Steel poles. Rivets. Shackles. Leonardo felt increasingly light headed as he watched Donatello lay out everything needed, but he started breathing heavily when he saw the welding torch. He would have fled the laboratory if he hadn’t already been wearing a steel collar chained to the wall.
“You’re overreacting,” Donatello said mildly, not even looking at him. He picked up one of the poles and threaded a black shaft of rubber into one end. “A one-bar prison isn’t that bad.”
The chain from the collar to the wall was several feet long. Leonardo could have easily stood or come closer to watch Donatello work. Instead he sat in a huddle against the wall, holding the chain in his hands.
“Easy to say when you’re not the one who’ll be in it,” Leonardo muttered.
“Actually, it’ll be in you,” Donatello said.
“Not helping, Donny.”
“I’m not going to use a welding torch on you,” Donatello huffed. “Give me a little credit, huh? I want a willing test subject, not a torture victim.”
Donatello went to a chalked point on the floor right in front of Leonardo, giving his captive a good view as he uncovered a small hole, its sides lined with threading. He positioned the pole and began to turn it several times.
“Tedious,” Donatello said, “but it’s gotta be done. It’s gotta be in there strong enough.”
Leonardo had a hundred questions that he didn’t ask. Donatello tightened the pole as much as he could, tugged at it hard, then leaned on it with all of his strength. It didn’t move.
Donatello next went to work on the second bar, welding three shackles onto it—one in the center, one on each end. He let the metal cool as he put his tools away, letting Leonardo look at it for several minutes to wonder how it worked.
Then the chain on his collar began to retract into the wall.
Startled, Leonardo was forced to stand, coming closer and closer until his collar was pressed against the concrete. Held fast, he couldn’t move as Donatello knelt in front of him, forcing his legs apart, locking his ankles into the shackles on either side of the bar.
“I don’t think I need to worry about you running off now.” Donatello pulled the key from his belt and unlocked the collar, then firmly grasped the edge of Leonardo’s shell. In one smooth motion, he put his other arm under his brother’s knees and lifted, hauling him into the air.
The spreader bar at his feet centered on the rubber, and Leonardo had a terrible moment of realization that he could do nothing about. As he was tilted forward, the standing bar fit neatly through the center shackle, guiding Leonardo down until his toes touched the floor…and the shaft touched at his entrance, pressed insistently… Leonardo still had one arm around his brother and used him for leverage, holding his weight…
Then Donatello eased his grip away and took a step back, allowing Leonardo’s weight to come to rest on the shaft. Leonardo groaned as he began to sink down, inch by inch, holding himself on the balls of his feet. He managed to grab the bottom half of the shaft and the steel pole, but he couldn’t lift himself up, and he couldn’t bring his legs together.
Donatello knelt in front of him, running his fingertips lightly along the back of his leg.
“It’s an ingenious design,” he commented. “You can’t bring yourself up, and your legs are spread out so the dildo presses up into you…very nice view, by the way.”
He flicked the shaft and chuckled when Leonardo stifled a whimper.
“Going to try to keep yourself up?” Donatello asked. “You’ll get tired eventually.”
He stood, taking Leonardo’s hands and holding them, letting Leonardo lean against him, head on his shoulder.
“It’s called a one bar prison,” Donatello said, nuzzling his cheek. “I don’t even have to do anything with your hands.”
He pushed Leonardo back upright, smiling at his wide eyes.
“But I’m going to.”
Groaning, Leonardo tried to grab Donatello’s arm and missed, left straining to keep his balance as his brother retrieved something from the desk. He didn’t understand the jumble of large rings and chains until Donatello had clicked the collar around his neck, then brought each hand up into the bracelets held by sturdy chains. Leonardo was left with his hands cuffed uselessly at his throat.
“Now this is why I like steel,” Donatello said, stepping back to look over his work. “No complicated ropes, no leather you have to fight to buckle. Just a lock and some leverage.”
And with that, Donatello returned to his desk.
Wondering what else Donatello could possibly do, Leonardo’s stomach clenched as he realized that Donatello meant to do nothing else. Leaving Leonardo impaled with only the certainty that he would be speared even further, Donatello focused on his screen, completely absorbed in his work.
Minutes passed. Leonardo began to tremble in earnest as his legs grew more and more exhausted. He winced as he slipped an inch, then another, dragged down the length of rubber that forced itself deeper and deeper, until finally he stood, feet flat, so filled that he didn’t think he could bend at all.
With a muffled whimper, Leonardo managed to rise up on his toes again, relieving the pressure inside him, but he couldn’t hold himself up nearly as long, and soon he was again sinking down.
“You must like riding that pole,” Donatello said, enjoying his discomfort. “I should put a platform under it, add some rotation…I could have a lovely turning display.”
“Don…” Leonardo gasped. “Don, I can’t…please…”
“I did add something to this one, though,” Donatello said. “So you give in a little quicker. Should I show you?”
“Please, take it off,” Leonardo whispered. “I can’t do this. It’s too deep. I can’t…Don, please…”
“Oh, you’re serious.” Donatello sat a little straighter, staring at him with pursed lips. “You’re finally admitting something’s more than you can handle.”
Leonardo lowered his head, breathing heavily.
“That’s really good,” Donatello said, opening a desk drawer, rummaging around, then coming back to him. “We’re making progress.”
He pushed the heavy bit gag between his brother’s teeth, pulling it deep so that it dug into his cheeks, and locked the steel strap behind his head. Leonardo groaned and tried to pull away, pulled up short by the pole inside of him.
“I’ve carefully measured what you can take,” Donatello said. “You could handle another couple of inches if I wanted.”
Leonardo’s weak shake of his head brought an indulgent smile from his brother.
“You have to learn to trust me. We still have more work to do if you’re going to be a good test subject.”
He bent and touched a button at the base of the shaft. The vibration that followed was faint, enough to rouse Leonardo but not nearly to bring him any satisfaction. Donatello stood, tapped on the gag as he considered something.
“I need some things from the junkyard,” he said. “When I come back, you can tell me if you’ll be good.”
To his mounting horror, Leonardo watched him turn and head for the laboratory door. Donatello gave him a cheery smile, then flipped off the light and closed the door. Left in complete darkness, he grew aware of the tiniest light blinking on Donatello’s laptop before it went idle and shut off.
Alone, wishing anyone would come in to save him, Leonardo felt his resolve begin to crumble. This was what he suffered for being an unwilling subject. Obediently following Donatello’s commands had to be better. He tried to convince himself of that as the hours passed.