
SHOE SHINE, BOY!


By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories


I had it all - well, nearly all.  All my life I'd worked, really worked, to get to the top of the heap. Straight 'A' student, class president, good college, the right degree, on the football team... Then I made sure I was picked by a Wall Street blue chip.  I worked my connections, kept my eyes open, and saw what you needed to do to get to the top.  I transferred into the part of the business where all the action was, and carried on rising. Sure, I didn't have too many real friends, and there were quite a lot who hated my guts (not that they'd dared to say so).

It all started to come right, and the money followed - the bonuses were telephone numbers, and I bought the loft in SoHo and the Porsche.  I had a lot of women, of course, but when the firm told me that it liked their fast-track executive material to have a "stable home life", I picked the most eligible and lived with her for a couple of years.  When the CEO's daughter joined the firm, though, I ditched my lover and made a play to get inside her panties instead - and it was almost working.  She hadn't moved in with me (yet!), but I'd been out to the family estate in Westchester for a weekend, and got on well with her family: one of her brothers even asked me for a drive in my Porsche.

In spite of the insane hours I worked  I'd never let myself go physically as I knew that only guys who looked fit and healthy got to the very top - the firm had enough talent to choose from, and it didn't just use work performance when moving you along that fast track.  I sweated hours away in the gym, skied, swam, and tried to fit in a run every day.  Even though I say it myself, at 32 I was in great shape.

I was in line for my next promotion - to Senior VP - when it all fell apart.  The Securities Commission started to look closely at the firm, and, all of a sudden, I seemed to be the only one in the wrong!  Sure, I'd done a lot of slightly questionable deals - we all do, don't we, if we're ambitious and are clawing our way up? Everyone else is doing so, so you need to if you're going to keep turning in the results.  But it was absolutely ridiculous to suggest that I alone was responsible for the 100 billion dollar "difficulties" they uncovered in the firm's books.  Even as a VP I was still too junior to do deals that big!

Somehow, though, it was me that went on trial.  It went on for weeks and weeks - tens of lawyers, mountains of documents, computers to keep track of it all.  The firm mounted a "vigorous defence", as it was called, and had some of the highest paid lawyers in town.  They even paid for a counsel to represent me individually.  I kept asking this guy why it was me - if there were these problems, it couldn't be only me involved.  He made a lot of noncommittal replies, but told me everything would be OK as they rarely could reach a judgement on cases like this - the mountains of evidence were just too great and, he said, "we'll bury the prosecution in paper."

But it all did go wrong.  As I sat there, day after day, I kept getting questioned about the contents of phone calls made years ago (who the hell can remember what they said on the phone even last week?), and whether signatures on documents were really mine (they looked like it, but I scrawled my name across all sorts of shit that came across my desk, and I trusted my people to make sure everything was OK).  It was apparent to me that I was being set up, and I told my lawyer that we should dissociate from the firms' main defence.  He said "no", and so I threatened to dismiss him - it seemed to me I needed truly independent help.

That night I was alone in my apartment when the bell rang.  To my amazement, the CEO was in the hall and I at once buzzed him in.

He came straight to the point.  "Fifty million dollars, Steve."

"I'm sorry, sir?  What fifty million dollars?"

"That's what we'll pay you the day you get out from prison.  It will only be a few years - ten at most. You couldn't save that much in that time.  You'll still only be in your late thirties if you're lucky, and you can live the rest of your life in luxury."

"I don't get it...."

"They're getting too close.  We don't like your attitude - threatening to change your defence counsel.  So we're prepared to pay you fifty million to keep your head down and take all the heat."

"Sorry, sir, no way!  I'm not going to jail, not even for one year!  I like the life I've got, and I'm not guilty..."

"You have no life any more, Steve.  We'll fire you, irrespective of the outcome of the case.  And no other firm will take you on, with the reputation you'll have, win or lose.  And you're broke - all your savings, this apartment, everything, will all go to pay the lawyers."

"No, realistically, for you the only options are a term in prison and fifty million, or pushing hamburgers in McDonalds!"

"No!  I work hard, I...."

"You really are an idiot, Steve.  Like a lot of guys like you we take on, you think you understand the way the firm works, but you fail to see the big picture.  We, the real power, keep it to ourselves.  We employ the bright, money-grubbing, hard workers like you.  We let you think you can get on, think you can make the running, and we let you work yourselves to death with  trying.  Sure, you'd make senior VP, but you'll never make it to where the real power is, on the Board.  That's reserved for the old money, my sons and family.  We all laughed after you'd come to stay with us that weekend - the way you tried to ingratiate yourself with the family, and boasted about your Porsche!  Just toys - that's all you've got - the real powers don't need things like that - I don't even know what sort of car mine is.  And you upstarts, you're just toys to us - to be used, then discarded.  We keep a number of you on, letting you fight your way up, as you can be put to some good use at times like this."

I was astounded.  I couldn't say anything.  He went on "So, I need your decision - a guilty plea with fifty million to come, or a real fight from our lawyers."

"Fuck you!  I'll show you!  I'm not guilty, I can't be found guilty as I didn't do anything.  I'll get independent counsel tomorrow, and then we'll see.  And if you do try to fire me, I'll sue for wrongful dismissal - with my earnings record, I'll probably get more than fifty million anyway!"

He just looked at me, and I was so cross now that I couldn't contain myself.  "And, what's more, your daughter's a dreadful fuck!  I've had more fun in bed with my secretary that I ever had from her!"

I thought he was going to lose his temper, but instead he just shrugged, turned, and walked out.  The whole thing hadn't taken more than a few minutes.

I couldn't sleep that night - I went over and over my career, and the way others got on, and I began to realise what he said was true.  All the bright "fast track" guys like me worked our balls off to get promoted - but I couldn't think of one person on the board who'd worked his way up!  Surely it couldn't all be a con?


The following morning I dismissed the counsel I'd had, and tried to get the judge to stay the case whilst I appointed another, and got him up to speed.  He refused!  He made some comments about my case being inextricably linked with that of my employer, and he'd received a motion only that morning from my employer's counsel demanding that they be allowed to continue to represent me.

The next day, the case collapsed - or, rather, it went catastrophically against me when some "startling new evidence" was discovered in the Company's archive.  My lawyer - their lawyer, that is, entered a bargain with the government's lawyers to settle.  He said I'd changed my mind and was pleading guilty in the light of all this new material.  

It was all rubbish, of course - I tried to tell them that I hadn't plead out, but they wouldn't listen.  I was remanded in custody, for later sentencing.

It's true - they do strip you, and search all your body cavities when you're taken to prison. I had a latex-gloved finger poking up my hole not more than an hour after I was taken out of the court.  I saw a lot of guys looking at me in the showers and I remembered all those films I'd seen about life in prison - were they sizing me up to fuck, or be used as some big black buck's "bitch boy"?

The first time they came for me in the showers I had no problem fighting them off - I'm tough, fit and strong as I've told you.  But my cell mate told me I might as well give in, as next time there would be at least six of them, and they'd hold me down and rape me in turn.

I was thinking of this when the guards came to get me, as I had a visitor.  

It was the CEO again, and he sat on the other side of the glass window, holding the telephone, just as if he was in his office.

"So, Steve.  Ready to  co-operate now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let it go.  Take the sentence.  And there'll be ten million when you get out.  Make a fuss at the sentencing hearing, and there'll be nothing."

"You fuck - you said it was fifty million."

"That was before we had to play rough. That was before we had to 'find' more documents.  Due to your stupidity, we'll probably get a fine, too - not huge, but damaging to our reputation.  Now, ten million, or bust?"

"Fuck you!", I snapped, and walked away from the window, leaving him sitting there looking as if he'd just dealt with something unpleasant.

They didn't get to rape me - the government lawyers came to see me, and kept me for questioning most of the rest of that day.  They wanted more information, now that I'd been found guilty.  Their view was that they'd go lenient on me if I gave them the real dirt on the firm!  They just didn't believe me when I said I really had nothing to give, that I was just being used. Their lead counsel ended the meeting really pissed off, and he told me that I'd see just how unpleasant things could become as I'd decided not to co-operate.

The next day I was back in court - I'd been allowed to change back from the orange coveralls that were standard prison garb, into my suit.  

The judge asked me if I wanted to say anything before sentencing, and I went into a prepared speech about my innocence, how I was being used by the firm, how it was their top management who should be on trial, not me.....

Counsel then got to have their say, and "my" guy didn't even put in a plea in mitigation - rather, he pointed out to the judge how good the firm was to be paying for my defence when I was trying to besmirch their name.  Then the government chief counsel got to his feet.

"This prisoner is unrepentant and unhelpful.  There  is more to this case than we have been able to uncover, and he refuses assistance.  There is no custodial sentence your honour can impose that can ever adequately compensate for the loss of hundreds of billions of dollars.  One 'rotten apple' in a highly respected institution can turn the whole organisation topsy-turvy, and this man deserves the severest punishment the law can mete out.  More than that, he needs to be made to serve as an example to the rest of the community - all those hardworking men out their in our great financial institutions need to be sent a clear message, a message that says 'think again' if you're ever tempted to be dishonest.  I respectfully suggest that your honour makes use of the newly-passed 'public displays of offenders' act to make sure that this man serves as a reminder to others in this city of the consequences of financial impropriety."

"What's the 'public displays of offenders act'? I hissed at my lawyer.  He leaned towards me and said "A little used provision introduced a year or so ago whereby an offender can be made to appear in a public place,  near to the scene of the crime, and made to serve as a salutary warning to others."

Well, that didn't seem too bad!

The judge now addressed me.  "Prisoner, you have been guilty of the most brazen fraud.  You have abused the trust of your employers, and of the public.  You are unrepentant. I have no hesitation in passing the most severe sentence on you."

"I am mindful of the government's arguments that there's no term in prison that can adequately recompense for the scale of the losses suffered as a result of your actions.  I agree with them that there's a need to send a strong message to others in your position not to abuse the trust society places in them.  I will therefore order you to appear in a public place - which I stipulate shall be the shopping mall under this building - for a term of ten years, to perform a menial and degrading punishment."

He stopped, and said "Approach", gesturing to the government lawyers to come forward.  They held a whispered conversation, and he had his hand over the microphone so we could not hear.  It was soon over, and he started again.

"To save the public expense, as this location is not properly equipped as a prison, I order that you should be securely chained whilst working to avoid the need for constant guards. And you will pursue the occupation of shoe-shine 'boy' - cleaning the shoes of those men who were your co-workers.  Under the terms of the act I also order that you should be marked to show your occupation, and that you are doing this as a punishment."

"Dismissed!"

The bailiff shouted "All rise", and the judge swept out.  The guards came to take me away, but first the government lawyer came over and said "You'll wish you co-operated now.  We, the prosecution, determine exactly how the sentence is to be implemented, and, believe me, we're going to use your intransigence as a strong reason for making it as humiliating as possible."

I was driven back to the prison, but went off to a different part when we arrived.  I was stripped - I'd expected that - but then they came to cut my hair.  I didn't think they were allowed to do that, and shouted as the clippers went through my hair, leaving a quarter inch stubble behind.  

One of the guards said "That's only the start - we've had special orders form the government about you.  There are VERY wide powers to deal with guys sentenced to public humiliation.  Now, quit whining, and lie on that table.

I was still naked, and acutely conscious of my body and of having these guards look at me - don't get me wrong, I'm used to being naked with other men, as I've told you I went to the gym frequently.  But not to being naked when all the other guys are clothed!

As I lay there he ran the clippers over my chest, sweeping away the light-brown thatch I have there.

"Hey...", I started to protest.  But they just laughed, and the next minute it got even worse - they used the clippers to trim all my pubes, and to strip the hair off my balls and from the base of my cock.  It was even worse when I was told to turn over, two of them held my ass apart, and the clippers ran down my crack!

They allowed me to get up, and I saw my reflection in a mirror in the room - I looked totally different.  Gone was the handsome, confident 'winner' with well groomed hair: what I saw now was a shorn creature - almost bald skull, nipples sticking out of a bare chest, and a dick looking almost comical as it poked out from a tiny patch of close-cropped pubic hair.  Actually, I'm very well hung, and I suppose that, if I'm honest, the loss of most of my pubic hair made me look even bigger!  
 
I was told to go and sit against the wall, to wait for the next treatment, and sat down with my back against the cool plaster and my naked ass on the concrete floor.  I felt so different as I sat there, and pulled my knees up towards me for comfort - but then I knew that the guards were looking at my balls and my dick, hanging down from between my thighs.

I sat there for hours - well, it seemed like that - they'd taken my watch away, of course.

The door opened and two men came in and dumped a sack down on the floor - it made a kind of metallic rattle as it landed.  They carried a tool box, and looked just like maintenance workers in their one-piece uniforms.

"He's there", the guards said, pointing at me.  

"On your feet, bud", one of the workmen said, and I scrambled to get up, aware that they were looking closely at my nude form.

They fished around in the sack, and got out heavy pieces of chain.  One was put around my left wrist, and a spare, open link inserted to hold the whole thing closed.  They shifted the heavy chain experimentally around my wrist "Not too tight- don't restrict the blood.... But not to lose, so he can slide it off."

When they were satisfied, they got a giant pair of things that looked like bolt cutters and applied them to the open link.  Both of them pushed on the handles, and closed the link up so that the chain was permanently fixed around my wrist.  

"This toughened steel is a bastard to work with", they told the guards.  "Do you see how fucking hard we have to push to make it for a closed circle?  There's no chance of him getting that off without a major piece of workshop effort."

"OK, bud, now the other wrist", they told me, and the process was repeated so that I now had a chain around each wrist.  

I had to lie on the table whilst they fitted chains around my ankles, but stood up again for the last one - a much longer one, that they draped around my waist and spent sometime sliding it up and down to get "the right fit".

"Good job he's got a bubble butt", they said. "See how it lies on his ass at the back, and there's no way he can slip out of it?  We had to do one of those twink types last week and it was really hard - he could slide his little bum through it unless it was so tight that it rode right up and obscured his navel!"

The steel links felt cold on my bare flesh, and the considerable additional weight at my ankles and wrists fell really odd.

"OK, almost done.  Sit on the edge of the table!"  I backed up to the table, put my hands on the edge, and lifted myself up and back so my legs were dangling in the air.

"Right, bud.  Grab that table tight.  This is going to hurt!"  As they spoke, the men were fitting some sort of attachment onto the end of the bolt cutter things, and came towards me with it.
They nodded at the guards, and one of them came and knelt on the table behind me.  He put an arm around my throat, and pulled me back into this body so that I couldn't move.

The narrow, pincer-like things at the end of the bolt cutters went up into my nose, and the workmen suddenly squeezed the long handles together.  I screamed!  And I went on moaning, as the guard let me go.  Something warm fell onto my naked thigh, and I looked down and saw blood - streams of it were pouring out from my nose and dropping on to me.  

The workmen came back towards me, and before I could react, a large ring - about an inch and a half in diameter - was pushed trough the hole they'd punched in my septum, and the bolt cutter things were used to squeeze its open ends shut.  I couldn't believe it - I could feel this big, heavy piece of steel flopping on my upper lip. And the pain from my nose was unstoppable.

The workmen were laughing, and told the guards "They're all like this.  We've done several now... They' can't believe they can be given a snout ring like this.  We were curious at first, but we've seen how easy it is to control a man ringed like this - just hook something through the ring and drag min along, and he'll follow you anywhere!"

I was told to go and sit by the wall again, and I sat there in absolute misery, trying to staunch the flow of blood from my battered nose, and fingering the ring hanging down from it. I'd never dreamed it could be like this - if they could punch a hole in my body and ring me like this, what else were they able to do?  The frightening thing was no longer being in control of my own body - they'd shorn me, fitted the chains, and ringed me, and there wasn't a blind thing I could do to stop them.

The tattooist who ultimately came took a couple of hours - hours of discomfort verging on pain - working on my back whilst I lay naked on the table.  Then he started up again, and worked for a bit on my left ass.

They told me to roll over then, and the tattooist spent about as long again doing something right across my chest, stretching from above one nipple to the other.

The guards let me look at myself in the mirror again then.  Right across my shoulders, in huge letters, it said "Shoe Shine Boy".  My ass had a neat circle on it, with the letters "US Government" running around the edge, rather like the government seals you see all over the place.  And across my chest the legend "criminal being punished" was emblazoned.  

They led me off to a cell then - a bare cell, just bars, a crapper in the corner, and a bunk without blankets.  I was allowed to sleep, although I tossed and turned all night as I just wasn't used to sleeping without anything at all on top of me.  Oh, and, of course, my nose still hurt like hell and the new tattoos kept sending little twinges of pain through me.

I was sitting there the next morning with my arms wrapped around my sides, trying to get a bit warm, when a young guy - about 26 - in a guard's uniform came up.

"Steve, isn't it?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Listen, fella, you call me 'Sir'.  I'll punish you if you don't OK/  Now, again, Steve, isn't it?"

I just shrugged.  He unclipped  a little stick thing off his belt and poked it through the cell bars at me.  As it touched my skin, I screamed, and almost vomited as a blinding shock went through me.

"Modified cattle prod", he told me when I had regained some composure. "Very handy for herding naked prisoners. Now, let's try again.  Steve, isn't it?"

"Yes... Sir."

"Good.  Well, Steve, let me tell you about your new life.  I'm officer Farrell, or 'Sir' to you, and every day I'll come here, make sure you've crapped, see you shower, give you your morning's chow, then lead you off to your work place.  I'll collect you every evening, and bring you back here, and give you your evening chow.  Now that's simple, isn't it?"

"Yes, but..."

He poked the prod towards me again.  "Shut the fuck up!  I gave you a simple explanation, and that's all you need.  You only speak when you're spoken to.  Now, on the crapper!"

"But I don't want to..."

"Shut the fuck up!  That's your last warning!  If I say 'on the crapper', that's what you do, understand?  You've got a long day ahead of you and no chance to crap, so do it now, or hold it in until tonight.  Now.. Do it!"

Under the young guy's stare I went and sat on the steel crapper.  It was awful - no one likes to crap in front of another, after all.  Even when I'd been living with women, I'd always shut the bathroom door.  Showering and bathing, that's different.  And even pissing sometimes.  But crapping!  I strained and strained, and I suppose I must have been ready as, much to my embarrassment, I did drop a turd.

Officer Farrell saw me finish, and told me to stand in the middle of the cell.  He turned a control on the wall, and water deluged out of the ceiling.

"Shower!  Get really clean -  we don't want the public complaining!" 

I wasn't given anything to dry myself, so planed mot of the water off my body, and then stood there, shivering slightly.  Officer Farrell pushed a steel bowl into the cell, with what looked like dog chow in it.

"This is standard prisoner rations.  Eat as much as you like.  That's all you get from now on.  It will keep you amazingly health - perfect balance of protein and carbohydrates, and packed with all the vitamins and minerals you need."

I chewed on some, as my stomach had been rumbling.  It was neither sweet nor sour, and just had a fait musky taste.  I didn't eat much!

"Right.  Come and stand by the bars, with your hands behind your back."

He was still holding his prod loosely in one hand, so I did as he said.

There were  a couple of little snicks, and then he moved and unlocked the cell door.  I realised that those little noises were the sound of some type of clip locking the chains around my wrists to the one around my waist.

As I watched, he hung this prod back on the leather belt around his uniform waist, and unclipped a longer, steel shaft.  This had a shaped handle on one end, and a kind of hook on the other.  Approaching me, he pushed the hook onto my nose ring and fiddled a bit so that there was a "snick" noise that seemed to indicate it was fastened.  He picked up the end with the handle on it, and tugged gently.... I realised I had no choice but to follow where I was being led, as any resistance meant that my nose really hurt.

"Right, Steve.  This is your leash.  I use this to take you to and from your workplace.  As you'll have noticed, any  resistance and it hurts!  You obviously can't escape, and you have to follow me,  but if I'm displeased with your behaviour, I only have to twist my wrist and you'll wish you no longer had a nose!"

"One more thing before we go", he went on.  

A couple of steel hoops were unclipped from his belt, and he approached me again.

"Kneel down, then stay still - unless you want me to get my prod out.  This is tricky the first time. But you'll soon get used to it."

I knelt in front of him, my eyes looking directly at his bulging crotch.   There was that faint odour of dried piss a lot of guys have on their pants.

He rested the end of the "leash" on my shoulder for a moment, then fiddled, getting the steel hoop around my head.  Something went into my mouth, there was a bit of tugging, and a couple of little snap sounds.

"OK, Steve?"

I went to say "Yes, sir", but all that came out were muffled grunts.

"Good.  This is your gag.  The government doesn't want you speaking to the public in case you try to stir up sympathy for yourself.  The metal plate in your mouth pushes your tongue down, and the hoop around your head holds it firmly in place.  I'll undo the catch at the back with the special tool when you're back here tonight - in the meantime, you can drink, but can't eat - that's why you chow in the morning, and at night, only."

"Now, we're ready to go."

He licked up my "leash" and tugged at it so I got to my feet, and started to follow him.  I wanted to ask about clothes, but I could only mumble.  Then I thought about my tattoos - was I to be kept bare on top, so that people could read them?  If so, what was the point of the tattoo on my arse as well.... Oh, no..... Surely I wasn't going to be kept totally naked?

As we went along a corridor then up a couple of flights of bare concrete stairs I began to realise that this is what was intended - I was going to be paraded naked like this!  Officer Farrell pushed open a door, and we were in a shopping mall!  It must have been early in the morning as there were only a few people around, but even they all stopped to stare at me as I was led, chained, tattooed and start naked, pulled along by Officer Farrell and his leash.

We got to the centre of the mall, and there was a little shoe-shine stand - you know the kind of things - a couple of raised chairs, with a platform along the front so that the shoes are about a foot or so off the ground.  They were against the wall, and to the side of them there was a little tap about three feet off the ground, and a length of chain coming from a hasp in the wall.

"On your knees, Steve", he snapped at me, and pulled downwards with the leash.

He brought the end of the wall chain and fastened it to my nose ring, then released his "leash".

"No do-gooder can get this off", he said conversationally.  "It's needs a special tool to release it, and only I have that.  Now... Let's finish you off...."

As I knelt there, he bobbed down and knelt beside me.  There was a slight rattling noise, and a few more snicks, then he stood up, saying "There... All done."

I realised my arms were free, and stretched them out, glad I was no longer confined.  But when I went to stand up, I couldn't."

"OK, Steve, here's the picture.  Your ankles are chained to your waist by short chains, so you have to stay kneeling.  That's good, as you need to be down there to shine shoes!  Even if you try to crawl away, there's a limit of ten feet imposed by that chain to your snout ring.  You can drink from that tap there.  Underneath it is a drain, so you can piss if you need to.  You're not allowed to crap, as I said earlier.  But, if you're really desperate, there's a big red button under the seats - press that, and someone will get here in seconds.  It's intended for emergencies, in case any stupid kids try to kick the shit out of you, for example. But if you really have to crap, you can call help - although I warn you you'll then get several tastes of our prod, too!"

"There's a slot between the seats, and as you'll see from the notice, the customers are expected to drop two dollars in for a shine.  You can't make them, of course, and the government isn't really after the revenue - it wants you on public display like this, naked and humiliated, to deter others!  There's a complaints slot, too - make sure you're really careful not to get any polish onto guys' socks or slacks, as any complaints result in punishment with the prod.  Now, have I forgotten anything.... No.... It's seven thirty now, and I'll be back at seven thirty tonight.  Fucking long day I have to work, looking after you animals!"

And that's it, really.  That first day was sheer hell!  There were big crowds, who came to stare at my nakedness.  I had endless customers, and my arms ached from the polishing.  Even worse was the incessant pain in my knees and legs, from having to kneel all the time on the hard marble floor - I learned later that I was deliberately not given a kneeling pad, as they wanted to make sure I kept moving constantly to try to ease the ache:  it made my body "more interesting" to look at.

When Officer Farrell came for me that evening I was absolutely exhausted.  Fortunately once the city crowd went home the pace of work had slackened, and I'd been able to kind of half sit on the ground for a bit.  I don't know if it was the men or the women who were the worst for staring at my dick - but after the first hour or so, I didn't care.  Of course I'd had to piss - it was warm in the mall, and I sweateda lot working away, so I needed to drink. And once you've drunk, a n hour or so later, you need to piss.  I hated having to shuffle toward the wall, then kneel in front of the drain and piss, knowing that there was little crowd standing behind me, watching - you know how the muscle in your ass contract when you're squeezing the last drops of piss out: that was the worse time, knowing they were seining me doing all these little intimacies.

I could barely stand up, when Officer Farrell released the chains holding my ankles to my waist, and he had to help me to my feet (my wrists were once again attached behind, so I couldn't use my hands to help myself).  On the way back to my cell we stopped in a room where there was a treadmill - you know the sort of thing, in use in all good gyms.  He told me to get on the rubber band, then attached my snout ring to a chain on the front.

"Just five miles, Steve", he told me cheerfully.  "The government doesn't want those leg muscles of yours to atrophy.  We need to keep you in good shape in case some do-gooding organisation complains about inhumane treatment of prisoners.  Be sure not to fall behind, or trip - beware of your nose!"

It's one thing to exercise in a gym, where yo can set your own pace, and, actually ,being a pretty "driven" guy I used to run fairly fast.  But it's different again when you have absolutely no choice - I just had to stand there and race and race, at the pace he had chosen.

I was really glad when he came back and switched the machine off - the sweat was pouring off me, my heart was pounding, and my chest heaving.  I staggered back to my cell, and knelt to have my "gag:" removed, and was immediately given another bowl of "chow".  I hadn't eaten much of it that morning, but now I wolfed it down!

I thought Officer Farrell would go off duty then, but there was one more thing - he told me to lie on my back on the bunk, then the chains on my ankles and wrists were used to hold me there, spread-eagled on my back.  

"Sweet dreams, Steve", he said, and went out, turning off the light and leaving me in pitch darkness.  

I suppose I slept - yes, I must have, because when the lights went on again it was a real shock.  But all through the night I'd wanted to move around, couldn't, and so had woken up and then fallen back to sleep.  Even worse was the insistent messages from my cock - I was rock hard, achingly so, and really wanted, no, needed,  to jerk off - I hadn't been able to do so for over 24 hours, and usually I'm a twice a day man.   

Officer Farrell looked down at me, and my erection.  "Oh, yes, Steve - that's another part of the punishment, and the humiliation.  The government doesn't allow you any self-relief.  So you'll have those erections every night, and, worse, they'll happen all day, too:  how do you like the thought of all those men and women seeing you sport a hard like that?"

"But", he went on, "Be careful that you only spontaneously ejaculate here in your cell at night.  If you do that out in the mall, and anyone complains about your disgusting animal behaviour, I'll punish you with the prod." 

I've been here for a year now.  Every days is the same.  EVERY day - the mall is open seven days a week, and I'm on display for twelve hours on all of them.  I'm sick of shoes, I'm sick of the smell of polish.  I'm sick of guys from my old firm coming and laughing at me as they see me naked.  I particularly hate the guys who slip a shoe off as I'm cleaning their other one, and use their socked feet to caress my balls - there's even a competition running, I know, to see who can make me cum that way - they see my erection, and the pre-cum running out, and they try to make it worse by stimulating me.  

Of course I'm still in great shape - the balanced diet, the hard work, the running every day, all see to that.   And I suppose I'm not stressed at all - that's really making my life longer.  But I can't stand the boredom... I can't speak to the clients.  Officer Farrell "prods" me if I don't just answer is questions.  There's no TV, I'm not given any books.  I'm not even allowed a little sexual pleasure - my cock aches constantly from being erect, but I'm never allowed to do anything about it:  chained up at night, and with Officer Farrell watching me as I shower to make sure I only soap it, not jerk off.  I have "wet dreams" all the time, just like when I was a kid before I discovered jerking off - but that's not any pleasure, is it?
 
I've just been turned into a human machine, a shoe polishing machine.  I don't know what will happen to me in nine years time, when I'm released from this - no money, nothing.  As I said, I thought I almost had it all.....

Of course I do hear bits of news - guys read the newspapers as I polish away, and I try to read the stories.  And sometimes there are exhibitions in the mall, with big TV screens that occasionally show events of the day.  It's amazing how I've ceased to be an attraction - the crowds that used to come and stare have mostly gone, and I just have regular clients! 

 It might be that they're all watching the two new "cleaners" in the mall now - two big blacks, naked, like me, being punished for drug dealing.  They are permanently cuffed to their shovels and brooms, and their waist chains are locked together so they have to go around like Siamese twins!  They're in the cell next to me at night and I hear them groaning as, like me, they can't get to jerk themselves off.  We tried talking, but we've got nothing in common to talk about.
 
It seems the government thinks the public humiliation of offenders thing really is working, as crime rates are dropping.  The only worry now is that I read the other day that there are so few new offenders who qualify that some senator is proposing to extend all existing sentences indefinitely "to ensure children can continue to see that crime does not pay."  There's quite a debate - but the Supreme Court has already ruled that keeping men chained naked, like animals, is not "cruel and unusual punishment" - so what hope is there, really?

Fuck me - what did I do wrong?  I only wanted to be up there, with the real rulers, and now I couldn't be lower.

THE END. 
 





      

     

 



 

