Wrong and stupid. And the worst is, you got caught. It seemed so simple. Everybody was doing it, and was getting the dough. It was like a game, like, some sort of gambling where the gambler always wins. So, why not you? Well, you did it, and you felt the thrill of it, and you even got dough, too. But, not that much. Not enough. And then you got caught. You thought you were doing it carefully, but, well, clearly, you weren’t careful enough, and the IRS guys had no humor.
You had this horribly long and embarrassing trial. Your lawyer was a good… no, an excellent lawyer, he really found ways to make you look innocent. The IRS lawyers were enraging at how good your guy was. But, it didn’t turn out that good for you. The IRS guys really did a good job. You had to admit it: your taxpayer money was quite efficiently at work. The only downside was; your taxpayer money was working against you. They had all the proofs. A combination of bank account data, cell phone, footage from surveillance cameras, and all so well coordinated. The jury saw you doing it, each detail of it, and how money that was not yours went under your control. So, good attorney or not, you did not stand a chance, and in the end, you were condemned.
Of course, the penalty itself was but the icing on the cake. A cake made of divorce, bankruptcy, estranged friends and a lost job. Also, it was not, like you’d hurt anybody. It was just money transferred from an account into another. But nevertheless, three months in jail were three months too much. Being caged in these filthy cells, being at the mercy of uniformed strangers for simple things like a tissue or receiving a phone call, even if it was only for three months, felt like a truly horrible perspective. You tried to obtain an alternative for your prison penalty, community service work and stuff, but you remember the face of the judge when he said “no. The sentence isn’t long, but you’ll have to sleep in jail for what you did. It is a question of principle.” You were intelligent enough not to answer but at that moment your thoughts were a federal offense. Once again, your lawyer was quite a good help. He was the last person you really could put trust in, although that sought itself was depressing. Anyway. At least, you did not receive a detention warrant, and he found something for you. An alternative. A lesser evil. A more comfortable way to spend these horrible ninety days.
That lesser evil was called a “short term detention facility”. It was a prison, in that you entered it and could not go out before your due time, but in any other aspects, it was much, much better than a prison. There were promises of comfort, with the cell looking “basically like a bedroom in a hotel”, nice meals, and in between a range of activity that made it almost look like some resort on a tropical island. A gymnasium, a theater, a large library… It really was appealing. There was a downside of course: The place was “unmanned”. What it meant was, there was no warden. You had to make your lawyer repeat:
“– No wardens? But, how don’t I just run away from the place?
– Well you know, if you run from the place, you’ll go straight to the other one, the real one, and not for three months. The place is… it is automated, apparently, under the control of some AI. I have some client who went there, and their comments are stellar.
– I don’t understand. It is supposed to be a prison; why does it only exist to begin with? How is that paid with taxpayer money?
– It is cheaper than a real prison. No staff, no cost, you see. And also, apparently, it is run… there is a discipline in there. It truly is much more comfortable than standards prisons, but, well it’s a prison. But, you know, telling this to you, I’ve lost a client. People who go there, they go out, and I don’t see them anymore. I mean, they don’t need my expertise anymore, if you see what I mean.”
Oh yes, it was clear what he meant. Normal prison means bad acquaintances, like, real criminals. It means what you do to earn a living once outside brings you back in it. There is that too. Anyway. Cool clean linen, and a new start in life: you could only sign in. You’ll see about discipline. So you signed all the paperwork. The disgusted faces of the cops in front of you made you even more sure you made the right choice. They did own you quite deeply, destroying your life, your work, your family, but at least you owned them on this one. And yes, it was unjust, but, at least, *you won*.
So now, the dices were tossed… You had two days left, you were due a certain Monday evening at that facility. You had nothing to do, but pack some clothing in a suitcase and go there. There was an address, in the suburbs, and the taxi fare was quite salty. You tried to not think that nobody wanted to accompany you there, that some people were OK so see you and say good bye, but not to actually sacrifice some time for you. It will only be three months, but what will come after, once it’s done? You didn’t want to think about it, and you braced yourself as you walked toward the building, that looked a lot like a normal prison. At the entrance, a grumpy, white mustached warden welcomed you, if you can call that a welcome, but suddenly had a smirk when looking at the paperwork.
“– Oh, you will not stay here. Mister lucky boy here goes to the fancy place. OK, show me your wrists”
And before you could say anything you were unceremoniously cuffed, wrists and ankles, and roughly handled to other uniformed, anonymous, unhappy, and probably brutal people. All of them, and the neglected, smelly rooms you were brought to just gave you a hint, a tiny hint of what spending three months in a real jail could be like. You forced yourself to shut up, obey, and look unremarkable as they manhandled you, not unlike the way luggage is treated in airports behind the registration’s conveyor belt. And all that misery ended up on a sticky bench, in some prisoner transport van bringing you to the unknown place you were supposed to spend your next three months.
During the driving time, out of boredom, you started to look at those handcuffs you were wearing. They were not like the usual cop handcuffs, but much broader, the shiny metal enveloping your lower arm and wrist in a not-so-unpleasant manner. Of course you’d feel much better without them, but they clearly were nicely thought, nicely made items, designed to restrain people without harming them.
“– Yeah, even the cuffs down there are fancy, Mr Smart. But don’t mess up. If we see you back with us, there won’t be a welcoming party.”
At last, the driving sounds in the van indicated that the journey was ending. The back door was opened, and before you realized, you were handed down the van, and handled toward that strange, milky white building. It was not very tall, perhaps three, four stories. There were no windows, nothing but stark, smooth and freshly painted concrete, in a mate white color. The small parking lot was nested in a nook of the building, the wall surrounding it in an organic curve of whiteness. Because of that, you couldn’t decipher its size or shape, the outline that flat structure had on the landscape. You couldn’t even see from the outside if what you were looking at was a building or the wall surrounding it. As the warden started to push you along in that small parking lot, you started to feel like what you were entering was designed to appease you. There was no sign of concertina wire, bars or wire mesh. On the other hand, the white curve around you made you feel like you already were inside the prison, caught in the folds and recesses of this undulating wall. The only feature of that milky white ribbon surrounding you was an automatic door, with an “entrance” sign above it, stating the obvious. You were led to that door, stood in front of it, and it opened, letting you see what looked much more like a hotel lobby than a prison entrance.
“– OK, Mr Smart. My jurisdiction stops here and this place gives me the creeps. So you can listen and comply, and I can leave the hell out of here. Or you can run or do something stupid, and make my day. Walk straight, enter that fucking door and keep going until it closes behind you. What happens after, I don’t care.”
You complied. Whatever waited for you would be better than a bullet to the head and some legalese protecting the shooter from any consequences. Awkwardly you took your suitcase in your restrained hands and with your head held high you walked straight through the door. As soon as you went inside, the handcuffs separated from each other, becoming not more than some sort of weird high tech jewelry. But you almost didn’t notice it, nor the door gently sliding shut, taken aback by what was in front of you.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/f8xuzw/short_term_detention_facility_i_the_sentence_fdom