The streets of Prague are a fertile hunting ground for "The Russian Discipline Institute", a sinister organization that excels at abducting young men for the skin trade. Once under their grasp, the poor captives are broken and trained for a life of sexual slavery. And no one ever escapes. No one except for Jan Janocek. A new series by steve mchalperin!
The Russian Discipline Institute - Introduction & Chapter 1
by steve mchalperin
Series: The Russian Discipline Institute
Introduction:
The country now known as the Czech Republic has had a complicated history. Its capital, Prague, is one of the oldest cities on the Vltava River. Certain sections of the city are being done over for yuppies with condos and coffee shops, as new capitalist monies flow through the old Stalinist systems. Just east of the Most Legii (Legii Bridge), where Narodní Street crosses the Vltava, there are many new and done-over buildings, especially on Narodní Street, the Via Veneto, if you will, of Prague. Farther away from the bridge, however, there is a dark side street, which has not yet been discovered by the invading yuppies. The street is Bartolomejská Street, one of the most feared in all of Prague – at least by members of the older generation. (Yuppies have no cultural memory.) There is a sign at #14 which says “The Russian Discipline Institute.” It’s distinctive because the name over the door is in Cyrillic lettering, not Czech. All the windows are boarded up and the place looks abandoned.
It is not abandoned and it is not an institute in the conventional sense. It is most assuredly a place for discipline, discipline of young males, twenty to thirty years of age, some criminals, some not. And it is Russian, or at least the original staff was Russian, KGB in fact. A few Russians stayed on, needed for their “skills,” but most of the current staff is Czech, trained by the Russians. The KGB used the facilities as an interrogation center during the Soviet heydays. To be “taken to Bartolomejská Street” inspired instant dread. Most who went there never returned, and their bodies were never found. After the Czech Republic spun loose from the old USSR, the equipment, facilities, and staff in the building were found to be very useful in handling young criminal elements, neighborhood toughs who needed reform, as well as hunky males picked off the streets. Along with new capitalist monies came a few very wealthy men who wished to indulge their tastes for said hunky males.
The current head of The Russian Discipline Institute is Milos Kurek. He worked for the KGB in the past, but now is part of the Czech police establishment, although not in the usual departments. He was a high school football coach for a time, which provided some outlet for his, ah, tendencies, but he soon migrated to the police. His particular job started off with an assignment to work with wayward youth in Prague and surrounding towns. His group was to discipline “problem” young men, correct them in their ways (usually by force), and make them into productive citizens.
Although well intentioned, like most government programs, it morphed into something else. This one had degenerated into a torture factory of handsome and muscular young men and specialized in heavy torture, bondage, sensory deprivation, and other assorted festivities. As in the old days, many of the young men cycled through the RDI were never seen again. They became the personal torture slaves of the staff and stayed at the Institute or were moved to private estates throughout Europe. Many were sold at auctions, which used to be done live, but now are broadcast on the internet, providing an excellent cash flow to the RDI. A few of the young men returned to society, but lived lives of prostitution and S&M, since that was their training. Two escaped.
This is their story.
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Chapter 1: "The Snatch"
“Get Me Studs!”
Milos Kurek screamed into the intercom: “Get me studs! We need more studs!”
At the other end was his administrative assistant, Jiri Banchick. He understood the rages of his boss and worked well with him, weathering the frequent storms. He imagined his big, burly boss, sitting behind the large desk with his hairy chest bared to show off his muscles, his head surrounded by a cloud of Cuban cigar smoke. Maybe he was jerking off to a video of a recent torture session. Maybe a slave chained under his desk was servicing him.
“Sir, yes, sir!” he barked back. Jiri was not a slave, although he used slave-talk whenever his boss was in a foul mood. “Sir, we have two patrols out on the streets right now, sir! And the initial report, sir, is they have bagged four prime bucks! Sir!” he added, trying to placate his superior.
“Well, it’s about fucking time!” the intercom spat back. “Let me know when the fuck they get here!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Jiri answered into the small box, although he suspected the connection had already been broken at his boss’s end. Jiri had indeed just heard that Patrol Two had snagged two good-lookers coming out of a bar early that morning, raising their night’s catch to three. Patrol One also had a catch.
The usual procedure was for the patrol vans to cruise the bars and clubs of downtown Prague, especially those frequented by young people, yuppies in fact. Their targets: young men 20 to 30 years old, preferably good looking and muscular, although muscular would suffice. The snatch was simple and quick: working in pairs with ski masks covering their heads, the patrol team sought out couples or single men, whom they chloroformed and dragged into alleys. The men would be stripped to their socks and examined. If they passed muster, they were taken to the vans. If they were overweight or too skinny, they would be left to recover on their own.
The police were confused by the fact that no money or credit cards were ever stolen from those the patrol rejected, and by the fact that the young women were never molested in any way. The rejected men were also quite confused when they woke up from the chloroforming and found themselves lying naked in an alley. There were often very awkward attempts at explanation to their female companions.
If the patrol liked what they saw, they forced the young man awake with smelling salts, and then bagged him with a heavy canvas sack shaped to fit over a man’s head and torso. The lower part was not as tight as a straight jacket, but it had internal sleeves which immobilized the arms within the sack as well as a broad chest strap and high collar. The head part fit tightly and the thick canvas made it difficult to breathe. It also served to frighten the captive.
Like a straight jacket, there was a belt at the bottom of the bag which went around the young man’s lower waist, and two pull straps which were threaded up through his crotch. The belts and straps were pulled in tight, the victim was forced to stand up, and then he was escorted to the van with one of the patrol cops pulling his dick for guidance. They liked to tease the captives erect and then grip the hardons, painfully twisting them from side to side.
The canvas vic sack was brick red, which contrasted with the dark green, tight-fitting outfits of the patrolmen. From the bulges in their arms and chests, it was obvious the patrolmen were muscular hunks. From the bulges in their crotches, it was also obvious the patrolmen were male on male sadists, who quite enjoyed their work.
Once in the van, the captives were forced to sit down on the metal floor. Their necks were secured to the side of the van by way of metal hoops; their ankles were cuffed together and chained to a bolt in the floor. A new victim could hear the muffled yells from the other ones already confined in the van and hear their leg chains rattle as they struggled to escape.
The patrolmen often went up and down the line of captives, stomping on their crotches with their heavy black boots and making them scream. The young men had no idea there would be no escape from their fate. They were now doomed to spend a long time at The Russian Discipline Institute. As uncomfortable as they might be in the vans in the constricting canvas bags, their agonies had not even begun. Whatever career or job they might have had was gone. If they were married, that life was gone. Even if they had children, they would see them no more. They were now destined for slavery, humiliation, brutal sexual assault and pain, unrelenting pain.
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