Thrall of Instinct

"'Here, one size fits all. No footwear for prisoners.'
The clothes were made of thick, rough canvas with dark-blue and white horizontal stripes. The trousers had no zips or buttons, just short, thin cords to hold them on. They had abraded holes in the knees and were torn at the back. The shirt had no opening; it had to be pulled over the head. It was far too big, dirty, stained and reeked of sweat, urine and something else that Luke could not identify. In places, the stripes almost disappeared under a layer of black, shiny dirt. It immediately made him feel utterly degraded.
A massive, five inch wide, heavy leather belt was fastened and padlocked around his waist. It required three straps to be secured. Their buckles were riveted, horizontal plates placed one above the other, with holes in them. A metal bar was passed through them and padlocked. Thick, metal shackles at his wrists were secured to d-rings riveted on either side of the belt with padlocks. His ankles were bound with another set of fetters and chained to the belt at the back. The hand and leg restraints were put over the uniform. Then, came a thick leather collar with two riveted, big d-rings. About three inches wide, it had locking system similar to the belt but with only two straps and buckles. All the restraints were well used, worn, and the sweat-soaked leather stank and felt sticky from the dirt and sweat of previous wearers. A thick 'bowing chain' was padlocked to the ring at the front of the collar, the other end attached to the belt, forcing him to bend slightly into a humble position. To top it all off, a leather harness was placed over the entire head, holding a solid, detachable, steel muzzle that covered his mouth. Its straps were thick and ponged the same as the collar.
'This is so dehumanising and horny,' he thought.
'On your knees,' the guard stood in front of him in a belligerent stance.
'There are no human rights in this prison. The guards are Kings and Gods, with unlimited power and the ultimate authority to decide everything that happens to prisoners. Their orders are usually backed by a blow with a truncheon. This is regular practice, not punishment. They have every right to physically abuse the prisoner at any time and in any manner they wish, either as punishment or for their own entertainment or amusement. Food or drink is given to the prisoner at the whim of the warden. The prisoner is not allowed to speak unless asked a question. Responses must be limited to "Yes Sir" or "No Sir". Any attempt to speak will be severely punished. Your prison number is "4296". You must memorise it. In the presence of any guard, the prisoner must remain on his knees, never looking up, only humbly towards the ground, willingly and eagerly awaiting orders. When asked, he must report: "Sir. Prisoner 4296 reports for use". After the guard has finished, the prisoner should report: "Sir. Prisoner 4296 thanks you for your efforts", unless he fall unconscious'.
He wrote the prison number on Lucas' forehead with a black marker and brought his frightening, masked face close to him. The inmate could only just make out his eyes, hidden behind tinted lenses. The guard drew a rubber truncheon from his belt and struck him across the side. The prisoner moaned and bent over in pain.
'Gentlemen, shall we take 4296 into his quarters?'
'On your feet fuckface!' the shout directly into his face was truly intimidating and backed by another whack with the rubber baton."