105 The Shoe Shine Boy
Part 1 of 5
I had it all. Well, nearly all. In my life, I'd worked diligently 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.
That's me on the left, working with the company auditor. I worked my connections, kept my eyes open, and saw what was needed to do to get to the top. I transferred to the part of the business where all the action was and carried on rising. Sure, I didn't have many real friends, and quite a lot hated my guts (not that they'd dared to say so).
Then it started to fall apart. Let me explain. It all started out right, and the money followed. The bonuses were coming for a job well done. I bought the loft in Downtown 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 woman and lived with her for a couple of years. When the CEO's daughter joined the firm, I ditched my lover and made a play to get inside her panties instead. It was almost working, though she hadn't moved in with me … yet. 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.
Despite 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 everything fell apart. The Securities Commission started to look closely at the firm. Suddenly, I seemed to be the only one in the wrong! Sure, I'd done a lot of slightly questionable deals; we all do them if we're ambitious and are clawing our way up. But it was absolutely ridiculous to suggest that I alone was responsible for the 100 billion dollars "difficulties" they uncovered in the firm's books. Even as a VP, I was still too junior to do deals that big!
Somehow it was me that went on trial. It went on for weeks and weeks, tens of lawyers, mountains of documents, and computers to keep track of it all. The firm mounted a "vigorous defiance," 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 non-committal replies but told me everything would be OK as they rarely could reach a judgment on cases like this. The mountains of evidence were just too great, and, he said, "We'll bury the prosecution in paperwork."
But it all went 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 that I was being set up, and I told my lawyer that we should dissociate from the firm's main defense. 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 finally let 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 of prison. It will only be a few years, ten at most. You couldn't save that much in that time. You'll be in your late thirties and can live the rest of your life in luxury."
"I don't get it...."
"The government is getting too close. We need you as our scapegoat. But threatening to change your defense counsel is a bad move for you and us. Here's the deal. We're prepared 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 anymore, 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. You're broke, all your savings, this apartment, everything, will all go to pay the lawyers." He paused, "No. Realistically for you, the only option is a term in prison and fifty million, or … pushing hamburgers in McDonald's!"
"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 how the firm works, but you fail to see the big picture. We, the real power, keep it to ourselves. We employ bright, money-grabbing, hard workers like you. We let you think you can earn your way up the ladder and work yourselves to death by 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, how 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 make of car I own. 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 said, "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!"
[break_free]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 than I ever had from her!"
I thought he would 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 how others got on, and I began to realize 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, tried to get the judge to stay the case while 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. Rather, it went catastrophically against me when some "startling new evidence" was discovered in the Company's archive. Our lawyers entered a bargain with the government's lawyers to settle. He said I'd changed my mind and was pleading guilty in light of all this new material.
It was all rubbish, of course. I tried telling them I hadn't pleaded out, but they wouldn't listen. I was remanded in custody for later sentencing.
It's true that 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 ashole not more than an hour after being 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. As I've told you, I'm tough, fit, and strong. But my cellmate 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 thought 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 cooperate 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. Not huge, but damaging to our reputation. Now it’s ten million or bust1"
"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 questioned me for most of that day. They wanted more information now that I'd been found guilty. They thought they'd go lenient on me if I gave them the real dirt on the firm! They didn't believe me when I said I had nothing to give, that I was being used. Their lead counsel ended the meeting really pissed off, and he told me I'd see just how unpleasant things could become if I decided not to cooperate.
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? 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 defense 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 honor can impose to adequately compensate for the loss of hundreds of billions of dollars. One 'rotten apple' in a highly respected institution can turn the whole organization topsy-turvy. This man deserves the severest punishment the law can mete out. More than that, he must be made to serve as an example to the rest of the community. All those hardworking men in our great financial institutions need to be sent a clear message that says, 'Think again' if you're ever tempted to be dishonest. I respectfully suggest that your honor uses 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 the crime scene 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 due to 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. Therefore, I will order you to appear in a public place, which I stipulate shall be the shopping mall under this building, for 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 be securely chained while working to avoid the need for constant guards. And you will pursue the shoeshine 'boy' occupation, cleaning the shoes of those men who were your co-workers. Under the terms of the act, it is also ordered that you be marked to show your occupation and that you are doing this as a punishment."
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 cooperated now. We, the prosecution, determine exactly how the sentence will be implemented. Believe me, we will 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 I shouted my objections 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 from the government about you. There are extremely broad powers to deal with guys sentenced to public humiliation. Now, quit whining and lie on that table. "
The Shoe Shine Boy
Part 2 of 5
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 be naked when all the other guys are clothed!
He ran the clippers over my chest as I lay there, sweeping away the light-brown thatch I had 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 my manly, self-confident self. What I saw now was a toned body lacking any signs of manhood. My nipples stuck out of a bare chest, and a dick looked 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 between my thighs.
I sat there for hours. Well, it seemed like that since they'd taken my watch away, of course. The door opened, and two men entered and dropped a heavy sack on the floor. It made a kind of metallic rattle as it landed. They carried a toolbox and looked 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. I scrambled to get up, knowing they looked 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. A spare, open link was 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 too loose so he can slide it off."
When 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 form 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," he told me. The process was repeated, so I had a chain around each wrist.
I had to lie on the table while they fitted chains around my ankles. They had me stand up again for the last one, a much longer one that they draped around my waist. They slipped 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, which was really hard. He could slide his little bun 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 additional weight at my ankles and wrists felt 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 dangled in the air.
"Right, bud. Grab that table tight. This is going to hurt!" As they spoke, the men were fitting some attachment onto the end of the bolt cutter-like tool 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 his body so I couldn't move.
The narrow, pincher-like things at the end of the bolt cutters went up into my nose, and the workers suddenly squeezed the long handles together. I screamed! 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 poured out from my nose and onto me.
The workers came back towards me. Before I could react, a large ring about an inch and a half in diameter was pushed through 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 in my nose was unstoppable.
The workmen laughed 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 initially curious, but we've seen how easy it is to control a man ringed like this. Just hook something through the ring and drag him along, and he'll follow you anywhere!"
I was told to go and sit by the wall again. I sat there in absolute misery, trying to stop the blood flow from my battered nose and fingering the ring hanging down from it. I'd never dreamed it could be like this. What else could they do if they could punch a hole in my body and ring me like this? 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 DAMNED 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 while lying naked on the table. Then he started up again and worked on my left ass for a bit.
They told me to roll over, and then a 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 with the letters "US Government" running around the edge, like the government seals everywhere. 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. The new tattoos kept sending little twinges of pain through me.
The next morning, I was sitting on my cot in my flimsy orange prison uniform made more of paper than material. I was wondering what was going to happen to me next. Finally, a young guy, about 26, in a black guard's uniform, entered my cell.
"Steve, isn't it?" He asked.
"Listen, fella, you call me 'Sir.' I'll punish you if you don't, OK? Now, again, Steve, isn't it?"
I just shrugged. The guard unclipped a long nightstick from his belt and held it with one hand, and with his other hand, he pulled my uniform down, all the way to my feet, breaking the cheap zipper that held it on. Then he jammed the end of his nightstick strongly at my asshole. As it bluntly pushed against me, I screamed in helpless fear. The guard didn't shove it in me, just threatened to. Then he sharply pulled the uniform all the way off my feet.
"Whenever you don't respond, you will get punished. In this case, you lost the right to wear anything from now on." He said rather calmly, knowing I was totally at his mercy and no force was really needed. He picked up my torn uniform, rolled it up and tucked it under his arm. I was never to see it again.
The next time I'll use this." And he produced a black device with 2 metal points on it. "It's a modified cattle prod," he told me when I had regained some composure. "Very handy for herding naked prisoners. And that's why you will stay naked. Now, let's try again. Steve, isn't it?"
"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 workplace. I'll collect you every evening, bring you back here, and give you your chow. Now that's simple, isn't it?"
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!"
The Shoe Shine Boy
Part 3 of 5
Under the young guy's stare, I sat on the steel crapper. It was awful. After all, no one likes to crap in front of another. Even when I'd been living with women, I'd always shut the bathroom door. Showering and bathing are 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 ice-cold water poured full blast from the ceiling.
"Shower! Get really clean. We don't want the public complaining!"
I wasn't given anything to dry myself, so I planned most of the water off my body and stood there, shivering slightly. Officer Farrell pushed a steel bowl into the cell with what looked like dog chow.
"This is standard prisoner rations. Eat as much as you like. That's all you get from now on. It will keep you amazingly healthy, a 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 had a faint musky taste. I didn't eat much!
"Right. Come and stand by the bars with your hands behind your back."
He held 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 realized that those little noises were the sound of a 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. He unclipped a longer steel shaft. This had a shaped handle on one end and a hook on the other. Approaching me, he pushed the hook onto my nose ring and fiddled a bit, so a "snick" noise seemed to indicate it was fastened. He picked up the end with the handle and tugged gently ... I realized I had no choice but to follow where I was led, as any resistance meant my nose would be destroyed.
"Right, Steve. This is your leash. I will 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 behavior, 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 before him, my eyes looking directly at his bulging crotch. There was that faint odor of dried piss that many sweaty 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 few little snap sounds.
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 latch 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 will only chow in the morning and at night."
"Now, we're ready to go." The guard picked 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 people could read them? If so, what was the point of the tattoo on my ass as well ... Oh, no ... Surely I wasn't going to be kept totally naked?
As we went along a corridor and up a couple of flights of bare concrete stairs, I realized that this was 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 only a few people were around, but even they all stopped to stare at me as I was led, chained, tattooed, and stark naked, pulled along by Officer Farrell and his leash.
We got to the center of the mall, and there was a little shoeshine stand and a couple of raised chairs with a platform along the front so that the shoes were about a foot or so off the ground. They were against the wall, and to the side, there was a little tap about three feet off the ground with a chain length 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, fastened it to my nose ring, and then released his "leash."
"No do-gooder can get this off," he said conversationally. "It 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, a few more clicks, and then he stood up, saying, "There... all done."
I realized 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 must stay kneeling. That's good, as you need to be down there to shine shoes! Even if you try to crawl away, that chain imposes a limit of ten feet 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 it, 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. But if you really have to crap, you can call help, although I warn you you'll get several tastes of our prod, too!"
"There's a slot between the seats. As you'll see from the notice, the customers are expected to drop two dollars in the slot for a shine. Of course, you can't make them, and the government isn't after the revenue. It wants you on public display like this, naked and humiliated, to deter others! There's a complaints slot as well. Make sure you're careful not to get any polish on a guy's 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 return 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. The constant pain in my knees and legs from always kneeling on the hard marble floor was even worse. I learned later that I was deliberately not given a kneeling pad, as they wanted to make sure I kept moving constantly 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 initial city crowd went home, the pace of work slackened. I was able to kind of half sit on the ground for a bit. I don't know if the men or the women 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 would sweat a lot, so I needed to drink. And once you've drunk, an hour or so later, you need to piss. I hated shuffling toward the wall, then kneeling in front of the drain and piss, knowing that a little crowd was watching behind me. 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 seeing me doing all these little intimacies.
I could barely stand up when Officer Farrell released the chains holding my ankles to my waist. 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 with a treadmill, you know, the sort of thing in use in all good gyms. He told me to get on the rubber band. He then attached my snout ring to a chain on the front.
"Just fifty 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 if some do-gooding organization complains about the 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 you can set your own pace. 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 work my ass off at his chosen pace. Fuck! My hands were secured behind my back. I could not catch myself if I stumbled, and my nose ring was locked to the bar in front of me. I was in a panic, running as fast as I could! Plus, the gag prevented me from yelling for help. Luckily, the machine slowed to a normal run speed. Farrell stepped up to me smiling and said, "See what I can cause to happen? As long as you behave, I will allow this slower speed. But the moment you fuck up, you'll be forced to run as fast as your legs can possibly move, for the equivalent of 5 miles."
I was really glad when he came back and switched the machine off. Even at the slower speed, the sweat was pouring off me. My heart was pounding, and my chest was heaving. I staggered back to my cell and knelt to have my gag removed. I was immediately given another bowl of "chow." I hadn't eaten much 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 held me there, spread-eagle 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. When the lights went on again, it was a real shock. But all through the night, I'd wanted to move around. I couldn't. So I woke up and then fell back to sleep several times. Even worse were 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.
I was surprised to see Officer Farrell staring down at me, grinning at my erection. "Good morning, Steve. Oh yes, that boner is another part of the punishment and the humiliation. The government doesn't allow you any self-belief. So you'll have those erections every night, and, worse, they'll happen during your work day too. How do you like the thought of all those men and women seeing you sport a hard-on like that?" He continued, "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 behavior, I'll punish you with the prod when you return here."
Then he untied me and had me shower as before. I was then marched to the mall. Today, something wonderful happened. It was a gift from God! Thankfully, I was given a kneeling pad and chained up when I arrived at my station. It was great. I was so appreciative. I even smiled and hugged Officer Farrell's legs to thank him … sincerely! This pad instantly made my knees and legs feel much better. Then he told me, "Listen up. Since you cherish that pad so much, you will be allowed to use it every day. However, for each complaint we get about your behavior or workmanship, we take away the kneeling pad for the next full day. And you already know how that hard floor feels." He smiled. I then realized that they only gave me this important item of comfort, so they had something to take away to punish me. It was terrible punishment which I soon experienced.
A couple of days later, I got a complaint from a guy because I did not thank him for "the honor" of polishing his shoes. WHAT?! He could see that I was gagged. That I could only mumble. WHAT THE FUCK?! The following day my knees were in agony, back on the hard marble floor. Officer Farrell also removed my gag. I do not know how long I'd be free of that. Was this an experiment, or what? But from then on, I was as humble and servile as any "man" could be. I would behave in whatever manner that would keep my patrons happy. I was especially careful to thank each person with as much humility as I could muster, saying upon completion of the shine job, "Oh thank you, thank you, kind Sir (or madam) for the extreme privilege and honor you bestowed upon me by allowing me to shine your wonderful shoes. I hope I did a good job on them. If I did not, please allow me to do them again because your complete satisfaction is my reward and pleasure." I learned to regurgitate that line after each shine job." It seemed right because I did not receive any other complaints, at least for quite a while.
The Shoe Shine Boy
Part 4 of 5
One Sunday afternoon, a former co-worker named Jeffrey Collins came by to have his shoes shined. He was not the first from my former employer to visit me for my services. But he was the one who got the advancement I was to have gotten. I think he was also a good-looking 28-year-old who was well-toned. He always wore baby blue shirts and ties. That's Jeff in the photo, with that smug grin. He looked like the cat that ate the canary. "Hey Stevie, how are you doing?" Though I was not gagged, I still was not supposed to speak to a customer unless asked a specific question. If I ever said anything that was taken as inappropriate, the gag would be replaced for a full week. So now there were three forms of punishment: the prod (which was used very seldom), the gag I'd have to wear for a week, and the most feared punishment was losing my precious knee pad. So I was motivated to behave properly during my "enslavement" and shine shoes as professionally as possible.
"Stevie? I asked you a question, how are you?" He repeated.
"Fine, Mr. Collins, Sir." He and everyone else knew I had to please every customer or suffer one of the punishments. I had trouble matching his cheerful tone but did my best to be civil.
"Ooh. I like that 'Mr. Collins … Sir,' shit." He smiled. "You used to call me Jeff, but I always felt you were thinking of me more as a pain in the ass." He paused, seeming to try to get me into some misbehavior. I just looked at him.
"No, Mr. Collins, Sir. I always held you in high esteem. Sir."
"Of course." He paused with a reflective look, "That nose ring … it's quite large. Do you like it? Does it bother you? Should I contact the guards for you and tell them you'd prefer it removed, or at least a smaller one?" He said with a smirk.
"Oh no, Sir, Oh god no. This one is fine. I like it, I love it! Please, Mr. Collins, please don't mention anything to anyone. I'm fine with it." I pleaded, knowing if the authorities thought I was complaining, they'd only give me a larger one. I think Jeff knew that as well.
Jeffrey continued. "Well, whatever. Say! How I love my new corner office. The view is great. Sorry, old man. It was going to be yours. But I do appreciate your leaving it for me." He smirked, rubbing it in. "And I have a new secretary too. Did you know that Louise is my new secretary? I know you, and she and you were tight. You were sort of dating her, weren't you? Stevie?"
He looked at me actually expecting a response, so I said with some humiliation, "Yes, Mr. Collins. We started to date."
"Yes, of course. You probably still have feelings for her. But look at the bright side. She is not only my secretary, but she is also my fuck-mate. Stevie? You know those great big boobs she hauls around? Why … and you love this … now I make her go bra-less, even at work. And when she showed up one morning in my office, bra-less in a loose-fitting sweater, I told her to go home and change and come back in something tight. She sure came back as the sexiest slut at the firm. Man-oh-man. She was told that if she did as I wanted, I'd see she got a few grand as a Christmas bonus, and … BINGO! She does whatever I want. I'd get a big boner whenever she bounced in my office. Say, Stevie, aren't you supposed to be shining my shoes? I think you're in la-la land."
"Oh, sorry, Sir, I was just thinking about Louise. And all the fun we … Sorry, I couldn't help it. It won't happen again, Sir."
"Oh, that's OK, Stevie. I know how she is to screw. HOT! And when I fuck her up the ass. God, that is divine." I did not realize that Jeff was looking at me between my thighs. Nor do I realize I had a big boner. Mentally I was listening to him talk trash about my girl and imagining I was with her. I physically and somewhat absentmindedly worked on his shoes.
"You remember Stevie, how Louise loves to suck dick. She sucked you a few times. And I guessed you loved to suck on those big jugs with those hard tits?" A moan escaped from my imprisoned soul. I was dazed out.
"Stevie? Stevie? Now I will tell you something, and I do not want you to react to it. When I say it, you are not to move one inch. Just freeze exactly where you are." This time I only nodded. I should have spoken up, but I was tripping on good old times with Louise.
"I see you not only have a big huge boner saluting me from between your thighs, but it's dripping with strings of slime." I looked down in horror and immediately moved my hand to cover it up.
"No. No. No. Stevie, stay as you are. Continue to brush my shoes. That's it. You're pleasing me by creating a flagpole. I like that." Jeff paused. "Tell me in no uncertain terms, how you got erected just being allowed to shine my shoes. Tell me how erotic it is for you to wipe my feet. How you can't help but throw a big bone just servicing me."
I was shocked. Not only for allowing myself to get all boned up thinking about sex with my former girlfriend but for now having to say aloud that I am all bone up for this asshole, Jeff. "Oh, Yes, Sir. I am so excited that you honor me with the privilege of shining your shoes right here in this public mall. I never wanted to admit that you excite me and get me all boned up when I am stripped naked at your honorable feet, cleaning and servicing your shoes. Sir Mr. Collins." I paused and asked a question in a whisper, "Mr. Collins, Sir, may I now wipe off my leaking precum?"
"Oh, Stevie, you make me laugh. Of course not. But I will wipe it off for you." Bring your dick closer to my nicely polished shoes." I scooted forward. Then he moved his shoe under my dripping dick and coated the toe of his shoe with my slime. More than that, he took his other shoe and teased my boned-up dick some more, making it harder and dripping more slimy strings of precum.
"There you go, Stevie. Now you can give me a kind of spit shine." I just looked up, puzzled. "Don't be shy. Just bend your face over and lick off all the dick slop you deposited on my shoes. Go ahead, spit-shine them good." Jeff leaned back and gave a wicked grin.
What could I do? I moved my face to his shoe top, sticking out my tongue, and licked up my man juice. Some teens stopped in their tracks and called me a faggot, foot worshiper. They laughed and pointed at me, calling more attention to me. One took out his cell and took photos of me licking Jeff's shoes. When I was finished, he asked me if I was going to thank him. I knew what he meant.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Collins, Sir, for letting me give you a real spit shine." Then he asked me if I enjoyed it. WHAT A FUCKNG ASSHOLE! But I politely responded, "Oh, yes, Sir, I enjoyed it very much." Then he calmly challenged me as if I was not being sincere. "Oh, but Sir. I really did enjoy shining your shoes with my … my … man juice. I swear to God, Sir. Absolutely." And then I gave a big (fake) smile.
"Well, I guess you did indeed. Every time I come for my shoe shine, I want you to work on them in your usual good way. THEN … I want you to beat off on my shoes. And Of course, lick off all your filthy dick snot." He looked at me more sternly and added, "Do you understand me? I am not going to mention it, but you just do it! Just as I told you. I mean … you would not want me to complain about your shoe shine job to the jail captain, would you?"
"No, Sir. No need, Sir. Of course, Sir, Mr. Collins. I will do exactly as you say."
And that means whenever I come here, whether alone or with someone."
"Of course, Sir, Yes, Sir." I quickly agreed.
"And that even means when I come here TOMORROW with LOUISE, your former sweetheart." I just swallowed my heart and looked at him with pleading eyes, begging him not to do this.
"Yes, Sir," I said with tremendous hesitation.
"Yes, Louise knows you are here. She knows you have been stripped naked and tattooed for your shoe shine job. All the staff knows. But … I guess … she still has feelings for you. She still has respect for you. So she does not want to see you like this. However … I will ask her to accompany me to have lunch in this mall, at the other end. Afterward, we will stroll this way and "accidentally" catch you on duty. I want you to have a huge, hard erection when we get here. As we approach, I will stop us right in front of you. Without my prompting you in any way, you will ask me, very politely, if you can have the honor of shining my shoes. I will say no, but you will plead with me. Then I will agree. So Louise and I will sit on these two chairs, and you will clean and polish my shoes. Just as you finish the polishing, you will begin to rub your dick all over my shoes. You will moan and grin with pleasure, and … I don't give a fuck how you manage to do it. You will beat off all over my shoes and immediately lick them off clean." I was so sunk and deflated. "You'd better answer me!" He said loudly.
My response was not so loud or firm. I mumbled, "Yes, Sir."
I could not sleep at all that night. I was cuffed to my bed at my ankles and wrists, spread-eagled on my back, and naked, of course. Sometimes the guard would toss a blanket over me after securing me to the bed. Sometimes they would not. It all depended on their mood. If I was not covered, my dick would be pointing up most of the time. If I was covered with a blanket, my dick would still be erect, but it would form a tent at my waist. That night, all my thoughts were of Louise. I thought I would feign sickness and have the guard bring me to the infirmary. Or, maybe I'd cause my arm to break and be incapacitated for some time with a cast on my arm.
All night, I practiced the script that Jeff would force me to regurgitate with a smile as I acted extremely sincere and eager. So I was practicing, "Oh, hi, Sir! How good to see you, Mr. Collins. May I have the honor of cleaning and polishing your shoes today, Sir?" Then Jeff would say … "No, I don't think so." Then I am supposed to insist, right in front of my former girlfriend, Louise, "Please, Sir. I am begging you to let me work on your shoes. It would please me so much!" Fuck! How humiliating to say this all in front of dear, sweet Louise. How could I ever look her in the face? Why would she believe me if I tried to explain to her (when I was finally released from jail)? "Louise, I never willingly did any servile, dehumanizing, humiliating things. They would severely punish me if I did not behave like a slave dog. Even Jeffrey Collins made me do all those degrading things in front of you. I would never have done anything like that, ever … if I was not forced." Yea, she'd believe me. Sure she would … right. No one wouldn’t.
And there she would sit, watching me polish Jeff's shoes while I was all boned up. How could I ever explain away a boner, a fucking drippy boner! Then, as required by Jeff, I am to beat off. Maybe Jeff would say, "Gee, that looks good, but a spit shine would be better. That would be my cue to rub my hot rigid dick all over his shoe. I'd rub it, tease it and let it shoot spurts of my pent of cum over one shoe and then quickly direct it to the other shoe. Keep shooting until I was empty. I guess he would just look at me, pretending to be shocked. Maybe he'd order me, "Steve, you'd better get your goop off my shoes immediately. How could you do such a disgusting thing in public! And right in front of such a sweet and innocent girl as Louise? I thought you cared about her, respected her... wanted to reunite with her when you were released? How could you? Now take care of your mess!"
That would be my cue to bend over and lick his shoes clean. He might tell me I missed a few spots and make me lick some more. I AM SO FUCKED!
That next day I was cleaning shoes and shining them. I was trembling at the thought of being humiliated in front of Louise. I was worried sick about it. In fact, my dick was not getting hard. I was supposed to have a boner by the time they arrived, but I was weirded out. I waited and watched. Noon came and went. 3:00 PM came and went. No, Jeff and Louise. They never showed. Either Jeff lied to me that he would do this, or Louise refused to see me being degraded. I think it was the latter.
At about 4:00, a couple of teens came by carrying skateboards. My two chairs were empty, so they each just took a seat and began to badger me, "Hey boy, how about a shoe shine?"
"Kind Sir, I can't polish tennis shoes. I'm sorry." I told them flatly, trying to be polite.
"What's the matter? Don't you know how? Boy?" I was about to speak, but they continued. One said to the other, "Joey, look at this. It's a complaint box."
Then he turns to me and asks, "What happens if we file a complaint against you … for … being rude? Or, maybe just refusing to work on my shoes as you did?" What happens to you? And you'd better tell us the truth."
Oh shit, I thought to myself. "Well, Sirs, I will be punished." I tried to leave the answer simple and brief. Maybe they would move on in their conversation.
"Oh, Yea? Punished, like how?" Joey asked me.
"Well, very kind, Sirs. I might be tortured with a cattle prod. Or, they might gag me for a week or even take away this kneeling pad I use. Or..." I did not want to say more.
"Or? Or what? You better tell us everything, or we will file several complaints."
I was now scared shitless. These two teens have tremendous power over me that they were unaware of, and I was forced to explain THEIR power in detail. Because any complaint from them would have tortuous results for me. "Oh, please, Sirs, please don't file any complaints. I am a decent prisoner with good and polite behavior. But to answer your question, another punishment is that they won't allow me to climax." As I said this, I saw them looking at my dick and realized I had a huge boner. It appears so frequently now that I forget I have one.
"You are a turd, aren't you?" I did not respond. So again, he asked, "Aren't you?"
"Oh yes, Sir. Yes, of course. I am a turd. Oh, thank you, kind Sirs." They were laughing their heads off.
The Shoe Shine Boy
Part 5 of 5
Then Joey says to his buddy as he looks over my shoulder, "Hey, there's Georgie and the gang. Let's see what they are up to." They got up abruptly to leave but stopped and looked at me, "We'll be back tomorrow, and when we return, you'd better figure out how to clean our tennis shoes, or we'll both write up complaints, and you'll go down the turd toilet, big time." Then they left. I hoped they were joking and would never return.
I was not so fortunate. The same two teens came back the next day. They brought a friend this time, so now there were three of them. "Hey, it's the slave turd! How are you doing today?" They shouted. "We came to get our new tennis shoes polished." Two sat in chairs behind me, and the other in front of me.
This was interesting; they seemed to all have new shoes. Maybe they wanted to seal the newness with a shine to keep scuff marks off. "Well, Sirs … ah … I asked Officer Farrell about getting some shoe cleaner for tennis shoes, but he either doesn't have any or doesn't want me to have any. I am sorry, kind Sirs." I said as submissively as I could.
"So, you don't want to clean our shoes, eh turd slave? Now, get on the floor, on your back, and stay there and play with your dick as we discuss this issue." I lay on my back, but I couldn't touch my dick. I told them I'd be severely punished if caught and reported. "Look at it this way slave turd, if you don't lay there and play with your dick like a fucking sicko faggot, I'll report that you did flaunt your wee-wee like the fucking sick pervert you are." I had no doubt he would do that. I reached down and fondled my dick as they all laughed at me.
Before I could answer, Joey leaned over and picked up the middle of the eight-foot chain that attached my nose ring to the wall. He wasn't pulling on it. He was bouncing the slack of it in his hand. I feared he would yank on it and pull my nose off my face. I'd be a bloody mess. I know there is an emergency buzzer I could press if I thought someone would hurt me. But Joey was sitting near me, and the buzzer was behind him, under the chair.
"I think you are not being inventive enough. Don't you have something, anything you can use to clean our brand-new shoes?" He said as he slowly pulled the slack out of the chain.
"I … I … Kind Sirs … I don't … wish I ..." I was babbling in fear. I was terrified they were going to mess me up bad. Here I was, totally naked. My ankles were chained. My nose ring was locked through my nose, and that ring was chained to the wall. I had only eight feet to move around in this small space. I had to beg them not to hurt me. Now a half dozen mall shoppers stood a bit back, watching and listening to us. I wondered whose side they were on.
"Please, kind Sirs. Please ..." Joey cut me off with a hand gesture. Then he leaned over and quietly whispered in my ear.
"Look, turd slave, if I yank this chain, you might bleed to death before anyone could help you. And, of course, I'd tell the police you tried to grab me. So you have no choice here. In fact, you're going to do exactly as I tell you." Joey continued to whisper so no one else would hear. "You are going to beg me loud and clear, so all these people will hear you … to let you lick our tennis shoes." I immediately started to shake my head slowly from side to side. But he continued," If you do that, my buddies and I will not hurt you. In fact, we will leave you alone from now on."
He asked me to publicly degrade myself more than I already have been. He wanted me to lick his shoes and beg to do it as I obscenely played with my dick. He wanted everyone who was in earshot to hear me.
I was fucking beside myself. These three teen boys had so much power over me. And if I didn't do as he told me, he'd pull on my nose chain, slice through my nose, and I surely would bleed all over the place. And no one would even care. He was correct. I had no choice. I relented.
So I spoke up, "Oh, kind Sirs, please let me lick your shoes clean, please?" I sounded as real as I could. In truth, if these troublemakers kept their word and never returned here … it would be worth it. Anything to get rid of them. I even pulled my dick in front of the on-lookers as I hoped no one would report. The boys all smiled sadistically yet slowly shook their heads as if uninterested. More mall shoppers stopped to look at what we were doing. I know Joey wanted me to sound more convincing. .
I was shaking. I stopped touching my dick as I was trying to get out of this somehow. The teen in front of me nudged my balls with his foot, so I continued pulling on it. I must look like a pervert-slut as I begged to lick shoes and played with my dick like I was in a shoe-licking erotic fantasy.
"Oh, please, take pity on me. My job is to serve you in any way I am able. Only spit will protect those beautiful tennis shoes. Please allow this miserable excuse for a human being the pleasure of licking your honorable shoes," I was just about to cry. My eyes were glassy. I was so humiliated. Every nearby shopper commented that I was some sort of a creepy weirdo. The boys just looked at me, just staring. WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY WANT ME TO DO?! "Please, please, I beg you, gentlemen, to please give me this tiny bit of pleasure." I finally sobbed ... for real. I could not hold it in anymore. I never did anything to anyone. I wept in immense frustration.
"OK. We give in." Then two of them placed their feet on my chest as I continued to pull on my dick. "But only because we want you to stop crying and making a fool out of yourself. But … you better do a good job, or we will leave you here in total misery." Joey said calmly, like he was so serious. Then added, "So, what do you have to say to us for our kindness and all?"
"Oh, THANK YOU! THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH!" I actually yelled out those words. "Thank you, Masters, you are so kind and gracious to me." I wept a little more, trying to contain myself. Then Joey moved his foot to my face, and I immediately began to lick his shoe.
I licked around the toe of one shoe, stopped, and asked for the other foot. “Whoa! You ain't cleaned this one yet. Lick the sides, the heel, and … oh, and then you can lick the soul." The other two boys giggled. "You know, my mom usually washes my tennies in the washing machine. But wouldn't you know, I found my own personal mouth to wash them up all nice and clean?" Still seeping tears, he announced that my tears were tears of joy because I was so happy to lick his shoes.
Then he told his buddies, who were also watching intensely, "You know how I know he's in shoe-licker's heaven? Well, look at his dick. It's all boned up and dripping goo all over the beautiful marble floor." I didn't have to look down at myself. I know I was hard. I was playing with it. Fuck! I was often hard because I was not allowed to climax without permission. There must be two dozen men and women watching me lick these tennis shoes, and most can see my hard-on as well.
"Wait till he gets to you. He'll probably cum when he realizes you stepped in dog shit on your way in here. Now that I mentioned it out loud, he can't wait to lick that shit off your shoes!" After licking the sole of this shoe, he nodded for me to switch to the other. I did. And then, of course, I started on his buddies. I was so freaked out as I started. But soon became "pleased" to realize he was only joking about the dog shit. I can't believe my own thoughts. "I'm PLEASED to lick fifthly, stinky dog-shit coated tennis shoes. "I am so disgusted with myself.
Joey did not keep his word that they would stay away if I licked their shoes. No. In fact, I'd see them about once a month, and each time they bring a new friend to harass me. But, as sick as it sounds, one does get used to this intense embarrassment and degradation. I've been here for two years now. Every day is the same; I never know what new awful things I will be subjected to. And, of course, I play along. I have no choice.
The mall is open every day, and I'm on display for twelve hours, seven days a week. 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'm sick of the teens that debase me. I particularly hate the guys who slip a shoe off as I clean their other one and use their socked feet to caress my balls. There's even a competition among a particular circle of young men to see who can make me cum that way. They make bets when they come here and see my erection and the pre-cum running out. They wager to see who can make me cum in the least about of time.
It was a long, frustrating, fatiguing, stressful day. I wonder if it will ever get easier. I did my forced workout on the treadmill and was fed and fully exhausted. I could barely make it to the bed. But I did, and Officer Farrell secured me spread-eagled.
"Be careful that you only spontaneously ejaculate here in your cell at night." He warned. "If you do that out in the mall, and anyone complains about your disgusting animal behavior, I'll punish you with the prod." That was so fucking dumb. He just told me I was allowed to climax here in my cell, yet I am not allowed to so much as touch my dick. He interrupted my thought to answer the question I posed in my own mind.
"I know you think you can't shoot your load without pounding your dick. But actually, you can and undoubtedly will. Others do it all the time. Well, not ALL the time. When they get so horned up and desperate over a week of erotic humiliation, they will shoot all by themselves during the night, even secured spread-eagle like you are. This is why we have all you criminals sleep naked and uncovered." Farrell paused and then continued, "The guards walk the halls and gather around whichever cell they hear a lot of groaning from. They like watching a sleeping prisoner's dick twitch as it stands tall and straight. The groaning can get quite loud even as a prisoner continues to sleep. Most of us make bets on who will cum first each night. It's usually the one prisoner who has not climaxed for the most number of days. So the staff records those climaxes to be able to give odds to those who bet. Sometimes a prisoner will climax like a volcano, spewing and spurting many times, and his cum shoots up and lands on his chest and face. Even so, a guy can be so tired that he never wakes during an intense erotic release." Officer Farrell smiled, nodded, and walked away. I was now wondering if I was going to climax this night.
As it turned out, I woke up with no cum on my body for ten nights in a row. I wonder if that was some sort of prison record. On the 11th night, I dreamed that I was at a wild sex orgy with beautiful naked models, all their big breasts and big rounded asses. They were fighting over me, each giving me demonstrations of what a great cock sucker she was. Then the one I chose had her way with me as each of the others sucked my ears, toes, and balls. I woke up in the morning covered in sweat and cum all over my face, chest, and arms. When a guard came by to untie me, it wasn't Farrell but someone else. He smiled and winked at me, saying he won three hundred bucks on me last night.
I've been here for a year now. Every day 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 clean their other one and use their socked feet to caress my balls. Those teenagers who harassed me before were back. I was ordered to report anyone harassing me, but that was a joke. If I did report someone, especially these vindictive teens, somehow they blame it on me, and I'd get severely punished. No, I had to do what they wanted, what everyone wanted.
This time they greeted me, "Hey dick wad, how's it hanging. Oops, never mind, I can see it for myself." They want to see who can make me cum by teasing my dick and balls with their stocking-covered toes, bare naked toes. They see my erection and the pre-cum leaking out, and they try to make it worse by stimulating me. On rare occasions, at my station, I did climax in the mall by these bastard teens. But thankfully, none of those twinkly teasers reported me. I can only imagine that if they told on me, they would be prevented from doing it again, and they likely did not want their fun stopped. I always licked up my semen so there would be no evidence, making them break up in hilarious laughter. "God, what a fucking, cum eating, shoeshine machine." And off they'd go.
Even after a year of this hell, I'm still in great shape. The machine's balanced diet and the required running time every day saw to that. I suppose I'm not stressed much anymore. I go with the flow. I do whatever is requested to avoid the prod and the inhumanity of the running machine at its highest speed. I even suppose it's all making my life longer. I still have a great deal of difficulty in not being allowed to climax on my own and having mighty erections during the day and night. And I can't stand the boredom. I can't speak to the clients, even on those days when I am not gagged. Officer Farrell "prods" me if he finds out I answered a single client question. There's no TV. I'm not given any books. I'm not even allowed a little sex on my own terms. Officer Farrell watches me even when I shower to ensure I only soap it, not jerk off.
I've just been turned into a non-human machine, a shoeshine machine. I don't know what will happen during the nine years I still have to serve. When I'm released from here, I will have no money, no place to go, no friends. It was only a year ago I thought I almost had it all. And back then, I was given the option of pleading guilty as the Company's fall guy and receiving 50 million dollars. Boy … I sure fell a long way. That was a long time ago.
It's amazing how I've ceased to be an attraction here. The crowds that used to come and stare no longer find me an amazing spectacle. I just have regular clients now and a few watchers. They might all be 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 push brooms and a cart full of cleaning supplies. Their waist chains are locked together, so they must go around like Siamese twins. They're in the cell next to me at night, and I hear them groaning, and like me, they can't jerk themselves off. We tried talking, but we've got nothing in common to talk about.
On one of those special sale days, when they again placed big screened TVs in the mall walkway, I caught a story that freaked me out. It seems the government thinks the public humiliation of offenders really is working, as crime rates are dropping. As they announced, the only worry now is that "there are so few new offenders who qualify for the public humiliation punishment program that some senators are offering a bill to extend all existing sentences indefinitely." The newscaster went on, "This measure is needed to ensure children can continue to see that crime does not pay." There's quite a debate on this, but the Supreme Court, under Chief Justice Roberts, has already ruled that keeping men chained naked in public as part of a humiliation punishment program is not 'cruel or unusual' punishment."
So what hope is there for me? Fuck me! What did I do wrong? I only wanted to be up there, making the big deals be a big important man. Now, I am not even a man. I am a naked, ring-nosed, big boner-dripping, public shoe shine machine. And so it went on, my mental state of total hopelessness. My world consisted of shoes, polish, threats, punishments, nudity, and public humiliation. That was now me.
A few months after I resigned from my life as I knew it, another news story broke. I was not paying much attention at first, but I glanced up at the large TV screen, and I could see in the mall. I saw images of my former co-worker, Jeffrey Collins. He was one of many former co-workers who visited me, but he was the only one who was really mean to me. Jeff bragged about how he got my corner office as well as my girlfriend. He was trying to hide his face from the intrusive cameras following him from my former office building. Jeff was in handcuffs! Since I did not have a customer at the moment, I concentrated on the broadcast, but it was just a quick blurb, not very important to most people. The jest was that he had been caught skimming funds out of clients' accounts and had set up other employees to take the fall. Apparently, he had been under observation for some time and was the "victim" of a sting.
At the moment, I was too shocked to consider the possibility that Jeff Collins was the CEO's lackey in all this criminal behavior. Looking back, the CEO needed some underlings to cook the books and help him frame me. But … those thoughts did not enter my mind back then; I only vaguely wondered if this event would affect me and my sentence. I was afraid to inquire, so I put it out of my mind.
Two weeks later, Officer Farrell came to the mall. This visit was odd because it was in the early afternoon. That never happened before. He came up to me and said bluntly, "Mr. Caulfield, you are being released." WHAT THE FUCK! It was so long since I was called anything my Steve, not to mention every derogatory name in the book, that I had forgotten my last name. I was dumbstruck. Dizzy. I heard chain rattling, and at some point, I was being escorted out of the mall; hands were under my arms, supporting me, aiding me to walk.
"Mr. Caulfield. Mr. Jeffrey Caulfield. Do you understand what I just told you?" I was back at the prison in the administrator's office. "Thank you for signing these papers, Mr. Caulfield, acknowledging that the state was in no way responsible for any false information that caused your imprisonment here. I nodded. My mind was still foggy. "There will be other paperwork to complete later, but we have called your sister to pick you up for now. She will be here in a few hours. Now you'll be escorted to the prison hospital to remove your nose ring and get you cleaned up." I nodded again and found myself being ushered away.
I went through five months of psychological counseling to become human again and regain my self-respect. Even after that, I was a bit fragile, but I was on my way to being back to full sanity. No. I was not offered my job back, but that was OK. I would not have accepted it anyway. One Sunday afternoon, my wonderful sister came by my new, tiny apartment and took me out to lunch at the mall. This was the same mall where I had been forced to serve my dehumanizing and degrading sentence. I had to face up to it since it was one of the final steps of recovery required by my shrink. I felt queasy at first, but I was getting to calm down. We would go to the first café we saw, have lunch, and then immediately leave. But after we ate, I wanted to go to the exact spot where my shoeshine stand was.
As we approached and I saw it, I stop … in shock. I could not believe what I was seeing! The shoeshine stand was still there, just as when I "worked" there. But … I could not believe my eyes. It was Jeffery Collins. He was naked, and his head was shaved. He was kneeling, shining a woman's shoes. And, yes, he had that awful nose ring with a chain from it to the wall. I could go no further. I did not want to say anything to him or to even let him see me. I did notice that he had a very large erection between his legs. His head was bowed as he mindlessly worked on the high-heel pumps before him. I did not hate him. Actually, I felt sorry for him. Still, that entire part of my life was over. I finally realized that I was no longer "the shoeshine boy." My sister led me back to the car and drove me home.
Shortly after my encounter at the mall, I got a job as a grocery clerk. It was a simple job and a simple life, but I was simply happy. I never went back to that mall again, ever.
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